Review: Splendificent - #Review #UrbanFantasy #Babes

Splendificent by Dacy Alex

Roxy Kitty Publishing, 2019

Giselle Nyfall would never claim to be extraordinary. The buxom blond California girl spends her free time streaming video games, crushing on celebrities and cruising the web to research unusual sexual practices. She has a dream, though – to get out from under the thumb of her controlling socialite mom and move to New York City for college.

When, against all expectations, the C+ student is accepted to elite Hemera University, Giselle is initially ecstatic. Then her dorm room turns out to be non-existent, due to a computer glitch. Not to worry, though. Anika Lindgren, the curvaceous and seductive Head of Student Services, informs Giselle that she’s being housed in an Upper East Side condo reserved for “extraordinary young women”.

The baroquely-decorated, luxuriously-appointed condo makes Giselle wonder whether this assignment might also be an error. Her doubts grow when she meets her roommates: tough, foul-mouthed Boston boxer Fleur Flanagan; flighty, violent, sparkle-dispensing southern belle Dusty Blackwood; social-media-obsessed redhead Sofi Poe; and “Viking Barbie” Tristabelle Elvrina, who claims to be an actual princess. They’re all drop-dead gorgeous, with a preference for skimpy outfits that show off their ample charms. And they all seem to be sizing up poor Giselle – whether for their next sex partner, their next meal, or their next murder victim isn’t quite clear.

When zombified husbands start showing up at the condo, Giselle discovers that her apartment mates are more than just bodacious babes. Each of them is a supernatural being of some sort. Fleur’s part vampire, part succubus; Dusty’s a failed fairy; Sofi is a kitsune, a Japanese fox shifter; and Tristabelle is the scion of an ancient Elven royal family. As more men fall to the sex curse, magic-enslaved minions kidnap Giselle for dark rituals, and raven-headed demons attack their limo, the girls’ powers are put to the test. Will they survive the bacchanalian excesses of the wildest party in the Underworld? Just how extraordinary are these young women? And what is Giselle’s role in this salacious dance of good and evil?

It’s worth buying Splendificent just for the fabulous cover. I defy you not to drool at the lovingly rendered images of Giselle and her supernaturally-talented roommates. Of course, you can just ogle them online. If you don’t actually read the book, though, you’ll be missing a treat.

The novel is marketed as “urban fantasy”, but in my opinion, it really defies categorization. True, it’s set in the quintessential city (New York), and teems with the type of magical creatures who normally populate the urban fantasy genre. However, rather than fleshing out a universe of paranormal forces that parallel everyday existence, the author seems more interested in the flesh of his enticing female characters. The bad guys are basically foils for showing off the girls’ skills and their substantial feminine charms.

At the same time, this isn’t really erotica. For one thing, there’s very little actual sex until the final chapters, just a lot of titillation (with the emphasis on “tits”).

But who cares?

The book is hilariously over-the-top, and the silly but snappy dialogue kept me giggling. Giselle, the “chosen one”, is far from the typical urban fantasy heroine. She’s physically clumsy, socially awkward, and not overly intelligent. Still, you can’t help but love her innocence and bumbling sincerity.

Although magic isn’t really the true focus of Splendificent, the book nevertheless brims with imagination. The author does a great job conveying the strangeness of Giselle’s experience. As an example, here’s one of my favorite passages. The girls are desperately fighting off a demon attack.

"Mistlewoe come to me!" Tristabelle howled behind Giselle.

Giselle saw something that left her stammering, her mind struggling to process this glorious sight that had no clue it didn't belong in this world.

It was a sword -- that she knew. It was being held by a very angry, very murderous person who was supposed to be Princess Tristabelle Elvrina of Golden Land.

The hilt of this treasure was made of translucent ice, with veins of the same substance running through it. The pommel or end of the sword was white ice magic crystal. Impossibly, its crossguard was a mind-bending set of wings that flapped as this murderous woman lunged forward. A lunge headed by a blade made of ice and tangled in mistletoe. Its icy blade was encircled by also frozen vines.

