Thursday, March 26, 2015


By Lacey Reah (Guest Blogger)

Today, I’m honored to be a guest of the sultry and eloquent Lisabet. I only hope that what I have to say is deserving of this spot. Today I reflected on the whole notion of taboos and I was thinking that it is a writer’s duty to tackle them. What are taboos?

These are things that are forbidden. We aren’t supposed to utter them, yet they exist and because we are not allowed to talk about them, they shall always exist in darkness.

Taboos find power in silence. You don’t talk about them because to mention them would take away someone else’s power. Whether it’s the blue code of silence, the disapproval of union workers to let their bosses critique their productivity, the inability of a subordinate to critique his boss or the threat of an abuser not to tell anyone else, silence protects someone else’s power.

Sometimes a taboo is the elephant in the room no one is allowed to acknowledge. Other times, it is a turn on that can’t be mentioned lest it incites us to discover our passions. And we all know what society thinks of unbridled and uncontrollable passion. Lord forbid, a piece of writing or work of art uncovers a deep part of the psyche that makes us dream, makes us desire or drives us to act. The last thing our captors want is for us be moved by something. Best we not mention anything that takes us out of our conditioned, mundane world.

Tackling taboos is the greatest purpose of reading and writing. We must always bring out what is hidden and expose the truth, the lies, or even the great depths of our imagination. There is something enslaving about a culture that thrives on silence, that preaches political correctness and puts boundaries on how and what is to be said. Such a culture is one that wants us to be robots and can’t accept that we are who we are.

Bene Brown said,“Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor - the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant "To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart." Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But in my opinion, this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences -- good and bad. Speaking from our hearts is what I think of as "ordinary courage.”

According to the dictionary of etymology, the word was initially used in Middle English for “’what is one’s mind or thoughts, hence ‘bravery, but also ‘wrath, pride, confidence, lustiness,’ or any sort of inclination.”

When we tackle taboos we are freeing our readers from isolation. We are letting them see the light, allowing them to be themselves and giving them the “courage” to tell their own story, in any way they see fit so keep writing and reading whatever compels you.

Fireflies by Lacey Reah


Linda is a calculating, career-driven woman whose perfect world is shattered when she is seduced and transformed by a vampire-like creature called a nymphomite. Linda becomes a beast, feeding off the energy of orgasmically-charged blood. Convinced that her humanity has faded away, Linda adapts to her new instincts of hunger and sex. She hunts women primarily, for their longer and more frequent orgasms, and becomes a master of prolonging and intensifying their pleasure. But she never expected to find a woman like Jesse, and Linda's decision to spare her life instead of feed off her leads to a shocking turn of events that will make Linda question her beast-like identity and the humanity she thought she had lost.


Okay, show me,” I say. I’m in the mood for some kind of adventure. I feel the full moon on me and I am restless and alive. I am not as anal as Pierre thinks I am. I’m quite daring when I see an opportunity, and Natasha is an opportunity. An opportunity for something new, something to add to my sexual experiences.

Not that I am dissatisfied at all with my love life. Pierre is the quintessential Latin lover. He’s funny and smart and interesting and thoughtful and romantic. He has the best body. Sure, he has the usual bulging biceps and toned chest that we expect in a good-looking male, all due to fifteen years of playing soccer nonstop since he was five years old. He has a uniquely well shaped ass that cannot be compared to any other. He has a thick penis with a full head that gives me hours of pleasure. He can pound and thrust and gently glide it. He can shoot it like a machine gun and he gives the greatest oral pleasure I’ve ever had. Pierre serenades me with romantic songs in three different languages, just like Julio Iglesias. If I’m cranky, he brings me chocolates and provides me with endless massages. He is never angry, but can be feisty enough in bed to bring out my wild side. Yet he can be soft and sensuous, teasing and sultry. He is loyal. He worships me. Pierre’s well, perfect. Ugh, that word again. Maybe I want to rile things up a bit. If I bring in another woman the result may not be as hot as I have imagined it. It might add strife to our perfect world. Maybe that’s what I want. It would give me something to work on, something to fix.

We walk together, through the many paths of the park. After a while, I have no clue where I am anymore so I rely on her to lead the way. Pierre will be worried. No, Pierre has probably fallen asleep by now. I can imagine the look on his face if I actually succeed in taking Natasha home with me. It would be worth the wait for him, and the thought of seeing the look he will give me urges me to trudge on and not look back.

