Thursday, June 20, 2024

A dark quest of spirit and flesh – #DarkFantasy #Mythology #Giveaway @LukiBelleAuthor

Shakti of the Illuminated Lotus tour banner


In a fictitious, mysterious, and futuristic Earth, the Western and Eastern continents are poised to become entangled in an ancient holy rivalry and epic battle.

The enigmatic and powerful king of Asukhas rules over the technologically, scientifically, and militarily advanced Western Continent, closely guarding his blissfully ignorant population of captive humans.

The golden-haired spirit, Ahankara, is suddenly released from captivity in the void and unleashes a powerful reptile upon the world's oceans.

Associate professor of philosophy Anjali Valpolicella seeks psychotherapy from renowned Western psychologist Dr. AlexanDRA, and their therapy sessions may reveal an important secret to possessing the much-coveted Trident of Kumarun.

In Shakti of the Illuminated Lotus: A Dark, Erotic & Futuristic Fantasy for Adults oceans roil as factions doggedly compete in a dark and erotic quest to find the Trident, hidden by the Eastern continent's divine panthers for centuries. The fate of the World teeters on the brink. Who will possess the Trident? Do they want to use it to gain access to the holy realm of Juwala, or will they use the Trident to destroy the realm and take command of military forces of unimaginable power?


Cousin Ahankara! You escaped!! And with an unconscious Medhani!!” Kunjahl exclaimed and submerged himself in the ocean.

The waves instantly parted away from Kunjahl’s body, and the waters around him suddenly became calm. Kunjahl held up an unconscious Ahankara’s head upon his arms, the golden strands were covering his cousin’s face. Kunjahl gently blew upon the spirit’s face which made the golden hair delicately fall back and undulate upon the water’s surface.

Sol saw the two large golden horns extending and coiling out from the temples of the man’s head. His eyes skewed, the identity of these identical men and the child were not known to him. He repeated their names silently in his mind. Sol marveled at the intuition of the magister, now he understood why Kunjahl wanted to be here tonight by the ocean. Not even the king of the Western Continent was here tonight, despite The Spring being so close to where they were now at the tip of the New East Island. “

"Speak to me, awake my brother, let me hear your voice” Kunjahl spoke gently to the unconscious Ahankara “Tell me how you were released.”

Sol watched as a pair of golden eyes slowly opened and looked up at Kunjahl. The gaze of this man exuded an enchantment that even the likes of Sol could not resist admiring.

A faint smile appeared on Ahankara’s face “Kun-jahl?” he asked in a weak tone.

Yes! Yes, Ahankara it is I and you are safe in my arms now!” the son of Kumarun replied.

About the Author

Author image

Luki Belle works in the media industry. Listening avidly to stories from diverse cultural fiction books read to her by her extended family, storytelling was a fixture from early childhood. Pouring over magnificent and enchanting illustrated books in her family's library, Luki was drawn to the mythology of South Asian Indians, Greeks, and Romans. These diverse mythologies were her strongest inspiration when, many years later, she started penning the first outline for her debut novel, Shakti of the Illuminated Lotus.


Shakti of the Illuminated Lotus book cover

Luki Belle will award a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.


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Wednesday, June 19, 2024

Undeniably male, exquisitely desirable – #PrideMonth #Bisexual #MFRWHooks

Monsoon Fever banner

Welcome to this week’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop.

Pride is about diversity and acceptance—not just accepting the relationships that other people create, but accepting one’s own diverse desires as well.

I’ve penned some titles that are pure MM or FF, but the majority of my books include bisexuality in some form. In fact it seems natural to be attracted to both men and women, because in my view, desire is fundamentally emotional rather than physical. In my own experience, I’ve found I’m attracted to a person, not a body. That person might be male, female, or something else more complicated; it’s ultimately not important, though this will affect the way desire is expressed.

Today I have a snippet from my multicultural romance Monsoon Fever, which provides an example. Jon is not gay, yet he’s attracted to the Indian lawyer who visits his tea plantation. In this excerpt, he’s having a difficult time accepting that.


When a charismatic Indian lawyer arrives at their remote Assamese tea plantation, he tempts a married couple with forbidden carnal delights.

