Friday, December 31, 2021

Releasing the Siren – #NewYears #LettingGo #Sexpot

Corset laces

One of my rituals is to start the new year by putting things that have become chaotic in order, or getting rid of things I’ve decided I don’t need. I might organize my desk drawers, or sift through my hundreds of earrings to pull out the ones I haven’t worn in years, or do yet another purge on our constantly expanding book collection.

This year, though, I’ve tackled something more emotionally fraught. I decided it’s time to let go of my sexy costumes and lingerie.

Although I never considered myself a slut (others might have disagreed), sometimes I liked to dress like one. Back when I was a hottie, I loved short, tight dresses with plunging necklines or long skirts slit to the waist. I’d wear garter belts with stockings, or thigh-high stay-ups, or fishnets with an open crotch. When Adam & Eve or Frederick’s of Hollywood had a sale, I had trouble resisting. Gradually I acquired a collection of attire appropriate for intimate parties or sex clubs or private photo shoots. Occasionally, I’d get the chance to model one of these outfits. The rest of the time, they hung in my closet or sat in a drawer, but knowing I could dig them out and try them on always gave me a thrill.

When I moved from the U.S. to Asia almost twenty years ago, I brought most of this with me. I couldn’t bear to leave it behind. Opportunities to wear any of my erotic finery became increasingly rare, but I cherished it as part of my identity, my alter-ego Lisabet hiding inside the staid college professor.

The past year rudely confronted me with my age, however. In the wake of breaking my arm last July, I felt fragile, weak, scared and suddenly much older. I lost a lot of weight. My knees were knobby. My scars were livid. My butt started to sag. Even my perennially perky breasts were noticeably drooping.

I’m feeling much stronger now. I’ve been exercising to build up my muscles and I’m closer to my ideal weight. Still, I’ve been forced to recognize that although my husband still likes to look at me naked, nobody in the world is ever going to want to see a woman in her later sixties in a corset or a see-through bodysuit. I wouldn’t want to see myself – it would be a bit too painful a comparison with the days when I was an unwitting sex goddess.

Not that I’m bitter; I’m incredibly grateful for all the fun I had when I was younger. Nostalgic would be a more accurate description. You can’t hold on to the past, no matter how you try, but darn, I loved pretending to be a sexpot.

Anyway, earlier today I pulled out the drawers and the plastic boxes, sorted through the contents, and put most of my lingerie in a bag to be discarded. As I did, I was flooded with memories. There was the sparkly, stretchy, translucent mini-dress I wore to Le Trapeze sex club in New York. I found the strapless long-line bra I bought for my “creature of the night” costume one Halloween, and the red-laced Merry Widow from an old friend’s Halloween bash, when my husband and I came as a team of sex researchers. 

Halloween: Creature of the Night

Perhaps most poignant was the black satin corset that I bought to entice my Master on one of his visits. He and I disagree as to whether he actually ever saw it. I fictionalized that rendezvous in my story “Reunion” (in my collection Bound and Breathless), and now I’m not sure how much of what I remember is fantasy rather than reality.

It all went into the bag, along with a gorgeous purple satin bustier, unopened packages of suspender pantyhose, and a see-through black lace chemise and shorts set that I purchased but never used.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this bag. It’s not the sort of thing you can donate to the Salvation Army, even if we had them in my country. I’m pretty confident I can find a taker though. I have some young friends who might well be interested.

Meanwhile, I admit that I feel brave and virtuous, letting go of this part of my past. Life is constant change. Buddhism tells us that attachment lies at the root of suffering. I want to move on to the next joy.

I don’t need those physical talismans of the sexy siren I once was. I remember. I’m thankful. That’s enough.

Tuesday, December 28, 2021

You have no idea of the wickedness – #MFRWHooks #Steampunk #99Cents

The Pornographer's Apprentice Sale banner

Welcome to this week’s edition of the MFRW Book Hooks blog hop. Today I have a quick snippet from The Pornographer’s Apprentice, Book 1 in my series The Toymakers Guild. It’s still on sale for only 99 cents at all outlets – but that special price is only valid for another week or so!


She wants to build sex toys... if they'll let her.

In prudish, patriarchal Victorian England, nineteen year old prodigy Gillian Smith finds a secret society dedicated to the erotic arts. She’ll need both her intellect and her physical charms to earn the permanent position she craves.

