Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Review Tuesday: Giselle's Best Fetish Erotica (#erotica #kink #ReviewTuesday)

Book cover

Giselle’s Best Fetish Erotica: 14 Kinky Sex Stories
By Giselle Renarde, 2016

Nobody does kink like Giselle Renarde. She has the wildest imagination when it comes to sexual scenarios; her erotic creativity (not to mention her daring) knows few if any limits. At the same time, she writes so well that she pulls you completely into her tales. You really don’t think about whether the sex is extreme; you’re just wonderfully aroused, as well as (quite often) surprised and delighted by the stories' unexpected resolutions. Her characters, even in her brief vignettes, feel distinctive and real. And her stories feel new, even when the premise is familiar.

If you get the sense that I enjoyed her short story collection, Best Fetish Erotica, you’re right. At the same time, I wonder if the book isn’t mis-titled. While the stories she has assembled here are not vanilla, most of them don’t fit my definition of “fetish”, namely an obsessive sexual preoccupation with a particular object or situation. Some of her characters are playing familiar sexual games, but others are discovering unexpected sexual proclivities for the very first time. Also, the majority of these tales feature individuals who are in established relationships. Often the kinky sex in which they indulge strengthens their emotional bonds. (This is especially true in “The Fattening Room” and “Black Lace and Wood”.) There’s more than a hint of romance in this volume.

On the other hand, if she’d titled the collection “Giselle’s Best Kinky Romance”, she probably would have attracted readers expecting silk scarves and Christian Grey clones. That’s definitely not the vibe here!

The book kicks off with “Night Nurse”, an astonishingly hot cross-dressing story. The incongruous contrast between the protagonist’s burly frame and his female uniform just makes the whole thing more arousing.

Next comes “Massive Attack”, a forced sex fantasy with surprise ending.

I’ve encountered the third story, “Must Love Dolls”, before. That’s not a problem; it is one of my all-time erotica favorites. When a couple orders a high-end sex doll, it transforms and deepens their relationship.

That’s Not a Scrunchie” is a peculiar but thrilling exploration of female dominance. Don’t expect stilettos and leather; Pella is far more spontaneous and creative.

A Thief in the Night” deals with sexual improvisation. A fantasy takes an unexpected turn, much to everyone’s eventual satisfaction.

The Birds and the Bees” offers a riff on exhibitionism. “Don’t Break the Chain” is a very brief, eloquent commentary on a more “traditional” BDSM arrangement.

The Fattening Room” is another standout. Lily-white Canadian Jeremy is engaged to voluptuous Nigerian Nneka. Though he loves her dearly, he’s terrified of visiting her native country for their wedding. His fiancée teaches him a lesson about the many definitions of beauty. The lush prose and complex emotions in this multi-cultural fable push it well into the realm of literary erotica.

Black Lace and Wood” shares some features with “The Fattening Room”. It’s also a tale of a committed multi-cultural couple. I didn’t find it as enjoyable, possibly because of the negative feelings swirling around Rebecca’s infidelity and Navin’s stubborn refusal to forgive her. It is kinky, though, and will feel familiar to BDSM romance aficionados.

In Tooth and Claw” is Giselle Renarde at her gender-bending best. After many negative encounters, the heroine has sworn off men. Yet something attracts her to her effeminate, cross-dressing colleague.

Crush” offers a femdom scenario that was a bit too harsh for my tastes. Even though I don’t have balls, I find stories of their torture a bit squick-inducing. However, some readers may love it.

Bless Me Father” explores the familiar fantasy of lusting after a priest—in gorgeous, arousing detail.

Here Lies Rob in his Dirty Clothes” may be the most original tale in the collection. A photographer finds herself irresistibly drawn to a slacker who lives in a filthy apartment and rarely bathes. She takes him in a frenzy of inexplicable lust, atop a pile of dirty clothes. I’m something of a neat-nick myself, yet somehow this story grabbed me. I found the sort of irrational attraction portrayed to be eminently believable.

Dogging the Law”, a humorous story with a twist, wraps up this solidly sexy collection.

All the tales in this volume are quite short. The whole book is only 128 pages in PDF form. Still, each one is rich and complete.

I recommend sampling one or two, just before bed.