Up here,” she says and proceeds to climb a series of rocks up a hill. She is wearing nothing but flip-flops yet can spring from rock to rock with the grace of a mountain lion. I feel awkward in my cloggy sandals and the little black dress which I threw on just for my night walk. “Over here,” she says as she waits for me to catch up.

I don’t see anything,” I respond.

They are only attracted to certain things. Sit down with me and I’ll show you how to call them over.”

She pats the rock next to her and I awkwardly lower myself onto the seat she has made for me. I feel awfully close to her and can actually feel the heat and energy emanating from her muscles. Suddenly, I feel her grab my silky hair and pull my lips towards her. Her lips are full and luscious, like two of the softest cushions I have ever felt. Her tongue is long and slithery as it probes every section of my mouth. I cannot resist her. Am I cheating? Pierre is nowhere in sight. She’ll meet him eventually. This is a good thing.

She skillfully runs her strong soft hands over my breasts, arousing me in that sensitive area. I find myself moaning, surrendering to the dexterity of her fingers. My nipples grow harder and she pinches them in a way I have never felt before. Where am I? I don’t know where I am. She has me trapped here. What is going on? “I thought we came here to see some creatures,” I gasp.

They are coming. They only respond to this. Surrender. Surrender. I can take you to places no one else has ever taken you. I will shatter your world,” she whispers, almost hissing in her intensity.

She kisses me aggressively and presses me against her round, free breasts. Her right hand creeps down my abdomen and down my inner thigh. She rubs it gently and reaches higher and higher. I feel myself pushing my hips towards her, wanting to rub myself against her in any way I can but she shoves me hard against the rocks. She gently sneaks her hand into my underwear and inserts her finger inside me. I immediately squeeze my walls around her. She removes her wet finger and starts to pinch and rub my clitoris. I can feel the wetness of her finger. It is soothing and hot. I feel the heat rising in me and I start to throb within as she rubs me faster and faster. My eyes are closed now but when I open them, I am in the midst of an orgasm. She is glowing brighter than ever. Maybe it is just the result of my state of sexual climax that makes me think so, but I swear she is glowing. She is in some kind of trance as I throb uncontrollably. It won’t stop. I want more. I can orgasm hundreds of times while having sex. I know it’s a girl thing but I’ve been told that I do it more than most women.

In the midst of my moaning I do not hear them, but now I see them appear. They also glow with pale flawless features. Their red eyes are wide with hunger. They gaze at me but keep their distance. Natasha looks up fiercely. She hisses at them and they step back. They are beautiful with wild hair and they all move like she does. I climax harder as I witness the sight of these women. They all look highly aroused but they hesitate to come close.

Then I look up at Natasha and I see the flaw, that unknown flaw that has teased me since I first saw her smile. She opens her mouth and I see her razor-sharp canines, but before I can think anything else, she sinks them into my neck. I flinch at first but my love for her overrides my fighter reflexes. The pain of her bite only fuels my throbbing organ and I can feel the wetness drip all over my thighs as she rubs me. Just when I think I have climaxed, she brings me even higher and I stay here, lost in a world of psychotic bliss. I am screaming now and the others approach. She is busy drinking my blood, sucking with all her might. She continues to rub me enthusiastically as I come and come again and again.

About Lacey

Lacey Reah has worked as a teacher, a fitness and yoga guru, a healer, an actress and a writer. She has traveled the globe, living in major cities such as Manilla, Sydney, Los Angeles and New York; working odd-ended jobs such as retail sales and being a paid physic. Wherever she has gone, she has taken every opportunity to track every key point of her life and document it. So much has happened in her life and with heavy bouts of sleep apnea that it is difficult to discern the reality from the fantasy. She is on a lifetime search for truth.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

What is it about werewolves that makes us squirm?

By Naomi Bellina (Guest Blogger)

Paranormal romance is a popular genre. Those who read it love everything from vampires to angels, from demons to fairies. Bring on the supernatural hotties. Why do we crave these mysterious creatures and their worlds? For me, it's nice to think there are beings out there, other than boring old humans. Life can get dull and often painful and at the end of the day, it's nice to escape to a whole different world where anything can happen. Yep, that's right. In a paranormal story, the laws of reality don't apply. Which is one reason it's so much fun to write! The only limit is my imagination.