If you like steam punk erotica with a kinky feminist bent, you'll love The Pornographer's Apprentice.



The Hook

Hey! You! Where are you going? Come down here this instant!”

With a flash of guilt, Gillian whirled away from the filthy paintings. Two young men stood in the hallway appraising her. She straightened her spine, raised her head high, and descended with as much dignity as she could muster.

I’m very sorry. I called out, but there didn’t seem to be anyone here.”

How’d you get in?” asked the dark-haired chap, who didn’t have quite enough flesh on his bones to match his considerable height.

I entered the passcode.” She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.

What?” the fairer one exploded. “Who told you the code? Have you been spying?”

I worked it out.” She flashed him a smug smile. “I mean, when I realised that the nautilus was a Fibonacci spiral, it was obvious.”

The two looked at one another, apparently struck dumb with amazement. Finally the lanky one spoke. “To our knowledge, no one has ever guessed the code before.”

Especially not a girl,” added the other.

I’m not a girl,” she snapped. “I’m an engineer. And it wasn’t a guess, it was a rational deduction.”

Another period of silence ensued, during which urgent, wordless communication passed between the two. Gillian used the time to examine her interrogators. They appeared to be a few years older than she. Both were casually dressed, in shirt sleeves without any sort of collar or cravat. The shorter, rounder one, in particular, looked rather dishevelled. Both were quite handsome, each in his own way. The skinnier one had jet black hair, intense eyes behind wire-framed spectacles, a prominent nose, and surprisingly sensual lips. His companion had a mop of reddish curls, plump cheeks, twinkling blue eyes and a mouth that reminded her of Lettie’s.

What are you doing here, anyway?” The dark one pulled a chair from near the wall and straddled the seat, leaning on the back. “Randerley’s not on the tourist circuit.”

I want to join the Toymakers Guild,” she answered simply.

His eyebrows shot up. “You hear that, Archie? She wants to join the Guild!”

Indeed, Ian. I hear it but I don’t believe it.” The redhead donned an expression of mock concern. “Young lady, you’d best leave quickly, while your virtue is intact. You have no idea of the wickedness that goes on here.”

Oh, but I do.” She stalked across over to the entrance, retrieved the catalogue from the table and let the volume fall open randomly. Drawings of naked men and women cavorted on the thick, creamy paper. The women wore extravagant phalluses strapped to their loins. The men had horsetails embedded in their arseholes and leather bits in their mouths. She flipped to the next page, which displayed an artefact resembling a loom, but with gears and dials, tubes and gauges, and a whole row of artificial dicks. On the next page, a life-sized automaton of jointed brass stood waiting to spring into motion. The figure had the face and breasts of a woman, but also sported a substantial leather-clad penis.

Where’d you get that?” Ian tried to snatch the book away from her, but she managed to elude him. “Only our premier customers receive copies of the catalogue…”

I presume my uncle must have been a customer at one time.” Indeed, Gillian had often wondered when and how George had acquired the forbidden volume. It must have been before he married her sanctimonious aunt. “In any case, I know about the Guild and what you produce. I want to enrol as an apprentice.”

Hmm – we don’t have any girls as apprentices.” Ian stressed the inflammatory word, just to annoy her. She restrained herself, with difficulty, from slapping him. After all, she needed the good will of these gentlemen if she was to be accepted. “Girls need to stay pure for their husbands. Here in the Guild we tend to get pretty dirty.”

I’m anything but pure.” Gillian chuckled. “I probably know more about sex than you do. For example, I’m an expert in tribadism.” As she’d expected, the two looked blank.

Rave Reviews for The Pornographer’s Apprentice

There are many more plot points, but I don't want to spoil your enjoyment of this book. It has varied and steamy sex scenes that will take your breath away, a plucky heroine who doesn't always come out on top (ahem), but who always prevails in her quest to be accepted as a Toymaker. ~ Fiona McGier, Goodreads

With thoughtfully written characters, hot sex scenes, and a well-paced and interesting plot, the Toymaker's Apprentice leaves you asking only one question....when is the next book in the series coming out? ~ The Phantom Tollbooth, Amazon

[A] fast paced, hilarious, and thoroughly entertaining story as Gillian gets intimate with the staff and technology, only to find that there is a plot against the Guild that she takes on to save the day. I can’t wait to read what happens in the next book! ~ Arthur Royo, Amazon

Buy Links

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Amazon US

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Get your copy of this full length novel, normally $4.99, while it is still on sale! And don’t forget to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!