In the early years of their marriage, Priscilla and Jonathan eagerly indulged their physical desires, but now that passion has dwindled. Childlessness and the horrors of the Great War have taken a toll on their relationship. Though Priscilla still aches for Jon’s touch, he seems preoccupied with settling his father’s affairs in India, so they can sell the plantation they’ve inherited and return to England.

Anil Kumar served as solicitor to Jon’s father. Arriving unannounced, drenched by a monsoon deluge, he enchants both Priscilla and Jon with his beauty, poise and wisdom. In separate incidents, each of them succumbs to Anil's lustful attentions. Will the illicit cravings excited by the handsome Indian be the final stroke that destroys their marriage? Or the route to saving it? 


Monsoon Fever cover

The Hook

Jonathan threw open the louvered shutters in the bedroom that his father had converted to his office and library. The rain had trailed off during lunch, and now the early afternoon sunshine streamed in. The fresh-washed air smelled of the earth—mown grass, ripe fruit, animal dung. From here, he could see the tea fields a mile away, the rolling land brilliant emerald after its drenching. He caught a hint of movement, a rippling across the hillside, as if the bushes were rustling in the breeze. But the air was still. It was his small army of workers, filing along the ranks of tea plants, carefully plucking only the top buds and leaves.

Why did he care so much about this harvest? His London factories produced machinery, the engines and boilers that were powering the new century. He was no farmer. Somehow, though, it was important that he complete this task, bring this final harvest to a successful conclusion before selling the plantation. A last symbolic effort to win his father’s approval, perhaps? But his father had never really disapproved of Jonathan. He had merely been absent when Jonathan needed him.

A knock drew him away from the scene at the window. “Come in,” Jonathan called. Kumar glided in on sandaled feet, his casual native costume an odd contrast with the heavy lawyer’s satchel that he set on the desk.

Am I disturbing you?”

No, not at all, Please, make yourself comfortable,” Jon gestured at an armchair at the side of the desk.

Kumar seated himself, and began pulling folios of papers out of his case. He did look comfortable, perfectly at ease despite his attire. Jon shrugged off the impractical jacket he had donned for lunch and hung it on his chair back. No cause for formality here.

So. You said my father had other business interests. I’m a bit surprised. This plantation was all that he ever mentioned in his letters.”

The plantation was his home, the focus of his life. He loved it here. However, he also owned a jute factory, a cotton mill, and several apartment buildings in Calcutta, as well as a pilgrim’s hostel in Varanasi.”

A pilgrim’s hostel?”

Your father went to bathe in the Ganges every year.”

You can’t be serious! I’ve heard that it’s unbelievably filthy…”

Kumar smiled gently. “Earthly concerns such as hygiene are not a concern of those seeking enlightenment.”

Jon snorted his astonishment. “Enlightenment? My father? He was a businessman, not a mystic. ”

The two are not necessarily mutually exclusive.” Kumar laid a long-fingered hand on Jon’s arm. “India changes people, Jon. It reveals their true natures.”

Jon found himself caught in the Indian’s beneficent gaze. The man’s eyes drew him in more deeply. He searched Kumar’s face, trying to understand the odd stirring in his heart and in his loins. The man was bloody beautiful, that was the truth of it, with that noble brow, those liquid brown eyes, that ripe mouth. His height, his broad shoulders, and the muscled curve of his bare forearm were undeniably male, but in his face Jon found something feminine, something exquisitely desirable.

With an effort, Jon tore his eyes away and forced his mind back to business. He reached for a handful of papers. “Let me see the details.”

Kumar laid out the first folio in front of Jon. “Here are the accounts for the jute company. As you can see, it has been a moderately profitable enterprise. Last year it cleared forty percent more than in 1917.”

The Indian leaned over to point out the relevant figures. Jon couldn’t help but notice the man’s scent, some spicy, aromatic perfume that made him momentarily light-headed. The scent was somehow familiar. It had the strange and alarming effect of causing Jon’s penis to harden.

Well—the war…” Jon struggled to retain his composure. “I’m sure that the international situation…”

Of course, you’re right,” Kumar agreed smoothly. If he noticed Jon’s discomfiture, he did not show it. “Do you want to see the detailed revenue and expense statements?”

No, no, I’ll take them and look at them later. Just give me the ownership transfer documents for now.”

Kumar leaned closer, leafing through the folio until he reached the last page. Jon shrunk away, afraid that the native’s body would brush against his own, terrified of his own response if it did.