Giselle felt a pinch of pity for what she guessed were the countless victims of this mystical weapon. Even when the ice blade plunged into the demon's stomach, and his grotesque body began melting into sludge that disappeared when it hit the ground, her sympathy went out.

The person who was supposed to be a princess of an insignificant Scandinavian country let her sword fade from her hand in a cloud of sparkles.

Overall, it’s rather difficult to describe Splendificent. However, if you appreciate originality, humor, sexual innuendo and gorgeous women, I suspect you will enjoy it as much as I did.

An irreverent interview with the Hot Sqad -- #urbanfantasy #adult #babes #demons

 

Hi, everyone! I’ve got a special treat for you today.

Gathered around for another thrilling Beyond Romance interview are the girls of Splendificent! Fleur Flannagan, Dusty Blackwood, Tristabelle Elvrina, and Sofi Poe. Not to mention the delicious Giselle Nyfall, California girl in residence. On hand to interview them is Dacy Alex.

DACY: Hot Squad, welcome back to Beyond Romance. We're going to talk about the retelling of your adventures from the erotic novel Giselle and The Hot Squad in the brand new urban fantasy adventure Splendificent!

FLEUR: “Retelling” eh. The first book sold like shit, so you change genres and reboot the series to make money?

DACY: I got a lot of gambling debts.

FLEUR: Same. But don’t ask me about this book because I was drunk as shit for most of it. I don’t know what the fuck happened.

SOFI: I’ll loan you some money, Dacy. One of my fans just Cash App’ed me 500 dollars just for being so pretty.

GISELLE: Well, I’m still the main character so I’ll talk about the book! I’m a super popular girl from California with tons of friends and I don’t trip over stuff, or break expensive objects, or accidentally start fires, or perv on Snap, or have an unhealthy fear of my mother.

DACY: Literally that was all lies.

GISELLE: Shhh! Anyway, I go out to Hemera University in Manhattan and thanks to a computer glitch I wind up rooming with these five gals. Only it turns into like a school girl battle manga because all of them but me are supernatural! Sofi is a fox spirit, Princess Tristabelle is a pure elf, Fleur is a succubus-vampire hybrid, and Dusty is a pixie. There are jokes, there’s sex, a cute prince who was totally feeling me, there are demons, there’s violence! It’s like Sex In The City meets Vampire Diaries meets a Sex In The City porn parody.

SOFI: And most of all there’s…me! And speaking of me, let me tell you about my social media empire.

DUSTY: Be quiet, Sofi. Did someone say violence? That’s where I come in. We had to tangle with some demons in the book. And it didn’t go too well for them. And it ain’t gonna to well for anyone who reads this interview and don’t buy the book. So lemme put ya’ll readers on notice, if any of you yellow bastards go to Amazon and buy a different book than Splendificent then I hope the good lord above has mercy on your soul, because ain’t no prayers gonna save your ass from Dusty Blackwood!

DACY: What the hell kind of sales pitch was that? You can’t threaten people on Lisabet’s blog.

DUSTY: Son, I’m Dusty Blackwood and I’m gonna do whatever I want.

FLEUR: Testify.

SOFI: That’s why you’re only a pixie, Dusty.. The fairy council said you’re too violent to be a fairy. And your mother is the Tooth Fairy and she must feel so ashamed.

GISELLE: But in the end, I think our story is about friendship and bonding. We're all just trying to work together to maybe save and change the world for the better. But we're connecting at a deeper level.

FLEUR: Exactly, that's very important for kids in college. I was talking to some sophomore and she was complaining about eating her girl's ass. Just on and on about how her girl makes her eat ass. And I asked why do ya do it, and she said “because I want companionship.”

(Dramatic pause by Fleur.)

FLEUR: People eat shit to stave off loneliness. And that's what our story is about.

DACY: You don’t want me to sell a single book, do you?

FLEUR: I hope you never make a nickel.

SOFI: I got ya, Dacy. Another one of my followers just Cash App’d me 300 dollars.