Monday, August 21, 2017

New MM romance from Lucy Felthouse! (@cw1985 #gayromance #superhero #mm)

Unseen new release


When a scientific procedure has unexpected results, Rory tries to make the best of a bad situation and ends up becoming an accidental superhero.

Medical scientist Rory is working in his top secret underground laboratory in Central London when a procedure has unexpected results. Far from curing his patient, a monkey called Arnold, of an unpleasant disease, he manages to turn the animal invisible! In his panic, Rory accidentally gets some of the serum he injected Arnold with into his own bloodstream, rendering himself invisible, too. With disbelief and confusion filling his brain, Rory finds it impossible to think straight, much less to figure out what precisely happened, and what on earth he’s going to do about it. So, after stripping off his clothes—which remain visible and therefore would give him away—he heads out into the London night for a walk to try and clear his head. 
Soon, a series of events lead him into a situation where he takes heroic action to protect somebody from hurting themselves, or someone else. And, just when Rory thinks things can’t get any weirder, he’s found, completely naked, in the home of the man he helped the previous evening. How can he explain his way out of this?

Buy Links

Amazon (universal link): http://viewbook.at/unseen
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2uYqe9s
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2x0SyK5
Pride Publishing: http://bit.ly/2w6GH0l


Rory carefully placed the empty syringe into a kidney bowl on a wheeled metal table at his side then snapped off his latex gloves and put them next to the bowl. When he turned back to his workstation, though, the monkey he’d just injected had disappeared.

He blinked, as though his eyes were not functioning correctly and that closing and opening them again would do a hard reset. Like doing a restart on his PC when it acted up. Unfortunately, in the case of his eyes, it didn’t help. He tried again, just to be sure. No such luck. The monkey was still not there.

Shaking his head, he looked around the laboratory. It wasn’t very big, and there was nowhere to hide. Not for a creature the size of Arnold, anyway. Even an escaped mouse would be pretty easy to locate. Rory wondered if perhaps he was asleep and dreaming—vivid and bonkers dreams were a constant in his life. A swift pinch of his arm answered that question. Muttering, he rubbed the afflicted area, the cotton of his lab coat soft beneath his fingers.

He frowned, then frowned some more as a thought occurred to him. A thought so unbelievable, so ludicrous that he couldn’t understand why it had even popped into his brain.

Because it’s the only possible explanation.

He shook his head. No, it wasn’t. There was a perfectly rational explanation for Arnold’s sudden disappearance. He wasn’t where he’d left him, but although he was smart, there was no way in hell he could have escaped the lab. It was impossible. Rory reached into his pocket and clasped the hard plastic of his security pass between his fingers and heaved a sigh of relief. The very idea of a monkey—albeit a tame, friendly one—wandering around the City of London didn’t bear thinking about. And neither did the consequences.

Determined to disprove his silly idea, Rory began searching in earnest for Arnold. It took all of five seconds—he wasn’t underneath the workstation, or behind the large storage unit at one end of the long room. All of the cupboards were closed and locked, and the keys still hung securely on a lanyard around Rory’s neck. There was nowhere else the animal could have gone.

Rory scratched his head, the scientist in him still desperate not to resort to believing the thought that was now flashing on and off in his mind in strobe lighting, unwilling to be ignored any longer.

Invisible. You’ve turned Arnold invisible.

No. No way. He was trying to cure a lethal disease, not create some Harry Potter-esque potion for invisibility. But it was a cloak that made them invisible in Harry Potter, wasn’t it, not a potion? He tutted and sighed, then shook his head.

About the Author

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uks 100 Modern Erotic Classics That Youve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Cafés Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves and Hiding in Plain Sight. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Coming Soon – Hot Brides in Vegas (#smut #amwriting #fantasy @Archer_Larry)


So I’ve been working on a new book, and I finished the first round of edits today.

It’s not really a romance, though it ends with a wedding.

It’s not really erotica, or at least, not literary erotica.

Actually, the best way to describe it, for better or worse, is pure smut.

Hot Brides in Vegas is a light-hearted, totally uninhibited romp through the fantasy world created by my friend Larry Archer. In Larry’s Las Vegas, he runs the most successful strip club in the city, along with his outrageously promiscuous wife Foxy. Larry and Foxy are swingers, which means they’re not sexually exclusive—and neither is anyone else in their circle. They’re always eager to welcome newcomers, too.