Monsoon Fever teaser

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Monday, June 17, 2024

Stuck in the dungeon! #Censorship #Monopoly #Erotica

His Inspiration book cover

It’s tough writing and publishing stories with erotic content. In the world of romance, erotic romance is the red-headed step-child, hidden away and spoken of in embarrassed whispers. Authors like me who write explicit romance aren’t considered “clean” or “wholesome”. Even when we provide excerpts that are PG and safe for work, we’re looked upon with suspicion.

Meanwhile those of us who write out-and-out erotica—which I define as fiction focusing on the experience of desire as opposed to love and committed relationships—have a double-barreled problem. On the one hand, we have to tiptoe around the rules of the different publishers, making sure that we’re above board about the content of our work. Sometimes that even gets us blocked. I recently tried to publish the print version of Incognito on Draft2Digital. I honestly answered their questions about specific erotic themes in my work, only to discover that they refused to accept it. (Probably if I’d twisted the truth, the book would have sailed through.)

On the other, we compete with thousands of hacks who spew out badly-written, plot-less “books” that are nothing but one hackneyed, boring, repetitive sex scene after another. I’m not going to get into one of those endless arguments about erotica versus porn. I’ll just draw a comparison between stories that show craft and care and those that do not. Alas, there are scores of the latter that have been “published”.

Anyway, we walk a tightrope. Stores such as Amazon know that erotic work is really popular, especially with the anonymity provided by ebooks. However, there are always spoilsport customers who will complain. In fact, if Amazon thinks that your book qualifies as indecent, they will hide it in general searches by topic or theme, only making it visible in very specific cases. We authors call this “being in the dungeon”, and it can seriously impact sales.

Unfortunately, once a book is in the dungeon, it’s very difficult to get it released. In fact, Amazon won’t tell you why there’s an issue, so you can remedy the situation. Indeed, they deny that the dungeon even exists.

And if you’re an author, you can’t just thumb your nose at Amazon. They’re not the only game in town, but they dwarf everyone else.

Recently a friend and colleague of mine, Delores Swallows, had two of his books relegated to the dungeon. So far he’s had no luck at all springing them free. Both are well-written, arousing stories in the popular hot-wife genre. They’re explicit but intelligent, with well-defined characters and some fantastic dialogue. Not to mention, of course, great sex scenes.

So: if this censorship irks you the way it does me, go check out Del’s books. Maybe you might be tempted to buy a copy.

Thanks for your support!

Sunday, June 16, 2024

Words and Music – #FathersDay #LoveLetters #Legacy

Little girl with a guitar
  Image by Petra from Pixabay

I’ve blogged before about my Dad – how much I loved him and how in many ways he’s responsible for my becoming an author.

Dad was a word guy. Though he was Jewish rather than Irish, he had the classic gift of gab. He could talk to anyone, convincingly, about anything – even topics about which he knew very little. Meanwhile, he wrote for the fun of it, not just stories but also poetry and songs.

But music was in his blood, as well as language. He was playing in a “Big Band” group, along with adults, when he was only ten. Although he never went professional, he was adept at half a dozen instruments and participated in community orchestras throughout his life.

Both the words and the music are his legacy to me. They come together when I write. While I am typing away at my computer, pouring out words, I’m also hearing the melody of the phrases and sentences I create.

I began writing poetry when I was in first grade. These days, I produce prose more often than poem. Read my paragraphs aloud, though, and some of them, at least, sound like blank verse.

Thinking about him today, Father’s Day, I remembered a snippet of his history that you may appreciate. Dad served in the U.S. Air Force during World War II, providing training in aircraft maintenance. Fortunately he didn’t see any combat. Anyway, given his glib sociability, he was apparently quite popular. His fellow servicemen would come to him for assistance when they wanted to contact their distant girlfriends. Before long, my father had a flourishing business writing love letters for his friends.

I wish I could read some of those letters now. I suspect that he was both eloquent and convincing. Meanwhile, I can’t help but be struck by the fact that more than eighty years later, his daughter is still writing about love.

Friday, June 14, 2024

Brit Envy -- #Language #AmWriting #EroticRomance

Union Jack makeup

 Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

Although I now live in Asia, I was born and raised in the U.S.A. Indeed, I’m a true Yankee, having spent most of my life in New England. When it comes to writing, though, I sometimes wish I were a Brit.