Monday, December 27, 2021

Review Tuesday: The Forest God’s Favor – #MMRomance #FantasyRomance #ReviewTuesday

The Forest God's Favor cover

The Forest God’s Favor by AT Lander

Pride Publishing, 2021

Greek farmer Cleon, his family and the rest of his rural village are facing famine. Their crops won’t sprout. Their chickens won’t lay eggs. Fruit withers on the vine. Obviously Lord Dryas, the forest god responsible for fertility, must be angry. Not that this would be unusual. Dryas is potent but ill-tempered, greedy for worship and brutal in taking the villager’s offerings – the cream of their young men and women.

Still, Cleon knows that Dryas must be placated, and he is by far the best suited to serve as a sacrifice. Although he’s quite old to slake Dryas’ hunger for succulent teen-aged flesh, he is unmarried and has ample experience loving men, which he hopes will make the god’s violation less punishing.

When he presents himself at the forest shrine, however, he finds no trace of the towering, antlered form he so dreads. It appears that Dryas has abandoned his responsibilities to his younger brother Anthos, a slender, shy creature who has been raised to believe he’s useless. In particular, Anthos has no idea how to kindle new life in the fields and the forests, because he has never experienced sexual communion and knows nothing of its life-giving magic. A virginal fertility god is something of an oxymoron.

Fortunately, Cleon is well-equipped to teach Anthos about the joys of sex. Indeed, the man and the god feel an instant connection, both physical and spiritual. Cleon takes on the vacant role of priest to the forest god. Under Cleon’s loving tutelage, Anthos rapidly gains both erotic experience and generative power, and famine turns to abundance. When Dryas reappears at the annual harvest festival and tries to reclaim his oaken throne, Anthos is ready to fight for his people and his beloved mortal partner.

I adored The Forest God’s Favor. It’s searingly erotic as well as deeply spiritual. I have always known that sex is holy and healing, but that’s not a theme that one often finds in erotic romance. It’s so refreshing to read a book that treats sex with respect, without sanitizing it. (Quite the contrary!)

AT Lander made me believe in Anthos, as well as love him. He has a fundamental sweetness, even in the midst of the filthiest coupling. I cheered at his gradual transformation from an insecure fawn to a confident stag. The whole tale is utterly delicious.

I particularly commend the author for allowing Anthos and Cleon to engage in sexual activities with other people. Few romance authors have the courage to brave the opinions of straight-laced readers who will complain about the characters’ “cheating”. In this story, external dalliances do not threaten their bond, but rather make it stronger. I also loved the gleeful bisexuality of the god. Of course a fertility deity must embrace both feminine and the masculine energies in order to keep the earth in balance.

Traditional romance readers may not like this book. They may decide it breaks too many rules. In my opinion, though, this exquisite romance was pretty close to perfect.


Saturday, December 25, 2021

Charity Sunday for Peace on Earth – #CharitySunday #ChristmasPeace #FreeBook

Charity Sunday banner

Yesterday, of course, was Christmas, a festival dedicated to “peace on earth, goodwill to men”. If only we could make that promise a reality, everywhere, every day.

As a step in that direction, my Charity Sunday post today supports the American Friends Service Committee, a remarkable organization that works to sow the seeds of peace in our divided world. AFSC promotes non-violent activism in areas from immigration and prison reform to anti-militarism and economic justice. It’s not just the causes they embrace that makes the organization so special – it is their methods: mediation, consultation, education, dialogue. Inspired by the Quaker belief that each of us carries a spark of divinity within us, AFSC recognizes that treating the opposition as “the enemy” is ultimately self-defeating.

Anyway, on this last Charity Sunday of 2021, I will donate two dollars to AFSC’s peace-building efforts for every comment I receive.

Meanwhile, I have an excerpt from my mature holiday romance Cherry Pie and Mistletoe, which features the special peace of a snowy winter night. By the way, you can get a copy of this book free on Smashwords.