I’ve read a number of books set in this fictional universe, and really liked the sex positive vibe. In Larry’s Las Vegas, everyone has fun. Everyone gets off. Feelings of guilt and shame are quickly overwhelmed by pure pleasure. I love that.

Anyway, I got inspired to write my own story set in this world. My book ended up having a bit more plot than Larry’s typically do. But there’s certainly plenty of sexual shenanigans.

Here’s the blurb. I’ll post an excerpt after I have a tentative release date and a cover!

Let me know what you think!

Hot Brides in Vegas by Lisabet Sarai

Never underestimate the power of a horny bride.

Francesca Torellis tycoon father is throwing a lavish Las Vegas wedding for his only child. Her fiancé Jake and his buddies set out for a stag night, exploring the fleshpots of Sin City. Meanwhile, Fran and her bridesmaids Laura and Chantal are stuck at the resort under the watchful eye of her stern Aunt Giulia, who has promised her brother that Franny will come to the altar a virgin.

Frustrated and annoyed by these double standards, the young women hatch a plan to escape their chaperone and have some fun of their own. With the help of a susceptible concierge, a butch ex-cop limo driver and a scandalous French couturiere, they find their way to The Foxs Den, the most exclusiveand outrageous—gentlemen’s club in the city. Owner Larry Archer and his crew of strippers, bouncers, voyeurs and sluts are more than happy to welcome the delectable trio as contestants performing at the club’s famous Amateur Night.

The gleeful permissiveness of the Den challenges the women’s assumptions and undermines their inhibitions. Complications ensue when Jake and his groomsmen arrive to find Fran in the midst of her strip act. Then Aunt Giulia crashes the party, determined to save her virgin niece, and things get really sticky—both figuratively and literally.

Will love triumph? Will Francesca be drawn over to the dark side? Is there a difference?

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Devil's Run by @BeverleyOakley (#historical #romance #giveaway)

Devil's Run cover

Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.


A rigged horse race - and a marriage offer riding on the outcome.

When Miss Eliza Montrose unexpectedly becomes legal owner of the horse tipped to win the East Anglia Cup, her future is finally in her hands – but at what cost?

George Bramley, nephew to the Earl of Quamby, will wager anything. Even his future bride.

Miss Eliza Montrose will accept any wager to be reunited with the child she was forced to relinquish after an indiscretion — even if it means marrying a man she does not love.

But when the handsome and charming Rufus Patmore buys a horse from her betrothed, George Bramley, whose household her son visits from the foundling home, her heart is captured and the outcome of the wager is suddenly fraught with peril.

**This is book 3 in the Scandalous Miss Brightwell series, though it can be read as a stand-alone.


Chapter One

And there’s nothing else you’d like, my dear? No?” Straightening after receiving a polite rebuff, George Bramley found it an effort to keep the syrup in his tone. His bride-to-be had not even looked at him as she’d declined the piece of marchpane he’d been certain would win him at least a smile.

Hovering at her side, he weighed up the advantages of a gentle rebuke, then decided against it. Until yesterday, he’d thought her quiet demeanour suggested a charmingly pliant nature. Now he was not so sure. In fact, suddenly, he was not sure of anything.

A glass of lemonade, perhaps, my angel? Or a gentle stroll?”

I would prefer to be left alone.” Miss Montrose waved a languid hand in his general direction, while she continued to gaze at the still lake beside which their picnic party had situated itself.

The languid arm-wave had not even been accompanied by a demure thank you as subtle acknowledgement of her gratitude that not only had Mr Bramley, heir to a viscountcy, stepped in to rescue Miss Eliza Montrose from impoverishment, he was prepared to treat her publicly as if she were as fine a catch as he could have made.

A soft titter brought his head round sharply, but the ladies behind him, bent over the latest Ackerman’s Repository, appeared occupied with their own gossip as they lounged on cushions beneath the canopy that had been erected to protect them from the sun.

Awkwardly, he looked for occupation as he continued to eye his intended with a mixture of irritation and desire—both lustful desire, and the desire to put her in her place.

The idea of the latter made him harden. She was beautiful, this quiet, apparently retiring, young woman who said so little, but whose eyes spoke such volumes. The afternoon sun glinted on her honey-gold hair and imbued her porcelain skin with a warm glow. The skin that he could see, at any rate.