I’ve visited the U.K. a number of times: London, Bath, Reading, Carlisle, Devon, York, Scarborough, Glasgow, Edinburgh. Most of what I know about Britain, however, comes from literature. From my earliest years, I devoured English classics, especially from the nineteenth century: Arthur Conan Doyle, the Brontës, Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Bram Stoker and so on. I’ve also been strongly influenced by contemporary British authors like Sarah Waters and William Boyd.

Many of my closest friends in the erotica and romance community hail from the beautiful British Isles. Though the UK is not as relaxed about sex as Sweden or Germany, overall British culture seems less puritanical than American. Indeed, it was a UK company (Black Lace) who published my very first erotic title.

There are expressions in British English that just don’t translate into American, from an emotional perspective. Take, for instance, “shag”, a common term for sex. It’s much less harsh than “fuck”, but more importantly, to me it has a connotation of mutual fun and pleasure that’s missing from a lot of American sexual slang. Shagging is not about “getting some”, or “doing her/him”, or “making it”. It’s not about power games or dominance, and it’s not gendered. Anyone can initiate shagging; anyone can enjoy it.

Another favorite of mine is “chuffed”. When I heard from Black Lace that they wanted to give me a contract for Raw Silk, I was definitely chuffed – excited, expectant, proud, on the edge of bragging.

Then there’s “what are you on about?” I’m not sure why this expression tickles my funny bone, but it does. It’s simultaneously critical and humorous, with (to me) an edge of affection. It has echoes of Monty Python. You wouldn’t say this to a stranger or to an enemy.

So, I love British English. Between writing for UK publishers and hanging out with UK authors, I’ve published a fair number of books in the dialect, including my new release Getaway Girl. This story is set in a small, picturesque village in northern Yorkshire called Kirkby Malzeard (which actually exists). When I originally penned the story, I’d never been to Yorkshire. I just knew it by reputation. Now I am eager to go back and visit the real village, as well as the ancient Devon market town of Tavistock, which features in my alt-Victorian trilogy The Toymakers Guild.

It’s not easy for me, though, to write correct British English. (I will never forget my first editor from Black Lace, replacing all my references to “panties” with “knickers”!) Somehow I can never get the convention straight for building “storeys”, for instance. Fortunately I belong to a stellar critique group which includes several highly accomplished authors of the British persuasion.

If my British English is at all convincing, they’re at least partially responsible. And yeah, it’s easy for them... so I am a bit jealous!

But mostly, I’m just grateful.

Getaway Girl book cover


Be careful what you wish for

All Peg wants is a break, a bit of adventure, a relief from her mundane existence in the bucolic but boring Yorkshire hamlet of Kirkby Malzeard. When dashing, sophisticated journalist Lionel Hayes saunters into the pub where she's tending bar, Peg suspects that he was just the sort of man to fulfill her fantasies of escape.

The seductive Lionel, however, is not what he seems. Before she knows it, Peg is a hostage, roped and gagged, speeding away from the scene of a daring crime. Lionel is armed and dangerous, but somehow Peg still wants him – regardless of the consequences.

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Getaway Girl teaser

Wednesday, June 12, 2024

Trust me, Rafe – #MMRomance #SciFi #PrideMonth #MFRWHooks

The H-Gene cover

Welcome to this week’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop. Continuing with my celebration of Pride Month, I have an excerpt from my dystopian MM science fiction romance The H-Gene. Enjoy!


When love is forbidden, the whole world’s a prison.

Dylan Moore will do anything for freedom. Seven years ago, a gay plague spread to heterosexuals, killing millions and sparking brutal anti-gay riots. The Guardians rounded up men who tested positive for the homogene and imprisoned them in remote quarantine centers like desolate Camp Malheur. Since then, Dylan has hacked the camp's security systems and hoarded spare bits of electronics, seeking some way to escape. He has concluded the human guards are the only weakness in the facility's defenses.

Camp guard Rafe Cowell is H-negative. He figures the lust he feels watching prisoner 3218 masturbate on the surveillance cameras must be due to his loneliness and isolation. When he finally meets the young queer, he discovers that Dylan is brilliant, brave, sexy as hell — and claims to be in love with Rafe. Despite his qualms, Rafe finds he can't resist the other man's charm. By the time Dylan asks for his help in escaping, Rafe cares too much for Dylan to refuse.