I'm working on a series about werewolves and werecats and I wondered, why do we find these beasts so sexy? There must be a reason we're so drawn to these creature who are human but can shift to a wild animal. Here are my top five reasons to love werewolves:

1. We can be as wild as we want with a werewolf. Since they run around on all fours and hunt small animals, anything we do will be tame compared to that. Leaving our underwear on the floor, burping, yelling across the house to each other, letting the leg hair grow long in the winter, all okay.

2. We don't have to pick at our food or have perfect table manners when eating. In fact, werewolves enjoy a woman with a good appetite and an extra few pounds on her. More to love.

3. They're powerful. Women are drawn to strong men because we know they will protect us and our offspring. As long as the guy doesn't go overboard with macho-ism, strength is sexy.

4. Some of them are tortured. They don't want to be a creature of darkness. When we love them, we help them accept themselves for what they are.

5. They do it like an animal. Yeah, like an animal.

My hero in Ruled by the Moon, Dylan, fights his animal nature since he has a difficult time controlling his wolf during sex and he's harmed a woman once while trying to make love. Morgan has a way to help him, if he'd stop being so stubborn and let her.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this excerpt from Ruled by the Moon.

A psychic vet, a secretive werewolf, a menace stalking the shifters. Welcome to Nocturne.

Dylan is a werewolf with a problem. He shifts at the new moon as well as at the full moon. He was born a werewolf, not made like most shape-changers and due to these unique traits he's avoided joining a pack and has given up hope of having a normal life. Morgan is a veterinarian, ready to be on her own for a good long time after leaving a cheating, spineless husband. She has a plan for her life that doesn't include a bossy, furry man.

Both are drawn to Nocturne, a town filled with magic due to a strong convergence of ley lines in the area. Morgan and Dylan recognize a connection when they meet, but neither one is looking for romance. After a harrowing encounter with a panther shape-shifter, they must combine forces and work together to uncover a menace that threatens the town. If they can learn to trust each other and let their guard down, they have a chance to solve the mystery and open the door to love.


You really should get that lock on your door fixed.”

Morgan stood in the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter, not looking overly concerned to have a shotgun pointed at her.

You really should knock and not sneak up on people.”

I did knock. No one answered. I came in.”

He lowered the weapon. “I leave the door unlocked a lot. Most people around here do. It’s not an invitation to enter my home.” Dylan’s heart pounded. She looked unbelievably hot. The air in the room danced with electricity and a shiver of wanting ran through him.

How about that bulge in your pants? Is that an invitation?”

Aware that his cock was standing at attention, Dylan called up every ounce of self-control he possessed. The very worst thing in the world that could happen right now was for him to be close to this woman.

Morgan, you need to leave. Now. It’s not safe for you to be here.”

Smiling seductively, she walked toward him. He backed up until they were both in the dining room. Her eyes sparked as she undid the tie on her coat and dropped it to the floor. He moaned. The reality of her naked body was better than his imagination. Full breasts, with brown jutting nipples, a little roundness to her belly and hips that begged for his hands to hold them. She didn’t shave herself bald, revealing the hair on her head to be her true color.

Look, I know you think this is a bad idea, but I’d really like a chance to prove it’s not. I know you want me. There was enough fire in that kiss to ignite a volcano. Come on, let’s give this a whirl and see what happens.”

Smiling, she walked to him and brushed her breasts against his chest then leaned her pelvis close, rubbing against his pants. The silk material was so thin, he could feel her coarse pubic hair on his stiff cock. Dylan closed his eyes. He knew he needed to get the hell out of that room but he couldn’t move. His body ached with desire.

Please, Morgan, don’t do this.”

How about I do this, then?”

Reaching through the opening of his pants, she grabbed his cock and slowly stroked it with her fingertips.

Damn, you feel good. I’m so ready for you.” She put his hand between her legs.

He could feel her heat and almost taste her wet juice in his mouth. Saliva formed and a powerful rush of energy roared through his body. Don’t, don’t, don’t! His mind told him to push her away and run like hell, while every cell in his body longed to take her.

Just a little, I can have just a little. I can control it.

Calling up every ounce of strength he possessed, he pushed the animal back and wrapped his arms around her, buying his nose in her hair. That smell! It was more intoxicating than his whiskey. As his body made contact with hers, heat seared through him in a path right to his soul. She fit perfectly, as though she were designed for him. His heart leapt, and for just a moment, he thought it was going to work. He was going to make love to this enchanting woman. He was going to see his hunger reflected in her eyes, was going to feel her move with him in that ancient dance of desire. He was going to wake up to her smile in the morning.

Then he brushed his hand across her bare back and his nail dug into her skin.