He pushed back his shoulders. On their wedding night in six weeks, when he’d at last take possession of her, he’d rip that modesty to shreds. The skin she was so at pains to hide would be his, not only to see, but to caress and taste. When she was his wife, the beautiful, distant Miss Eliza Montrose would no longer get away with paying George Bramley so little attention. No, he’d have her screaming and writhing at his command. He would make her like the things he did to her; or at least, show him she did if she enjoyed harmony as much as she appeared to. None of this languid reclining like a half-drugged princess in his presence. He’d keep her on her toes, ready to leap to his bidding at the sound of his footstep. She’d learn to be grateful.

Feeling ignored and superfluous, he turned to his uncle’s detestable wife, Lady Quamby, and said with a smile, “Perhaps you and Miss Montrose would like to accompany me to the turret. Since you appear to have enjoyed this new novel, Northanger Abbey, so much, you might be interested to know there is an excellent view of the ruined monastery not far from here.”

He was just priding himself on being so attuned to the feminine inclination for pleasure, when Lady Quamby half turned and sent him a desultory smile. “Oh, I think Miss Eliza looks perfectly comfortable, and Fanny and I are having such a lovely little coze.” As if imitating Miss Montrose, she waved a languid hand in his general direction. “Why don’t you take Mr Patmore off to see it? The two of you can tell us all about it when you return.”

The fact that Miss Montrose didn’t deign to even speak for herself, much less glance in his direction, sent the blood surging to Bramley’s brain. By God, when he was married to Eliza Montrose, the limpid look of love so lacking now would be pasted onto her face every time he crossed her line of vision. She’d soon learn what was good for her.

He inclined his head, hiding his fury, and was on the point of leaving when Lady Quamby’s sister, Fanny —for he’d be damned if he’d accord the little strumpet the title of Lady Fenton—leapt up from her chair. She’d been poring over the latest fashions, but now she smiled brightly up at him.

I’ll come with you, Cousin George. We’ll have an excellent view of the children learning to row from the battlements. I told Nanny Brown she could take them in the two boats if they’d been good.”

Bramley stared down her liveliness. In fact, he was about to give up the idea of going up to the battlements altogether when his other guest, Rufus Patmore, suddenly rose and joined Fanny’s side with a late and unexpected show of enthusiasm.

Capital idea!” declared Rufus.

George flashed them both a dispassionate look. He'd chosen to invite his betrothed, Miss Montrose—whose chaperone was currently tucked up in the green bed chamber nursing a head cold—to be his guest at his uncle’s estate, Quamby House, after receiving intelligence that Ladies Quamby and Fenton would be safely in London with their husbands and children. Instead, the brazen Brightwell sisters—as they’d infamously been called when he’d first made their acquaintance—had altered their plans, and were now in dogged attendance, reminding him as they always had, of some awful tenacious climbing plant, determined to find a foothold wherever they could in order to rise in the world.

Rufus, a last-minute addition and acquaintance from his club, Boodles, was here because he’d just purchased a horse from Bramley the night before. Now, Rufus was gazing at Lady Fenton, with the same dewy-eyed fondness George was used to seeing reflected in the eye of his uncle, the Earl of Quamby, who called the Brightwell sisters his precious rose-buds. To George, they were common dandelions! And now they had overridden Quamby House, the rambling Queen Anne manor house and estate that would have passed to George the moment his uncle quit this mortal coil, were it not for the snotty-nosed infant Lady Quamby had borne far too early in her marriage to George's uncle.

George shook his head. He’d changed his mind. Only, there was Rufus striding across the lawn, skirting the lake with Fanny at his side, and George didn’t want to be seen as petulant for having offered the suggestion in the first place. Or have his snubbed and ignored status so much on parade, since the two remaining ladies—Miss Montrose and Lady Quamby—had their heads bent together in deep discussion, with no apparent interest in seeking his company.

By God, he thought, clenching his fists as he set off after them at a brisk trot, they'd all rue the day they showed George Bramley so little respect.

Other Books in the Series:

About the Author

Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.

Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.

Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.

Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.

You can get in contact with Beverley at:

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Friday, August 18, 2017

Vintage Lust (#wine #erotica #freestory)

A Case of You cover

Today I thought I’d talk about one of my favorite things: wine!