Dylan's plan goes awry and Rafe comes to his rescue. Soon they're both fugitives, fleeing from militant survivalists, murderous androids, homophobic ideologues and a powerful man who wants Dylan as his sexual toy. Hiding in the Plague-ravaged city of Sanfran, Dylan and Rafe learn there's far more than their own safety at stake. Can they help prevent the deaths of millions more people? And can Rafe trust the love of a man who deliberately seduced him in order to escape from quarantine?

The Hook

Hours past midnight, they happened on an abandoned gas station. A petrol-powered pickup truck at least twenty years old rusted away in front of the sagging building. The building roof had caved in and shattered glass made the floor treacherous. In the back room, Rafe found a stained mattress where he could rest Dylan’s body. After making sure that the inmate was breathing, Rafe prowled the property, looking for anything useful.

A half-moon provided some much needed illumination. Behind the station he found a pipe rising from the ground, topped by a corroded faucet. It took all his strength, but he finally succeeded in breaking through the mineral crust to turn the handle. Liquid sputtered out, muddy at first but gradually running clean. Rafe filled a battered saucepan he’d found next to an ancient propane burner in the back room. He wanted to boil the water, to sterilize it, but he couldn’t get the stove to light. The knob broke off in his hand when he tried.

A rickety cupboard above the burner held a couple of cans with shredded labels and a glass bottle with two inches of clear liquid. Rafe took out the stopper and sniffed. Gin, or something similar. He took a swig, grimacing at the burn as the liquor flowed into his belly.

Dylan moaned and coughed. Rafe crouched beside the mattress. “I’m here. But this is going to hurt.”

His monofilament shirt was too tough to tear, so he simply removed it. After soaking a sleeve in the saucepan, he dabbed at the blisters on Dylan’s face. Dylan groaned and jerked his head away.

Sorry. You’ve got to hold still, baby.” Rafe rested his left hand on Dylan’s head, both to soothe and restrain him. He continued to clean the sores with his right. His patient whimpered but managed to remain mostly quiet. When he trickled alcohol onto the raw flesh, however, Dylan screamed and thrashed at the pain.

Shh! I know it stings, but it’s the best I can do till we get to a town or something.” The puffiness around Dylan’s eyes had subsided somewhat. In the dim light filtering through the smashed window, Rafe saw the inmate struggling to control his reactions. The younger man held himself motionless while Rafe continued to disinfect his wounds.

Thirsty,” Dylan croaked when Rafe had finished. Rafe held the pot to the other man’s lips and helped him drink. The water seemed to help.

Thank you.” A hint of Dylan’s normal cockiness animated the rasping voice. “You saved my life.

You’re not safe yet, kid.” And neither am I, Rafe thought, suddenly recognizing that he was now as much a fugitive as Dylan. What was I thinking? They’ll track us both down now and lock our asses up forever. If they don’t kill us.

Don’t worry. They won’t catch us.” Dylan was back to his old tricks, apparently reading Rafe’s mind.

Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?”

They don’t care about one queer. Not enough to let people know that one of us actually escaped from quarantine. It would make people question their power.”

What about me? A convicted murderer?”

Once we get to Sanfran, we can disappear.” Dylan’s hand fluttered up to stroke Rafe’s bared chest. “Trust me, Rafe.”

The H-Gene teaser

Buy Links

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Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today's Book Hooks.

Monday, June 10, 2024

Splendificent! An interview with Dusty Blackwood – #UrbanFantasy #NSFW #BoxedSet

Splendificent 1 & 2 cover

By Dacy Alex and Dusty Blackwood (Guest Bloggers)

DACY: Hi, Beyond Romance! I’ve combined my hit, and I use that term as loosely as possible, books Splendificent 1 and Splendificent 2 into one super bundle and added some bonus content to book 1! Now, it’s out and I’d love for you to read it. Love! After all, you the READER, are the reason why I made this bundle. I wanted to give you something of value, a bargain of sorts. Whereas the price of everything else is going up, I’m dragging my price down to two books for the price of one. We could all stand to keep some money in our pocket, and I got you. So tons of thanks to Lisabet for having me back on her blog. And today I’m with the girls from Splendificent….