DACY: Princess Tristabelle you’ve been awfully quiet, and your sort of the leader-

FLEUR: Leader? Leader of what?

DUSTY: Of the group, silly.

FLEUR: Silly me. I forgot we voted on that. Oh, wait... we didn’t.

GISELLE (nervous laughter): And we never will because we’re like The Three Musketeers: all for one, one for all! Right, girls?

(Giselle smiles wide waiting for affirmation. Awkwardness ensues. Thankfully Tristabelle breaks the

silence.)

TRISTABELLE: Let the record show I, Tristabelle The Bright Eyed of Clan Elvrina — princess of Golden Land, Jewel of the Realm, Sister of the Goddess Freyja, the Heartbreaker, Arterial Sprayer and Mistress of Mistlewoe — was not “awfully quiet” but rather seated calmly internally screaming.

DACY (laughs): And why, may I ask?

TRISTABELLE: Because violence against the press is generally frowned upon in your country. Misrepresentation is a serious offense in my homeland. This “retelling” of our adventures is far too kind to certain individuals.

FLEUR: *cough* Prince Gorick Asshole. *cough* My dad. Mega asshole. *cough* Dusty. Dumb ass. *cough*

DUSTY: At least I got looks and big knockers, you old hag.

GISELLE: Eeep!

SOFI: Aren’t looks everything? Opens doors and wallets!

DACY: Forgive me, Your Highness, but I must remind you this is just the first of a series of books.

TRISTABELLE: And I remind you, sir, the whistle of a sword cuts sharper than the clack of a keyboard.

(Dacy gulps.)

TRISTABELLE: Now allow me to echo what Dusty has said. Hear this, readers of Beyond Romance, and hear it well! If you do not buy the book, Splendificent, you will be stripped of your lands, your titles, your clothes, and your head in that order. That is how you sell a book.

DACY: I need that money more than ya’ll need that head, for real for real. But we’re out of time. Good talk, ladies!

Buy Links – Better get ‘em out there now, right?

Amazon US:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B081QCN6PL

Amazon UK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B081QCN6PL

Amazon Canada:

https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B081QCN6PL

Blurb

Lusted over by men, hunted by demons

California girl Giselle Nyfall arrives in the Big Apple to attend Hemera University, but instead of a higher education she finds herself in a dangerous situation when a computer glitch lands her in an Upper East Side penthouse for extraordinary young women. And her sexy new roomies aren’t your ordinary college girls. One is an elf princess with a love for skating and the art of war, the other a B.B. gun toting fairy exiled to the human world for being too violent by her mother — the Tooth Fairy —, a social media obsessed shapeshifter, and finally, a vampire succubus demon with a big gambling problem

Together they uncover a curse which has men in their condo behaving even stranger than usual. And the only cure in this splendidly magnificent tale is…themselves!

Warning: Splendificent is a raunchy, wild comedy intended for mature readers only!

About Dacy Alex

A native of Maryland, Dacy Alex has taken home several screenwriting awards under a different name. He loves the possibilities of the supernatural but also the inherent weirdness of the everyday world and likes to combine the two whenever possible. Dacy likes to focus his stories on new adults, which might explain why he can subsist on a steady diet of CW shows and cans of Starbucks for days at a time.

If you want to contact Dacy he can be reached at: dacyalexandria [at] gmail [dot] com.

 

Visit Dacy on Instagram at roxy_kitten

And check out Dacy’s website: www.dacyalex.com

Free Reading Fest starts tomorrow! #Romance #Prizes #FreeStories

Currently I’m in the middle of one of my long international trips. When I’m traveling, I have limited ability to keep up with my blog and other social media. But I don’t want my readers to get bored!

So for the next three weeks, I’m running a special event: Free Reading Fest. Drop by my blog every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Each day, I’ll have a different erotica or romance story for you, which you can read for free. Enjoy the story, then leave a comment letting me know what you think. Every comment that includes an email counts as an entry into my giveaway, with the following prizes:

1^st prize - $10 bookstore gift certificate

2^nd prize - $5 bookstore gift certificate

3^rd prize – your choice of any two ebooks from my indie backlist

4^th prize – your choice of any single ebook from my indie backlist

The more stories you read and the more comments you offer, the higher your chances of winning!