Let me state at the outset that I am a wine enthusiast, but not really a connoisseur. We have at least a glass or two almost every night with dinner. I'm partial to reds, particularly Côtes du Rhône, Pinot Noir and Australian cabernets. Not that I'm all that picky, though. The house red will usually be just fine, especially when it's sold by the liter.

I've been to a few wine tastings. Although I learned quite a bit, “refining my palate” as they say, it seemed a terrible waste to have to spit out all those exquisite samples.

I associate wine with traveling. Certainly one of the delights of visiting a new country or region is the opportunity to try new vintages. My first international journey was a low budget trip to Spain in the seventies, with my closest friend. She and I quickly discovered that a pitcher of vino tinto was significantly cheaper than a glass of Coca Cola. The passage of time may not be the only reason my memory of those four weeks is a bit hazy.

More recently, my husband and I spent ten days in Provence, true heaven for a wine lover. Then there was our marvelous trip to Croatia, where they call the red wine “black” and dispense it from enormous stainless steel tanks into the bottles customers bring to the stores. And even after twenty years I can summon the dark fruitiness of the Kavaklidere Papazkarasi we drank in Turkey.

In addition to travel, wine always makes me think of sex. It's not just the fact that one sensual experience leads naturally to another. In many societies, wine and grapes have traditionally been associated with sexuality. Followers of Bacchus, the god of the vine, engaged in frenzied orgies after imbibing. Feeding one's lover ripe grapes has become a clichébut don't knock until you've tried it! Wine has been used in ritual since ancient times. In many cultures, including my own Jewish tradition, sharing wine seals the marriage bond.

My characters like wine almost as much as I do (and sex, possibly more). I've written more than one scene that used wine as an erotic prop. For example, there's this bit in Raw Silk:

Katherine cried aloud, writhed and moaned. Then, in the midst of her climax, she felt cooling liquid filling her, streaming down her thighs. She opened her eyes. Somtow held the wine bottle and was deliberately pouring the remaining contents into her vagina, an almost childish delight on his face.

Ah, my Katherine!’ He leaned over and began to drink the wine from her flesh, lapping the ruby drops from her thighs. ‘Excellent wine, but the taste can only be improved by mixing in your delicious liqueur.’

Then there's this snippet from Nasty Business:

That was the night, I recall, that he bathed me in champagne. Such a cliché, I know, right up there with whipped cream, but how many women have actually felt the marvelous sensation of a million tiny bubbles bursting between their legs? The pleasure was incredible, just sitting in the tub while Liu poured bottle after bottle of the chilled, prickly wine over my shoulders and breasts. Then he leaned over and licked me, sucking the sweetness from my nipples, growing intoxicated (as he said) from drinking my flesh.

That was not enough for him. He grew mischievous, bidding me with mock severity to kneel in the tub with my buttocks in the air. “Spread yourself wide,” he instructed, nudging my thighs apart and bringing my hands up to my sex. I was more than willing to hold my puffy labia apart as he drenched my vagina in Chateau Rothschild ‘88. Then, he actually inserted the neck of bottle into my hungry cunt, and tipped the remaining liquid into my inner cavities.

Wine features prominently in the plot of Incognito, though it doesn't manage to make its way into anyone's orifices. The heroine's cat knocks a glass of wine onto an antique journal. The liquid reacts with the invisible ink to reveal the original owner's very private confessions. Just for the heck of it, I counted the number of times the wordwineappears in that novel. Thirty six times! And of course that doesn't include references that use a synonym or a specifier, likePinot GrigioorMerlot.

So at this point you probably think that both I and my characters are lushes. Not so! Though I may be tempted, only rarely will I imbibe before the sun goes down. And I know my limit (about three glasses). I'm clumsy enough when I'm sober!

There is something fantastically decadent about wine in the afternoon, however. You never know what will happen. I recall a visit to a California winery with one of my first lovers, long ago. After sampling the various vintages available (and purchasing a few bottles as souvenirs), we were too inebriated to drive back to our hotel. So he ravished me in the back seat of his car, tucked away in the shade in a far corner of the parking lot. The wine seemed to heighten my senses rather than dull them. Afterward, a golden glow suffused the afternoonan aura of magic.

I still can't see a bottle from that particular vineyard without tumbling into intoxicating memory.

I turned my memories of that visit (significantly augmented) into a short story, entitled A Case of You. I’d be happy to send you a copy. All you need to do is leave me a comment with your email address.