To Dacy’s left sits one stacked beauty…


Dusty Blackwood portrait

DACY: Dusty? Why is it just you?

DUSTY: Well, why not? You talk with the damn vampire, the queen, the dork, and the gold digger but you can’t talk with the pixie Ol’ Dusty Blackwood?

DACY: Well, Lisabet and I were talking, and we were thinking that maybe the way you speak might come off as threatening to her readers.

DUSTY: Of course it’s threatening, son! I didn’t come to Beyond Romance to smile like a damn dog for these people. You want kindness? Take your ass to Salvation Army. I’m Dusty Blackwood with the Double D’s of the book series Splendificent. And with them Double D’s I deal in two Double Ds.

DACY: I can’t hit the delete key fast enough.

DUSTY: Dicks and Destruction.

DACY: When the book doesn’t sell and I can’t pay my rent I’ll replay this moment over and over again in my mind.

DUSTY: Dacy Alex, I don’t know what the hell these people are reading now but if it ain’t the word of the lord they need to close it up, put it down, pick up Splendificent 1+2, and thank Dusty Blackwood for this piece of advice.

DACY: I guess that wasn’t that threatening. Good job.

DUSTY: Did you know Book One is rewritten with NEVER BEFORE SEEN bonus content? Did ya? We got three extended sex scenes that’ll have the reader flapping their tongue like a blood hound

DACY: Well, yeah I knew about the bonus content. I wrote it.

DUSTY: Don’t back sass me, Dacy Alex, do not back sass me. I ain’t in the mood for it.

DACY: See, this is what Lisabet and I meant. Threatening. What I was trying to say is that people liked Splendificent 1, but they loved Splendificent 2. So I wanted to give Book One that sizzle Book Two had.

DUSTY: I gotta say one last thing before I go. If you do buy Splendificent 1+2 with Dusty Blackwood, bonus content in Book One, more whores than you can shake a dildo at, and you leave a bad review?

DACY: Oh no.

DUSTY: Then you better give your soul to the lord because your ass is MINE!


Hell on Heels and Death by D Cup

This raw and naughty book brings together the first two Splendificent novels in one ENORMOUS package…

Not that type of enormous package!

I swear.

Splendificent 1:

California cutie Giselle Nyfall arrives at the Big Apple to attend liberal arts college Hemera University. But when a computer glitch lands her with four extraordinary young women as roommates Giselle’s sheltered world is blown away.

These Hotties are supernatural aristocracy, the magical one percent: an elf princess who decapitates as well as she pirouettes, the B.B. gun-toting daughter of the Tooth Fairy, a glamorous and gold-digging fox spirit with thickness in all the right places, and a vampire-succubus hybrid with a bad gambling problem and a blood-soaked family tree.

This Hot Squad uncovers a demonic curse threatening New York City’s human elite orchestrated by denizens of the Christian Hell. The only cure? The five stunners themselves!

Splendificent 2:

The Hot Squad members must battle supernatural mercenaries, contend with a portal to the underworld, avoid demonic death traps and thwart a nefarious prince hellbent on fulfilling an ancient prophecy and bringing on the death of one Squad member who happens to be his sister. All difficult assignments when they’re constantly losing their skimpy clothes and falling into the arms of hot studs and each other!

Will Giselle and her voluptuous companions come together to triumph over the forces of evil? Does the family that slays together stay together? Find out in the sexy, hilarious and politically incorrect Splendificent 2!

WARNING: This book is absolutely not for anyone under the age of 18! You, Mister 17 years and 364 days old? Move along, son, move along.


The bar was a seedy dive that smelled like sweat, wood, and disappointment.

And a little bit like mushrooms! Giselle had a Princess Peach joke on deck for Princess Tristabelle, but just couldn't connect the punch line.

The grimy walls were adorned with stuffed hunting trophies and neon beer signs, casting an ominous red glow over the patrons, mostly rednecks and townies, who all felt decidedly un-New York. Some of them, with wild manes of hair, fierce eyes, seemed decidedly un-human!

All eyes in the room zeroed in on them, and Giselle could practically feel the greasy stares of the horny bastards ogling her thicc ass as she strolled in. She tried not to squeal under the hungry stares, but these dude sure knew how to make a girl feel like she was one prime grade piece of meat

"We're straight outta a damn centerfold!" Dusty bragged to Giselle

Dusty sauntered up to the bar, her southern drawl whipping through the dimly-lit den, the world's smallest dominatrix. She barked orders to the small female bartender with perky breasts, "Five chocolate milks! Don't go easy on the chocolate. I'll know, son!"