Morgan yelped and pulled away from him.

Ow! That hurt!”

Shit. It was not going to work. He couldn’t hold it back, he was going to change.

Get out of my house, now!” he ordered

Morgan backed away slowly. “Why? What’s going on?”

Get out!” He turned his back to her.

He stood, panting, trying desperately to stop the shift but it was no use. In a few moments the beast would be in control.

Buy Links for Ruled by the Moon:

Liquid Silver Books:
Barnes and Noble:
Google Play:
All Romance:

About Me

Naomi lives in sunny Florida with the love of her life and a magical calico cat. She writes for various fiction and non-fiction markets but is drawn to romance because her characters insist on canoodling and falling in love. So she lets them. Her interests include dancing, motorcycle riding, drumming and creating healthy meals. She takes the opportunity to play whenever possible. Her motto: Never pass up the opportunity to have an adventure!

Where to find me (I play around at Pinterest, Goodreads, and other places too)
Naomi Bellina
Provocative tales of love, lust, passion and magic

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Review Tuesday: The Marketplace by Laura Antoniou

The Marketplace by Laura Antoniou
Luster Editions, Circlet Press, 2010

If you had a friend who was interested in BDSM, but who didn't have much experience, what fiction would you advise her to read? What books belong to the BDSM canon? The Story of O, certainly. Maybe A.N. Roquelaure's Beauty trilogy (although if the real author were not Anne Rice, I wonder if those books would get as much attention as they do). Perhaps Molly Weatherfield's Safe Word and definitely a couple of Rachel Kramer Bussel's D/s-themed anthologies such as He's on Top, She's on Top, Yes, Sir or Yes, Ma'am.

One book that would make almost everyone's list, I think, is Laura Antoniou's The Marketplace and its sequels. I've been hearing about these books for years – no, decades – ever since I joined the ranks of BDSM readers and authors. Although I'm a devotee of D/s fiction and to some extent practice, somehow I never got the opportunity to read any of the series. One reason was the fact that despite their acclaim they have received, the books keep going out of print. The Marketplace was originally published by Masquerade Books in 1993. A new edition was released by Mystic Rose Books (also responsible for the wonderful primer Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns) in 2000. Now Circlet Books, renowned for speculative and scifi erotica, has created a new imprint call Luster Editions to bring The Marketplace books back for today's readers. When I was offered the opportunity to review the first volume, I jumped at the chance.

The Marketplace introduces a world where an elite cadre of dominants train, sell and buy willing slaves. The secrets of the Marketplace members are jealously guarded. In the everyday clubs and dungeons, BDSM afficionados trade rumors about the shadowy cabal of slave owners and their human property: the rigors the slaves must undergo, the enormous sums of money exchanged, the contracts, the collars, the decadent resorts, the beauty and the power of the masters and mistresses.

The Marketplace introduces Grendel and Alexandra, traders and trainers of premium slaves. Both are expert dominants. The book is deliberately vague about their relationship. Four would-be slaves apply to undergo the Marketplace training regimen at the hands of Grendel and Alex and their major domo Chris. None is a true amateur. In fact, all four consider themselves to be accomplished submissives. Almost immediately, the dominants strip the four of their illusions and show them how far they are from being Marketplace material.

Brian is a gay bottom who loves to be beaten and “forced” to suck cock. Despite his claims to being submissive, he is manipulative, sarcastic, cynical, rebellious and far too garrulous to be a good slave.

Sharon is used to holding men in thrall as she eagerly offers herself as a sexual object. Like Brian, she believes that being a slave is all about sex.

Robert has been feminized by his former mistress to the point that he has no self-confidence and hates his own penis. Although he is intelligent and well-educated, he becomes helpless and incompetent under pressure.

Finally, shy, virginal Claudia can act the part of the sweet, submissive French maid to absolute perfection, but that is the limits of her repertoire. Her mistress offers her to Alex and Grendel out of frustration and boredom, hoping that they can make her braver and more sensual.

Grendel and Alexandra devise customized lessons and trials for each of the aspirants, seeking to teach them the reality of being a slave in the Marketplace world. Sharon is assigned to muck out the stables and study diction and opera. Brian is made to wear ribbons and bells and deprived of sexual satisfaction. Robert studies martial arts and is forbidden to shave his hated body hair. Shrinking violet Claudia is required to take responsibility for the entire household while the normal housekeeper is on vacation and to severely discipline the other aspirants.