The event starts tomorrow, July 22^nd, and runs through Monday August 12^th.

I hope you’ll join the fun! It’s all happening at Beyond Romance: http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Rock and Roll Never Forgets - #RockAndRoll #KeithRichards #JimMorrison #JoniMitchell

'Cause it seems like you've gotta give up
Such a piece of your soul
When you give up the chase
Feeling it hot and cold
You're in Rock'n'Roll
It's the nature of the race
It's the unknown child
So sweet and wild
It's youth
It's too good to waste

- Joni Mitchell, "The Blonde in the Bleachers"

I was a senior in high school. He was my classmate, the lead singer in a Doors tribute band. He didn't really look much like Jim Morrison but he had that wiry rock 'n roll build, verging on emaciation, like he never ate a square meal - like he survived on pure music. He had narrow hips like Jim's, fingers splayed and battered by his guitar strings, a wild cloud of coal-black hair. With the arrogance of youth, he dubbed himself the Lizard King.

I only kissed him once, at a party the night before graduation, but during the previous year I had watched him play many times. I was seduced by the mystery of rock and roll. Not by the glamor - there wasn't much glamor about a pimply high school kid - but by the sense that rock musicians, my schoolmate included, were some sort of fey creatures, half-angel, half-devil. Creatures with power. They could make you sweat and yearn. They could make you dance even when you swore you wouldn't. Rock and roll had a kind of irresistible, dark magic. Its danger was enticing. It could sweep you away.

I was swept away that night, standing on the dam by the reservoir, tasting his lips for the first and last time, feeling his hands. How many kisses do you remember forty years after the fact? I do remember, remarkably clearly: the mild June night, the wind tangling our hair together, the sense of transgression and of inevitability. Just a few kisses, nothing more, but it's one of my most erotic recollections.

Sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. I don't know about the drugs part, but nobody has to tell you that rock and roll is about sex. Morrison sings, "Come on baby, light my fire." Lennon belts out, "Why don't we do it in the road?" Jagger complains, "I can't get no satisfaction." We all knew what they were talking about, even when we were clueless teenage virgins. Bare chests and gyrating pelvises reinforced the message, but even without the visual reminders, the lyrics and the music make it clear. We're not talkin' about Platonic love, baby.

Sexual energy isn't the only draw of rock and roll, of course. There's the beat that takes you over, dives into your belly and loosens your limbs. I'm convinced that the drums wake some sort of ancestral memory, readying us for tribal ritual. Of course, that ritual might have been tied up with sex as well.

A few years ago I read Keith Richard's biography, Life. I found the book both entertaining and enlightening. There's a surprisingly candid account of Richard's heroin addiction. (The Stones definitely celebrated to the "drugs" part of the unholy trinity.) The stories that amaze me, though, are the accounts of how fabulous songs seemingly came out of nowhere, how classic recordings were caught in one take. Spontaneous genius. Revelation. Like I said, half-angels.

The flip side is that Richards spent his whole life immersed in music. He started playing guitar when he was in elementary school (right after World War II, before rock and roll really existed). He sang in a choir before his voice broke. He quit school and dedicated his life to studying and dissecting the blues. The Rolling Stones were originally a blues band. Who knew?

So, the flashes of sudden brilliance seem sudden and miraculous, but the foundations had been laid a long time before. When you live and breathe music, your conscious and unconscious seething with melody, rhythm, and rhyme, it's not completely surprising that insights and inspiration bubble to the surface.

It's not all that different from spending your entire life immersed in books and one day vomiting up a novel.

I've never written a story about rock and roll. To be honest, I'm afraid I couldn't capture the magic. I'm not a musician myself. I can imagine what it must be like, up on the stage, energy flowing in an endless circuit from one member of the band to the next, flying higher than any drug can take you. But I really don't know if I can make it real, convincing - if I can seduce my readers the way I've been seduced.