Just go here:

Choose to purchase the book (you can get any ebook format you want) and enter the coupon code DX85Y. The price will drop to zero. The coupon expires at the end of 2021, so don’t dawdle!


At ten thirty on a stormy Christmas Eve, a half-frozen long haul trucker wandered in to my diner. He really needed some hot coffee, not to mention a slice of my luscious cherry pie.

His chocolate-brown eyes and ready laugh spun me back to my scandalous, sensual younger days. I hadn’t wanted anyone in years, but I wanted him. Was I brave enough to act on my desire?


His eyes fluttered open. He filled his lungs, then let the breath out in a long sigh and grinned.

That was some Christmas present, Marnie.”

I clambered off his prone body, my joints protesting. I’d pay for this tomorrow, but at the moment I didn’t care. I slipped into the seat on the opposite side of the table. The taste of cum lingered in my mouth. I licked my lips. “Well, I certainly enjoyed it.”

He levered himself up to a sitting position and shrugged off the heavy outerwear. Reaching across the table, he took my hand. “Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

I shrugged, still aroused but also embarrassed by my boldness. “Seemed like the right thing to do…”

Really, you have no idea how long it’s been—since a woman touched me.” His rugged face looked serious. “And I had no idea how much I needed that, how much I’d missed it.”

Unable to meet his gaze, I stared at our linked fingers, stretched out on the scarred Formica. “Yeah,” I murmured. “Me too.”

With a knuckle under my chin, he raised my face until I had no choice but to look at him. “I want to repay the favor,” he said. Glints of gold sparked in his chocolate eyes.

That’s not necessary,” I murmured. My voice sounded hoarse, strained. I was suddenly all too aware of how selfish I’d been, delaying his departure. I had to let him go. “Accept my gift with good grace and leave.” Annoying tears blurred my vision. I shook my head to dash them away. “You’ve got deadlines, after all.”

I want give you pleasure. The way you did me.” He rose, rounded the booth, pulled me to my feet and back into his arms. My guilt melted in the warmth of that embrace. My embarrassment fled. My lips were already parted when he bent to kiss me.

Oh, my, this man knew how to kiss! Gentle but sure, with a quiet intensity that sent little shivers up my spine, he explored my mouth. He took his time, as though he were trying to memorize every texture, every taste. I worried briefly that he’d detect the bitter remnants of his own cum. A flood of emotion swept that thought away. I needed him, inside me. Wanted him, with an urgency that astonished me.

How long had it been since I’d had a lover? My brain fogged with lust, I couldn’t recall, but it had been years. Caring for my dad, handling everything after he passed, dealing with all the day-to-day details of running a business, I hadn’t had much time to think about my own desires.

Dave broke the kiss. Regret flashed through me. “I want to taste you,” he told me, as he urged me back onto the bench where I’d sucked his cock. He wrestled awkwardly with the zipper of my jeans.

Wait! Just a minute. This is silly. We’re not teenagers. We need a bed.”

He chuckled. “There’s a sleep cubby behind the cab of my rig, but we’d be packed in like sardines. I actually think the booth’d be more comfortable.”

I giggled. “I did have sex in the back of an eighteen wheeler once, when I was hitching to the West Coast. A long time ago… Anyway, that won’t be necessary. Come home with me.”

Huh? What about the truck?”

Leave it here. My house is just down the road. An easy walk.” I clambered off the bench. “Give me a sec to close things up here and we can go.”

Bushy eyebrows knotted together, Dave looked doubtful. “You sure, Marnie? You wanna bring a total stranger into your home?”

You’re no stranger,” I replied, turning off the coffee machine and flipping light switches. “You ate my pie.” I stepped into the kitchen to lock the back door and grab my jacket. “And I ate your cock,” I added , when I’d rejoined him in the main room of the diner. “I’d say we were pretty well acquainted.”

I left the little Christmas tree on, its lights twinkling through the fogged windows, but shut down the main sign. The neon Indian chief above the steel plated roof faded into darkness. Hand in hand, Dave and I stepped out of the vestibule, into the calm, cold night.

The wind had died and, as predicted, the messy precipitation of earlier had turned to snow. White flakes tumbled around us like feathers after a pillow fight. They landed on my cheeks, each one a tiny, icy prickle on my warm skin. I filled my lungs with the clean, frigid air, feeling more alive than I could remember.