Although many of the stereotypes in BDSM erotica may have started with The Marketplace, the book itself is fresh, original and engrossing. It considers the nature of D/s relationships with rare depth and insight. In the Marketplace world, submission (and in fact, dominance) is about far more than sex. For the first half of the book, few of the lessons imposed on the would-be slaves involve sex at all. They learn to obey without thinking, to take responsibility for their successes and their mistakes, to trust their masters and each other. Over the course of the novel, each one changes, approaching the perfection required of Marketplace slaves – though how that is defined will vary for each one.

I loved this book. For one thing, despite its fantasy premise, it has a realistic, down-to-earth feel. The characters are complex and their interactions nuanced and believable. The Marketplace is the exact opposite of the kinky fairy tale world of the Beauty books – even though they share activities and physical elements.

I also appreciated the recognition of the deep sense in which the slaves' servitude is consensual. The aspirants' most cherished desire is to be accepted as worthy by the Marketplace. The most terrible punishment that can be threatened is for them to be sent away, to be released from the training and set adrift in the shallow world of BDSM “play”.

Finally, I resonate with the view of D/s as something more than just a game, as something that can transform one's soul. To quote one of my favorite passages:

To be thrilled by the touch of leather, aroused by harsh words, or satisfied by the security of rigid bondage is the mark of a lover.

To be thrilled at the opportunity to provide useful service, aroused by a pleased nod, and satisfied by the proverbial job well done, is the mark of a slave.

It may sound severe. Almost anti-erotic. Until you see two people, owner and owned, existing in a complementary relationship where each suits the other like balances on a delicate scale. Until you feel the energy of their rapport, you cannot understand how they fulfill each other, take and give in ways no negotiation could possibly express.

Then you will understand the singular intimacy that drives such people on their search for perfection. It is beyond orgasm. Beyond love. It can almost be called rapture.

If these words speak to you the way they do to me, you must read this book.

Monday, March 23, 2015

Lisabet's March News

Young man on a couch
Care to join me?

Welcome to my March Newsletter! No, I'm not above bribing you to read by offering you some eye candy... but I've also got lots of exciting info to share.

New and Upcoming Releases
Since my last newsletter, less than four weeks ago, I've released two new books in very different genres. And I have a full schedule stacked up for the next six weeks!

Witches Cover

Right now, I'm celebrating the publication of my very first single author F/F book, The Witches of Gloucester. This story (about 12,000 words) was originally written for my upcoming F/F collection Her Own Devices. I wanted some variety, since most of the stories in that book are realistic, contemporary pieces about couples. In contrast, Witches is a paranormal fantasy piece with a light-hearted tone, and features a threesome of delicious heroines. The publisher, however, felt that Witches would do better as a stand-alone title. Perhaps she thought it was too different from the rest of the stories. Anyway, it's out now and available at all your favorite bookstores. For a full list of links, go to the LadyLit site. You can read a spicy excerpt here.

Duos3 Cover

The third volume of my D&S Duos series is also available now. This book includes two female-dominant stories, "Be Careful What You Wish For", and "Layover". You won't find stereotyped harsh mistresses in corsets and stilettos in these tales, though. My heroines wield more subtle forms of power—and the heroes love it.

And that's just the beginning. Here's a rough schedule of my releases coming up:
  • March 27 - Early download release of The Eyes of Bast from Totally Bound (M/F paranormal erotic romance)
  • April 3 - D&ampS Duos Book 4 (M/F BDSM erotica)
  • mid April - Her Own Devices (F/F erotica/romance)
  • April 24 - General Release of The Eyes of Bast
  • April 24 - Release of The Gonzo Collection by Daddy X, edited by me (over-the-top erotica)
  • late May - Coming Together: Outside the Box, including my M/M story "To Boldy Go"

I will be doing a blog tour for The Eyes of Bast the last week in April, with some fantastic prizes. Also, I'm working on a collection of paranormal short stories which should be out by May.

Oh, I have one more publication credit this past month. If you like to hear your erotic romance tales read out loud, check out Nobilis Reed's podcast site. He's featuring my steampunk story Green Cheese. To listen to it, go to the link below. You'll need Flash-enabled web browser.
Free Reading and Other News

This month's free read is one of my oldest BDSM romance stories, and one of my favorites: Wednesday Night at Rocky's Ace Hardware. Dominance and submission well-sweetened with love—check it out.

