When
I set up the release date for my new paranormal erotic romance at Excessica, I
deliberately chose the Friday closest to Walpurgisnacht.
In case you’re not familiar with the tradition, in Germany and
Scandinavia the night of April 30th
is celebrated as the witches’ sabbath. On this night, it is said,
witches and other unholy creatures gather on the mountaintops to
kindle bonfires, cast spells and dance with the Devil until dawn.
Various northern cultures mark the date with drunken revelry,
promiscuous sex, lewd practical jokes, and huge fires to drive the
witches away.
The
Spring festival clearly predates Christianity, but has been grafted
onto Saint Valpurga’s Day on May 1st.
Walpurgisnacht (also called “Hexennacht” in Germany) has
influenced many writers, artists and musicians. References appear in
work by Goethe, Bram Stoker, Thomas Mann and Edward Albee.
Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” is a symphonic impression
of Hex Night (brought to life with still-stunning
animation in the 1941 Disney classic Fantasia), while William
Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan gave a slightly
comic twist to the macabre legend in their operetta “Ruddigore”.
In
any case, it seemed appropriate that I should publish my tale of
diabolical temptation and paranormal debauchery around April 30th.
There are no witches in my tale, but the Devil is very much in
evidence.
Here’s
a quick excerpt, illustrating my heroine’s fall.
He
took both her hands, raised her from the bed, and drew her toward the
chest of drawers. His fevered touch dispelled her chills. Her nipples
swelled and her clit pulsed. He cupped her breasts for a moment, then
slid his hands over her hips to capture her ass and pull her body
against his. Under the loose robe, his erection raged. “Four
months,” he murmured, licking along her throat with his searing
tongue, “to choose pleasure over loneliness.”
“Oh...”
she sighed, melting into his embrace. “Yes, Sir.”
He
disengaged himself from her clinging body, all business once again.
“So you will sign?”
“Yes—yes,
of course, Sir. Then will you fuck me again? Please?”
“All
in good time, Gwen.” He grasped her left wrist, turning her hand
palm up. “First things first.”
The
knife flashed in the gloom. “Ow! Hey…!” A scarlet line bloomed
on her palm, stretching from the crook of her thumb to the base of
her little finger.
Mister
B tipped her hand over the bowl. “My apologies, but certain
formalities are required.” A shudder rippled through her as she
watched the bright red drops collect in a shallow puddle. “That
should be sufficient, I believe,” he continued after a few minutes.
He extracted a black silk handkerchief from some hidden pocket of his
robe. “Clench your fist around this to stop the bleeding.
Meanwhile…”
He
dipped the quill end of the feather into the pool of gore, then
guided her to the signature line on the final page of the contract.
“Sign here. Your full, legal name, as on the first page.”
Wendy
hesitated. The blood-tipped pen hovered over the paper. Somehow this
didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore.
“Don’t
worry, sweet.” How could she resist him—his tempting voice in her
ear—his warm breath on her neck—the heat he sent rippling through
her limbs? “I’ll take care of you. Forever, Gwen.”
Forever.
Every romance lover’s dream.
“Sign
it, my lovely slave.” He held her wrist in one hand, while
steadying the contract with the other. Still, she could swear she
felt his fingers wriggling in her sex. “Sign, and receive your
heart’s desire.”
~ ~ ~
In
the spirit of Walpurgisnacht, I offer you Damned If You Do—BDSM
erotic romance that just might tempt you to the dark side.
Get
your copy here:
Barnes
&
Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/damned-if-you-do-lisabet-sarai/1126292735?ean=2940157395711
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