Please leave a comment and take a stand for a more peaceful world. Don’t forget to download your free book. And I do hope you will visit the other authors participating in today’s Charity Sunday!

May your days be merry and bright!

Thursday, December 23, 2021

A worthy sacrifice - #LGBTQI #FantasyRomance #Giveaway @ATLanderWrites

The Forest God's Favor cover

Book Description

Can the love of a man heal the heart of a god?

Fertility god Anthos, a shy and gentle three-hundred-year-old virgin, has grown up in the shadow of his brutal older brother Dryas and spent his life hiding from mortals, no matter how much his nature draws him to them.

Cleon, a humble farmer who always has room in his heart and his bed, knows that Lord Dryas is angry. The crops aren’t growing, and his family is going to starve if he doesn’t give the god a worthy sacrifice—his own body. But when he reaches the shrine, he finds a very different god, the sweet, untouched Anthos.

Eager to satisfy Anthos’ curiosity, Cleon shows him what sex is…and what a relationship between them could be, with their instant attraction blooming into love. But when Dryas returns with a vengeance and Cleon’s life hangs in the balance, Anthos is forced to make a choice.

Will he bow once more before his brother’s rage, or take a stand for the only man who has ever had faith in him?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of abusive behavior, double penetration, voyeurism, exhibitionism and violence.


Cleon’s heart sank as he walked the rows of his family’s field, scanning for a single green shoot and finding none. The barley was two weeks late for sprouting—if it didn’t start growing soon, his family would starve come winter.

Anything?” his little sister Amara asked as he left the field. Her hands were wringing the fabric of her peplos skirt even as her eyes said she knew the answer.

Not one,” he said. “Any eggs from the chickens?”

Not one,” she echoed. “The gods must be angry at us.”

That was the only explanation Cleon could think of, too. Dryas, their local fertility and forest god, was known for his temper. It would take very little provocation for him to withdraw his blessings.

The family gathered in front of their modest farmhouse, worried faces gazing at their patriarch. Cleon, the eldest son and the only one unmarried, glanced at the other members of the household. Amara sat beside him, while his twin younger brothers sat with their wives, both of whom were pregnant with their first children. They had no servants, no field hands, just them.

We have to beg Lord Dryas for his forgiveness,” their father said, pacing back and forth. “Someone must go to the shrine and pay tribute. Whatever it takes, this curse on our farm must be lifted!”

W-whatever it takes?” Amara asked nervously.

Yes,” their father said gravely, words heavy with guilt. “Whatever it takes.”

His children looked at one another, eyes wide with anxiety. They wouldn’t say it out loud for fear of angering the god, but they knew what their father was asking. Dryas’ tastes in tribute were usually carnal and never kind. None of them had any illusions about what would happen to whoever went to plead their case, but there was no other option.

Cleon looked from face to face. Neither of his brothers had any taste for men, and it would be cruel to send either of their wives to such a fate, especially pregnant as they both were. As for Amara, the thought made his stomach twist in disgust. There was only one choice.

I’ll go,” he said, getting to his feet.

Are you sure?” Amara asked. “You know what—what he’ll do to you.”

I know,” Cleon said, trying to sound brave. “But I’ve been with men, so it won’t be so bad for me as it would be for one of you.”

It was weak reasoning, but none of the others had anything better. Cleon was tall and strong, hardy enough to take some punishment and tan from hard labor in the sun. He was no Adonis, but he’d been called ruggedly handsome by past lovers, and he’d earned every muscle on his arms and chest. Dryas preferred pretty youths and maidens over men in their late twenties, but hopefully the god would accept his tribute anyway.

Cleon bathed in the river, combed his black hair and trimmed his short beard, brown eyes watching his reflection in a still pool. He prepared his body as best he could with slick oil and shaking fingers, hoping to reduce the inevitable pain. Finally, he donned their newest, finest tunic, the one Amara had woven and each of his brothers had worn for their weddings, and picked up their offerings with white-knuckled hands. There was nothing left to do but go.

Cleon gave his family the bravest smile he could muster, and they smiled back with pinched, anxious faces—all save his father, whose eyes were solemn and dark with guilt, and Amara, who was crying in his arms. Cleon squared his shoulders and turned resolutely toward the woods. He would face any terror and endure any hardship, if only he could save his loved ones from starvation.