Speaking of free (and BDSM...), I also have links on the free reading page to a brand new book of kink entitled Beyond 50 Shades. This 200-plus page book, edited by award-winning D.L. King, includes fifty extended excerpts from the best BDSM erotica and erotic romance available in the market. You'll recognize lots of names—including, of course, mine. The book's available in pdf, mobi and epub formats.

While we're on the subject of awards, Cheyenne Blue's wonderful lesbian anthology Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian Desire has been nominated for a prestigious Lambda Literary Award. I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

The best way to stay informed about all my releases and contests, is to join my VIP email list. Just send an email to lisabet [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com. Every month I run an exclusive contest for my VIP readers. For my March giveaway, the winner will have a choice of any two books from my backlist. I'll be announcing the contest next week, so if you want to sign up, do it now!
Lisabet's Pick of the Month

My March pick of the month is Big Ed's Place. Big Ed Magnusson is one of my colleagues from the Erotica Readers & Writers Association. Ed writes ferociously intelligent, consistently arousing erotica, often touching on difficult subjects like addiction and loneliness. His site is a joy to navigate; the wonderful manga-style art work is a bonus. (He also has an explicit photo gallery with images of his characters.)

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Sunday Snog #166: A Kiss and A Contest

Happy Sunday...I mean, Snog Day!

Today I'm celebrating the release of my first single author F/F book with a sweet and sexy kiss. And of course I have a contest. Leave me a comment telling me how you feel about F/F fiction. (Include your email, please!) I'll draw one winner from among the commenters. If the winner likes lesbian erotica or erotic romance, I'll send her (or him) a copy of the Lammy-nominated anthology Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian Desire (which includes my story "The First Stone"). If the winner prefers heterosexual erotica and romance, he (or she) will receive a copy of my paranormal erotic romance Serpent's Kiss.

When you're done with my snog (and have left your comment!), head back to Victoria's Snog Central for more luscious lip-locks.

It's not about power. It's about love.

Hush now.” The raven-haired woman combed her jewel-encircled fingers through Emmy’s platinum locks. “Don’t be afraid.” Warm lips branded Emmy’s brow. A supple tongue flicked out to gather the tears from Emmeline’s cheeks. Through wine-colored velvet, Marguerite’s ample bosom, simultaneously soft and firm, pillowed her own more modest breasts. A whiff of cinnamon tickled her nose, followed by the musky aroma of female arousal.

Emmeline’s already swollen nipples pulsed like the lighthouse off Bass Rocks. A wave of liquid need swept through her, cresting and breaking between her thighs.

Oh...oh, please...” Marguerite’s fierce kiss swallowed her moan. A snake-like tongue wriggled into Emmy’s mouth, brazen and seductive. Emmeline yielded, swooning with the heat of that kiss, until needle-sharp teeth nipped the plumpness of her lower lip.

Hey! Aah...” Her yelp became a groan of need as the tiny pain kindled new fires in her hungry pussy.

Ssh. Just relax, love.” That was Beryl’s voice, smooth, hypnotic, matching the delicate brush of fingertips along her shoulders and down her arms. “Let us pleasure you the way you deserve.” Seduced by the redhead’s quiet dominance, Emmeline obeyed. She closed her eyes, letting the rising tide of her own lust drown the last shreds of fear.

In the sweet darkness, every sensation grew more acute. Marguerite deepened the kiss, sucking Emmy’s tongue into her mouth, while Beryl stroked Emmy’s back, belly and thighs. The wandering hands barely touched Emmeline’s body but everywhere they traveled, delicious heat followed.


Want more? Read the excerpt in my release day post!

Saturday, March 21, 2015

The Shittiest Princess

By Lucy Woodhull (Guest Blogger)

Do you ever feel like the worst woman in the world? Turn on the TV or open a glossy, and you'll see PERFECTION(TM) beaming out at you. Perfect skin from ladies taller, thinner, richer. Living impossibly perfect lives with nary a human wrinkle or stray hair below their eyebrows.

A couple of years ago, my imperfections really got the better of me--our IVF failed and, with it, our hopes for having biological children. Even though I know intellectually that being a woman has nothing to do with giving birth, there aren't many things that can make a girl feel she's THE WOOOOORST like being a reproductive dunce.

The day after we got the shitty, crappy, poopy news, I wrote a story. See, I'm a romantic comedy author, and, at the time, I hadn't been able to write for months because of surgeries and more medical hocus pocus than Dr. Frankenstein inflicted on his poor, dead monster. Finally, when the hammer fell and the news was terrible, I found the wherewithal to jot down something funny...and very meaningful to me. November 14th, 2012 was the day Princess Poot was born.