And I'm an old fart now, with so many aches and pains that dancing requires an anesthetic. Joni sings, "It's youth; it's too good to waste." I'm grateful that I didn't waste mine, but as the Starship wrote in "Love Rusts", "Youth is something you can't hold on to long".

The music still gets to me, though. We'll be in a bar, having a quiet drink, when the DJ will put on "Under My Thumb", or "Hurts So Good" (John Mellencamp), or "Life in the Fast Lane". And I can't sit still. I'll toss my purse in my husband's lap and jump up into the aisle. I'll pay for it later, physically, but I can't say no to rock and roll.

You know what Bob Seger sings: "You can come back, baby. Rock and roll never forgets." Of course that song also includes "Now sweet sixteen turns thirty one". Thirty one is way back in my past! Still, I haven't become immune to thrill, the buzz, the spectacular way that great rock can turn you on.

I hope that I never do.

Did Columbus really discover the clitoris? -- #sex #reference #history

About the Book

A Splendidly Smutty Dictionary of Sex explores the role of sex from the Etruscans to the modern day. Taking the form of a dictionary, it traverses the many forms of “hanky panky” in literature, music, words and the actions of the famous and not so famous.

Did you know that women never wore knickers until the late 18^th century? That Cleopatra reputedly invented the first vibrator? The rather odd history of the condom? What it means to give someone a green gown—and who was the first person to join the mile-high club?

Within this paean to the world’s favourite pastime, you will discover the “perils of self-pollution”, why Popes had to have their scrotums felt, what Buckinger’s boot and Omar the tent maker are, the whereabouts of John Dillinger’s dong and Rasputin’s rump splitter. What “to arrive at the end of a sentimental journey” means, how to restore your virginity, Medieval sex tips, the woman who had 130 orgasms in an hour, and what on earth the armadillo’s got to do with the missionary position.

The book covers an array of historical characters and their sex lives — from Chaucer to Wallis Simpson, from Rockefeller to a future king of England.  Together with the definitive histories of vibrators, the merkin and the word “fuck” amongst others, A Splendidly Smutty Dictionary of Sex is perhaps one of the most unusual books of the year!

Introduction

There have been countless books on the world’s favorite pastime. Indeed, if you Google sex books, you will find over 150 million results!

These books range from the biology and anatomy of sex, to how-to-do-it books. They range from the scholarly to the irreverent, and some with really rubbish pictures in them and some without.

But, there seems to be a glaring omission. No one has yet compiled a tongue-in-cheek dictionary of the words, thoughts and some of the very strange deeds associated with it.

But where would you start? Well, quite obviously, at the beginning.

Consider the prehistoric man, not only trying to contend with the Ice Age, living in a damp cave with no sports channels, very little food and with big scary animals trying to eat him. You would safely assume the last thing on his mind was sex.

Apparently not.

In between avoiding sabre toothed tigers and other hairy things that bite, he would spend some of his time carving things known as Venus figurines. These were Prehistoric Barbie dolls with huge breasts and with massive Kim Kardashian-like asses. These figurines, of which hundreds have survived, appear to have had no practical use whatsoever, other than be a sort of Stone-Age version of Playboy.

Much, much later, when the ancient Roman cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum were first being excavated, red-faced Victorian archaeologists with silly beards had to take continuous cold showers on discovering a treasure trove of erotic tableaux and other wonderfully smutty things.

So, despite our view that all previous generations were old-fashioned, prim and inhibited (well some were), the fact is that we as human beings have always been obsessed by sex. Wars won and lost because of it, people made rich by it and reputations ruined by it.

So join me if you will, on an alphabetical journey down the highways and byways of the world’s most popular pastime, discovering along the way such important nuggets as: life changing sexual advice from the Middle Ages, the somewhat disturbing history of the vibrator, the rather strange sex life of a future King of England and, most importantly of all, what on earth have armadillos got to do with the missionary position?

A for Aphrodisiac Users

Advice on starting your engine from the famous and infamous through the ages.