The worn dirt path led deep into the forest, twisting and turning on the way to the shrine. Dappled light slipped through the swaying branches as chittering squirrels fled his passage to peer down at him from the trees.

He suppressed a shiver. These woods were old and sacred, the domain of a cruel and capricious god. At least Lord Dryas didn’t like live animal sacrifices—Cleon would hate to make this trek with a squawking, struggling chicken in his arms. Instead, he had a small jug of spiced wine, a half-dozen honey cakes and his own body…no matter how meager his offerings, they would have to be enough.

He had been to the shrine before as part of the harvest festival, placing the fruits of the year’s labors before the god’s great throne. Those had been times of song and drink and dance, honoring Dryas’ bounty and appeasing his temper with revelry and praise. The god had always chosen one or more young worshippers for his pleasure, and the thought made Cleon nearly sick. It always took them days to recover, if not weeks, and their eyes remained haunted for far, far longer.

This time the shrine was empty, the ring of marble pillars standing silent around the sacred oak. At the base was the god’s throne, grown out of the living wood, made for a nine-foot giant of a being. Cleon could remember looking up at him during the last festival—his eyes dark and cold, his legs those of a black deer and his antlers spreading like ancient, gnarled branches.

Hello?” Cleon called, looking around for the shrine’s priest. The little hut next to the sacred circle was empty, but that shouldn’t have been a surprise. Lord Dryas tended to discard his priests when they turned twenty-five, and he must not have found a new one yet. It seemed like Cleon would have to beg for divine intervention on his own.

He walked to the stone altar and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he kindled the sacred flames. He doused the honey cakes in wine then fed them to the fire. The offerings were more than his family could really afford, but still they seemed too little. Finally, Cleon knelt before the great throne, pressing his forehead to the grass and trying to look as humble and pathetic as possible.

Oh Lord Dryas, god of the forest and the field,” he prayed. “I beg your forgiveness! Whatever sin my family or I have committed against you, I humbly offer these gifts to appease your wrath.”

There was a deep, terrifying silence broken only by the blood pounding in Cleon’s ears. He dug his fingers into the grass, eyes squeezed shut, praying with all his might. If Dryas didn’t answer—

Uh…yeah…” The voice was so small and hesitant that Cleon almost missed it. “Not your fault, really…”

Cleon’s head snapped up and he scanned the treeline. He didn’t see the speaker at first, looking for a taller shape, but when he finally found him…

Oh gods, the young man was exactly Cleon’s type. He looked to be twenty or a little younger, cute and small and beardless, with willowy arms and a bare, slender chest. His eyes were a vivid green against sun-bronzed skin dusted with faint freckles, and his light brown curls looked delightfully soft. He was blushing prettily, shifting from foot to foot and biting his full, kissable lower lip.

Um, hello,” Cleon said when he could remember how words worked. He struggled to stay on task—he was here to save his family, not get distracted by a pretty face. “I don’t suppose you know where the forest god is?”

That’s the thing,” the youth said, ducking his head bashfully. “I kind of…am the forest god?”

Cleon frowned at him. The young man might be cute, but he was clearly delusional. Yes, the gods could take other forms, but the idea of Lord Dryas becoming so small and adorable was ridiculous.

I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” Cleon said. “Lord Dryas is not known for his merc—”

He stopped, eyes widening as the young man stepped out into the clearing on slender, delicate hooves. Deer hooves, just like Lord Dryas’. Unlike Dryas, though, his flanks were dappled with faint white spots and tawny brown to match his hair. What Cleon had assumed to be branches above the youth’s head revealed themselves to be antlers, short and nubby and covered in soft-looking velvet.

Cleon’s heart plummeted like a stone. This was no mortal boy, or even a common satyr. There was an aura about him—the trees leaning in just a little to bask in his presence, the sunlight glowing off his skin. He might be different from Dryas, but there was no denying that Cleon was in the presence of a god.

Please forgive me, great one!” he cried, groveling once more in sudden terror. He already had one god angry at him and he wouldn’t survive a second. “I had no idea—I am so sorry—”

No, don’t be,” the youth said, sounding weary and miserable. “I’m a pretty terrible god, to be honest.”