Princess Poot is The Shittiest Princess, the star of a series of funny adult un-fair-y tales by moi. You can read them weekly on Wednesdays via Persephone Magazine.

She's ugly. Her boobs are too big, and her fin exists too much. Her teeth are yellow and sit in a jar next to her bed. And she's not blonde the way a perfect princess ought to be:

Dismay marred Poot’s already-marred features, for she was only flawless at her flaws. Let us not speak of her hair, which was not blonde in the least. The color was not light, it being vastly mousey, like dead leaves that are bothersome to pick up in the winter. One could not call the mop atop her head flaxen, or platinum, or tawny temptress, or yummy ‘n’ yellow. It was brown, okay? Brown—the absolute worst color for princess hair, except for blue, a look that only worked for Marge the Longsuffering of Springfield.

Princess Poot couldn't catch a handsome prince if her life depended on it! And she makes me happy every time I read about her. Something about creating the world's "worst" woman helped me to remember that none of us are perfect. None of us are those women in the magazines. Not even the women in the magazines are the women in the magazines! They're a cross between a PR flack and an alien edition of Photoshop. Poot never gives up trying to make new friends and improve the lot of the castle minions--no matter what names she's called or how cruelly she's treated. She's a good role model for a lady like me.

People have the temerity to ask folks without kids why we're even married. They tell us our lives are worthless, empty, meaningless. That we don't know what love is. Well, shit--I have a helluva lot more love for people than that, women especially. We all of us run aground of what a "good" woman is supposed to be or say or do. People will say I have too few kids, and that maybe some other woman has too many. No matter what we do, we're judged. Too fat, too thin, too tall, too short, too smart, not smart enough, skirt too short, skirt too long, too much makeup, not enough makeup and aaarrrgh!

So you know what I say? SCREW THE IDEAL. And that's why I write Princess Poot stories. She sometimes feels lonely, unheard, left out, too ugly to function and too weird to be loved--but she's not. None of us are, no matter our circumstances, our crappy medical prognoses, or how big our butts are. I truly believe that we, especially women, can always support one another more and love ourselves just as we are (as the immortal Bridget Jones would say).

If you'd like a dose of funny princess adventures starring The Shittiest Princess, you can read them all on "The Shittiest Princess and the Twelve-Toed Suitor" is the first story, and the rest (new ones every week) can be found here (scroll to the bottom and work your way up). If you dig steamy romantic comedies, you can read about my books on my website,

And now for the contest! Leave me a comment telling me when you've felt like a flop-tastic societal failure to be entered to with an e-book of either my space romp Ragnar and Juliet or the first my sexy art heist series, The Dimple of Doom. (Don't forget to include your email address in the comment so I can find you.) 

And now: GROUP HUG!

Lucy Woodhull

Friday, March 20, 2015

New Release! The Witches of Gloucester

My F/F fantasy erotic romance The Witches of Gloucester is now available at Amazon and All Romance Ebooks (other stores coming soon). I’m excited because this is my first standalone lesbian title.

Witches is a long short story (about forty pages) that I originally wrote for my F/F collection coming out next month. However, LadyLit thought it would be better to publish it separately. And I never argue with my publisher. ;^)

You’ll find the blurb and an X-rated excerpt below. I’ll have a kiss excerpt and a contest on Sunday.

It’s not about power. It’s about love.

The historic port of Gloucester, Massachusetts has a special charm, due at least in part to its resident witches. For decades, raven-maned Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among its hard-working inhabitants, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their circle.

Rejected as a nymphomaniac by her puritanical boyfriend, Emmeline escapes to Gloucester to work on her PhD thesis. From the moment she arrives, Marguerite and Beryl sense her erotic vitality and unrecognized paranormal talent. The platinum-haired beauty may well be the enchantress they have been awaiting for so long. Now they need to show Em that her prodigious libido is a gift, not a liability, and to persuade her that her destiny lies in the sea-girt town they guard, and in their arms.

X-rated Excerpt

One lazy Saturday in June, Beryl and Marguerite relaxed in Beryl’s bedroom, which balanced over the water on barnacle-encrusted pilings. Late afternoon sun slanted in through the wide open window. The pungency of the cove at low tide mingled with a hint of primroses from Beryl’s garden. But the mud flats outside were not wholly responsible for the ocean scent hanging in the air.