Watching Dusty work, Giselle couldn't keep her eyes off her friend's juicy ass in cut off shorts, sashaying with a confidence that made the frigid bullies from high school back home seem like pathetic kittens. Giselle could practically sense the barflies hard-ons twitching with each sway of Dusty's hips, and it was both thrilling and amusing.

The bimbo royal, Tristabelle pranced alongside Dusty, her purple eyes agape like she'd just seen a money-shot for the first time. Clearly, this bar was a far cry from the soirees and balls she was used to twirling and pirouetting around at as a real-life Disney princess. Giselle could practically see the bratty bitch's high-and-mighty pussy clenching, trying to decide if this dive was good enough for her long legs to spread em wide.

Tristabelle wore a sparkling tight shirt that looked like it was painted on her lithe body. Her big, bouncy cannonballs were almost visible, and Giselle wondered how they didn't just burst out of that shirt. The royal bitch's tight golden booty shorts showcased her tanned ass cheeks, and her long legs went on for millennia. Giselle imagined what it would be like once again to rub her hands over those smooth legs, and bite at those juicy buttocks. She could almost taste the sweet honey of Tristabelle's sweet muffin in her mouth, and Giselle found herself drooling.

Fleur's outfit was just as slutty. She wore a black leather skirt that hugged her shredded frame, showing rippling muscles everywhere. Her fuckable thighs were bare, and Giselle longed to rub her face between them until she drowned in thigh butter. Fleur's white button-down shirt showed off her perfect tits and slender waist. Surely these men wished that shirt was open and they could play with her tiny pink nipples while licking her clit, sending the brat into orgasm heaven.

Fleur, who Giselle thought would love any bar on earth looked like a stuck-up gal who'd just been told she couldn't shop at Gucci anymore. Her full red lips pouted and scowled at everyone and everything. Her eyes rolled, expressing that she was too good to even breathe the air in this shit hole. Giselle chuckled to herself, wondering why Fleur even bothered to show up. Just because you got asked to join the adventuring party didn't mean you had to join. There were flags to check, relationship points to establish!

Sofi, with the most enormous ass fittingly brought up the rear, her attention focused solely on her phone screen as she incessantly tapped and swiped, likely updating her social media accounts. Giselle had to nudge her a few times to get her to look up and avoid walking into a table, but Sofi was in her own world, oblivious to the hungry stares of the men around them. And hungry they were as Sofi's buns poured out a white romper that read "FAMOUS" on the front.

The girls took a seat at a newly vacated table with the stares and whispers following them, some appreciative, some jealous, and some downright hostile. Giselle fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, feeling her nerves get the better of her.

"Quit tugger'in on your skirt, Giselle," Dusty snapped. "It ain't gonna get any longer."

Giselle's cheeks flushed, and she laughed weakly, smoothing out her skirt self-consciously.

"I'm gonna go find us some answers," Dusty declared, her doe eyes narrowed as she scanned the room. "You girls keep your pretty little eyes peeled for anyone actin' sus."

With that, Dusty strutted off, her blonde curls bouncing as she approached a group of burly men in the corner. Giselle watched, impressed by Dusty's fearlessness, but also a little worried for her friend's safety. Surely, someone so teeny posed only a microscopic threat to any opponents?

"This place is uncivilized," Tristabelle remarked, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I do not understand why anyone would frequent such an establishment…oooh look an automaton bull! How lovely!"

The girls were faced with trying to stop Tristabelle from charging ahead at the mechanical bull resting to the dance floor's right. A chubby ginger in tank top and body glitter just tumbled off to the padding bellow, cursing her luck.

"Fairies were not meant to handle the mystical brilliance of living machines," Princess Tristabelle noted to the sulking ginger.

"Excuse me? My mom and dad are on the council. Do you know that?"

"Underestimate a princess of Golden Land all you wish, fool! Filthy Commoner, to me!" Princess Tristabelle pointed a long, seemingly magical finger at Giselle.

"Why do I have to be filthy?"

"When's the last time you bathed?" Fleur quipped.

It…it…it’s been a long day!”

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