What do you mean, my lord?” Cleon asked, daring to raise his eyes from the grass. The godling was shifting awkwardly from hoof to hoof, not looking at Cleon.

Your farm,” he said. “It’s my fault nothing’s growing. My big brother left last month and I…well…”

You mean Lord Dryas?” Cleon asked.

The youth nodded, biting his lower lip in an adorable way, and Cleon couldn’t help a twinge of relief. His farm was still in trouble, but at least this god seemed willing to help.

I’ve been trying, I really have,” the godling said, running his hands through his hair. The gesture revealed adorable little pointed ears, and Cleon had to fight to stay focused. “I just don’t know how to make it work!”

My lord—” Cleon started, sitting back up on his knees.

Anthos, please.” The god ducked his head. “I’m not used to…it feels weird.”

Anthos,” Cleon said, “what exactly is the problem?”

Anthos sighed, walking over and sitting on the grass a few feet from Cleon. He pulled his fuzzy knees up to his chest, hugging them close and staring at the ground.

I’m a fertility god,” Anthos explained. “I’m in charge of new life, new growth…or I am now. My brother took care of things for so many centuries that I never learned how to do it. Now he’s gone, it’s my job, and I can’t do anything.”

He never taught you?” Cleon asked.

We’re not Olympians!” Anthos cried, eyes flicking up to Cleon and face turning bright red. “Only the highest gods do…that with their siblings.”

Oh,” Cleon said, blushing too. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean—”

No, no, it’s fine,” Anthos said, dropping his gaze again. “But that’s the problem—it requires personal experience. I can’t make things fertile until I’ve, you know…had sex.”

Oh,” Cleon breathed. His heart was beating faster now, his throat going dry as he stared at Anthos. “Would a mortal do? A man?”

Yeah,” Anthos said with a mirthless little chuckle, “if anyone wanted me. Big brother always said nobody would want to sleep with a puny, pathetic runt.”

Rage flared up in Cleon, all the hotter for its rarity. He’d revered and feared Lord Dryas all his life, burying resentment deep in his heart. The gods could be cruel or kind to mortals—that was their right—but this? The thought of treating his own siblings like this made Cleon ball his hands into fists, and a lifetime of suppressed hatred boiled over. For the first time in his life, he spoke ill of a god.

You’re not a runt!” Cleon cried. “Your brother was a cruel bastard! He made whole families starve…he set wolves on their flocks and took any man or woman he pleased! I bet he cut down your confidence because he was scared of you. Anyone would prefer a god like you over him!”

R-really?” Anthos gasped, looking up with wide, shocked eyes.

As long as you don’t send a famine when there aren’t enough dancing girls at your festival,” Cleon said, belly clenching in remembered hunger. “We worshipped him because we were afraid, but nobody liked him.”

And you…you like…me?” Anthos asked, voice soft and hopeful.

Cleon opened his mouth then closed it again, unsure of what to say. His flirting experience said this was going pretty well, but how was he supposed to proposition a god? He was just a farmer, rough and rugged and no great beauty. Anthos was so out of his league it wasn’t even funny.

Still, in for an obol, in for a drachma. The god didn’t seem like the type to curse someone for asking, and if he said yes…

I like you a lot,” Cleon said earnestly, “and I’d really like to kiss you.”

I…” Anthos licked his lips, his gaze lowering. “I’d like that too.”

Cleon scooted forward slowly, like he was approaching a skittish deer. He reached out to cup one cheek, tawny-gold and warm. Sun-dappled lashes fluttered, the godling’s green eyes falling closed as he leaned in with bated breath.

The first kiss was soft and gentle, just a chaste brush of lips. It was a little thing, but it still sent a thrill through Cleon, a surge of desire. His body knew what Anthos was, something wild, ancient and divine. By the time they pulled away, his cock was hard and twitching.

Anthos let out a soft little sigh when they parted. He gave Cleon a shy smile, nervous and sweet.

Again?” he asked, as though Cleon might say no. Could say no.

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About the Author

AT Lander has loved stories, both the reading and the telling, since she was a child. Born in upstate New York to an English professor and a former librarian, she now lives in the queerest part of Massachusetts. She never leaves home without a knitting project or a pencil, and she’s never met a cat she doesn’t like.