Beryl licked a salty line across Marguerite’s round belly and up to her dusky breasts. The black-haired woman shivered and threaded her fingers into Beryl’s copper curls, forcing that active mouth onto a nipple. Though they’d been in bed since noon, neither was totally sated. They never were. Inexhaustible libido is one of the defining attributes of a witch.

Marguerite moaned as her partner sucked with vigor at her swollen teat. “Yes, my jewel, that’s lovely. Exactly right...” She didn’t really need to say anything – each knew every nuance of the other’s responses – but she understood how the praise would stir her lover to more energetic attentions. Sure enough, Beryl let her teeth graze the sensitive nub, then nipped hard enough to wake a spike of pain that drove deep into Marguerite’s cunt, transforming itself into the most exquisite pleasure on the way.

Arching her back, she offered more of her breast and Beryl took it, pulling the ripe flesh into her mouth and drenching it in warm saliva. Marguerite bent a knee, aiming her thigh at the Beryl’s juicy cleft. With a choked cry, Beryl ground her crotch against the smooth limb, meanwhile ramping up the suction until Marguerite wondered if she could bear the intensity.

Her face buried in Marguerite’s ample chest, Beryl stabbed her fingers down in a blind search for her lover’s cunt. Through luck or experience, she found her target at first attempt, parting Marguerite’s wiry fur and sinking three digits into luscious wetness.

The rude invasion sent a pre-orgasmic shudder up Marguerite’s spine and wrenched a hoarse cry from her throat. “Oh no you don’t, you minx! You’re going to come for me this time.” Beryl didn’t seem to object; she rocked back and forth against the thigh pressed between hers, struggling for enough friction to push her over the edge. At the same time, she didn’t stop frigging Marguerite, though she let the current nipple pop out of her mouth and captured the other.

It didn’t take long – it never did – before they convulsed in a shared climax. The sun brightened for an instant. The scent of roses grew thick and heady. As their breathing slowed and they fell backwards on the bed to let the air cool their sweat-streaked skin, the wild cry of a gull floated in on the salt-tinged breeze.

Fingertips brushing, they lay together in companionable silence. Marguerite recovered first.

There’s a new girl in town.”

I know.” Beryl stretched her white arms over her head, to their maximum extent, then pulled herself up into a sit, legs crossed Indian style. A rich fragrance of pussy rose from between her parted thighs. “She stopped at the store yesterday, looking for titles about colonial-period Salem.”

I’m sure you were very helpful.” Rolling onto her side and propping her chin up on her palm, Marguerite grinned at her redheaded partner.

I didn’t dare get close. She was broadcasting sexual energy in every direction – pulsing like some hunk of radioactive matter. I swear, I nearly came, standing twenty feet away. Amazing!”

Yes – I’ve been aware of her aura for the last few days. But I haven’t actually seen her.”

Beryl leaned forward for a quick kiss. Marguerite fought the urge to pull that pale, compact body down on top of her own. Not that Beryl would mind, of course. In fact, the little ginger cat took advantage of their closeness to tweak one of Marguerite’s still throbbing nipples, before pulling back.

You’ll appreciate her,” Beryl added. “She’s just your type.”

You mean, loud and bratty, like you?” Marguerite dodged Beryl’s flying fist. “No, seriously – what’s she like?”

Young. Ethereal. Full of light. Wait, I’ll show you.” The witch padded on bare feet over to the wooden sea chest across the room to pull out a length of navy blue cloth printed with yellow-gold stars. She spread it over the braided rug that took up most of the floor. “Come. Sit with me.”

While Marguerite settled herself cross-legged upon the starry throw, Beryl retrieved a half-melted sapphire-blue candle from a shelf above the bed. She arranged it upon the cloth between them, then passed her cupped palm over the charred wick. “Illumine,” she declaimed.

The candle spontaneously ignited. At the same time, the afternoon dimmed. Sudden dusk descended. The blue-edged flame glowed, but did not dispel the gathered shadows.

Look into the fire,” Beryl instructed.

Marguerite tended to use crystals or mirrors for divination. It took a few moments for her to discern the forms moving in the flickering brightness. As she focused her attention, the image grew more distinct.

A diminutive young woman even paler than Beryl sat reading at an old dinette table. Straight silver-blond hair cascaded down her back, almost to her waist. Her black tank top showed off a surprisingly deep cleavage for someone with such a petite frame, while her brief shorts clung to what looked like a heart-shaped ass.

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