She has worked as an history museum guide, a professional storyteller, and an actress, sharing tales of what was, what could have been, and what can only be imagined. World mythology is her driving passion, as what better way to understand a people than through the tales they tell?

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Wednesday, December 22, 2021

The Bimbo, the Witch and the Warrior: Splendificent XXX-MAS 2 by Dacy Alex – #Erotica #Humor #Christmas

The Bimbo, Thw Witch and the Warrior cover

Today I’m sharing the latest wild story by my creative young colleague Dacy Alex. It’s definitely XXX (though the excerpt below is relatively tame). It’s also flat out hilarious!


This Christmas it’s an all-out, elf-on-elf war, with a gullible but delectable elven princess as the ultimate prize!

Way up in the North Pole, Santa Claus knows he’s the Man. After all, what's Christmas without Santa and his helpers? But his "little dudes" aren't the only elves on the planet. A Scandinavian family of royal
elves rules Golden Land, and these exquisite creatures are stealing all Santa's press.

The lascivious, leggy Princess Tristabelle Elvrina is the most popular of these pointy-eared dignitaries. "Slippery when wet" signs line her path due to her countless drooling followers.

Santa's not about to put up with competition, especially from a ditzy blonde whose skimpy little outfits barely contain her considerable charms. He orders his little dudes to capture and conquer Tristabelle,
to humble the haughty royal and pour some frosting on her Christmas cookies.

The other Elvrinas barely tolerate one another, but with their youngest sister kidnapped, they must come together to rescue her toned butt. Easier said than done when the team includes Maggie, an incompetent,
prank-playing witch; Astrid, a ball-busting but sexually susceptible warrior princess; Rodgir, an adulterous rouge; and Gorick, an arrogant psychopath who considers himself the most dangerous creature on earth.

Will the Elvrina siblings put aside their made-for-reality show bickering to save their sister from becoming Santa's sex slave? Are the littlest guys in the world packing the biggest? Will Tristabelle freeze
her tush off in her barely-there bikini? And how does Santa fit all those presents in that tiny sleigh?

Come spend your holidays in the outrageous world of the Splendificent tales and find out!


Golden Land’s population consisted primarily of elves, few of whom claimed to be Christians. That didn’t stop the witches, werewolves, vampires and sorcerers from lavishing Princess Tristabelle with Christmas presents every year. Astrid had just toppled over a stuffed polar bear before deciding it was time to find baby sister and make her organize her jumbled array of toys, trinkets, and magical artifacts.

Before Princess Tristabelle could further protest about cleaning, a stout, long-serving werewolf eunuch servant from Iceland approached the princesses.

Forgive the interruption, Your Highnesses, but this Christmas letter was just delivered for you, Princess Tristabelle.”

A werewolf eunuch was just one of the many curiosities in Hildegarde Palace. While most male werewolves hosted great pride in their members this man voluntarily disposed of his. Alas, it was the only way for him to tolerate so much sculpted Elvrina girl ass.

So impressed was King Fenrisson he bronzed the werewolf’s cock and presented it to him on a full moon.

How delightful!” the golden-haired princess exclaimed as she took the letter in her dainty fingers.

I understand the joy of Christmas, but give me our Norse holidays where Rodgir throws a wench on the table and gives…uh…a genuine lesson on the kindness of The Wind Gods! Such powerful thrusts…I mean gusts! Gusts!” Astrid commented. “Additionally, our songs are far more entertaining.”

Ignoring her sister, Princess Tristabelle read the message. “Dearest, Tristabelle! Please join us in Solstice Woods so we may bestow upon you a MASSIVE present that is far too, too, too, TOOOOOOOOOOOOO big to deliver to Hildegarde Palace! Signed, your secret admirers. “

Ugh, the tricks are so uncreative today. Who wrote that tripe?” Princess Astrid shook her head in exasperation. “They think rather lowly of your intellect if they believe you would honestly take such weak bait.”

Unfortunately, upon further thought, Astrid realized the self-styled secret admirers probably had an accurate view of Tristabelle’s intellect.. There were guppies in the sea harder to reel in than her gullible sister. She preemptively rolled her purple eyes, knowing full her well her sister was about to say…

A big present? How glorious!”

Come partake of some X-rated Christmas cheer!