Aristotle (384 – 322 BC), Greek philosopher:

When not sitting still and philosophising, he would recommend the use of oil of peppermint to stimulate sexual desire. To reduce the libido, he also suggested walking long distances through the hills barefoot.

Pliny (23 – 79AD), Roman naturalist and author:

He came up with this rather obvious suggestion that in order to fan the flames of lust: Why not to eat a hyena’s eye with a dash of dill?

Niccolo Machiavelli (1469 – 1527), Italian statesman:

Whilst taking a break from plotting, he swore by the aphrodisiac powers of the mandrake plant. He even wrote a not particularly amusing comedy, La Mandragola (1524), in its honor.

Giovanni Casanova (1725 – 1798), Italian libertine:

The patron saint of shagging attributed much of his spectacular sexual energy to the fact that he always ate 50 oysters for breakfast every morning.

Captain James Cook (1728 – 1779), English explorer:

Before being killed by angry Hawaiians, Cook feasted every morning on a special, aphrodisiac dish of fresh shrimp. He often boasted that he could take on ten native girls a day. Perhaps that was the reason for the angry Hawaiians.

Madame Du Barry (1743 – 1793), Mistress of Louis XV:

She tried to keep Louis XV in her thrall by feeding him foods that would make him weak with lust: sweetbreads, venison, pheasant cooked in white wine, truffles, capon in sherry broth, to name just a few.

Mae West (1892 – 1980), Actress:

The legendary sex queen recommended eating almonds to increase one’s sex drive.

Buy Links

Publisher:

http://www.deepdesirespress.com/a-splendidly-smutty-dictionary-of-sex/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07L88JT46

Add on Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43206166-a-splendidly-smutty-dictionary-of-sex

About the Author

http://www.deepdesirespress.com/simon-leyland/

Facts are not enough - #Research #VictorianErotica #ElectricPlay

Research is an integral part of writing, even in fiction. When you're an author, you've got to get it right. Some readers take insane glee in pointing out gaffes and discrepancies. Have your ancient Roman characters drinking tea, your Elizabethans using the word “clitoris”, your Dom swinging a cane made of bamboo (I've been pointedly informed that bamboo is too brittle for a cane and that rattan is the preferred material), and you may find yourself ridiculed throughout the blogosphere. Even a more forgiving reader can be distracted from your story by some detail that just doesn't fit. Every author's goal is to build a fictional world in which readers can happily lose themselves. To the extent that this world is inconsistent or unbelievable, the author will fail.

If you write only about characters who share your class, ethnicity and culture, or if you set your stories in a non-specific contemporary locale, you may not need to do much research. However, this can get pretty boring. Thinking about my own work, I find that there are four situations that dictate the need for research.

Geographic or location-oriented research: When I'm setting a story in a specific location (as I usually do), I often research landmarks, place names, or spatial relationships. I don't need to give my readers a map, but I may need one myself in order to write convincingly.

Cultural research: If my characters are something other than white, western, and well-educated, I need to check on things like vocabulary, slang and tone. I also need to understand the characters' assumptions, the way they look at the world and how that is different from my own perspective.

Sexual research: There are many sexual practices that I haven't personally tried (though you might not think that from some of my previous posts!). In erotica, it is especially important to research the details of the fetish or sexual subculture you are describing. I've read many BDSM stories that struck me as ridiculous rather than arousing because the practices described were inaccurate and reflected a lack of research on the part of the author.

Historical research: Writing in a period other than the present probably requires the most intensive research activity. Every aspect of life depends on the historical period, from costumes, food, transportation and economics to language and world view.

Some authors adore doing research. I gather that for some authors, research actually distracts them from the writing process. They get pulled deeper and deeper into the worlds they are exploring, searching for the next level of detail, putting off writing as they gather knowledge that they might not ever use.

Personally I view research as something of a necessary evil. I'll spend the time I need to answer my questions, but I am always eager to get back to the story itself. I have observed that too much research carries risks—the author feels compelled to use all the nifty information she has uncovered, and ultimately, this distracts from the story. Normally, I'll let the story itself drive my research activity. Before I begin, I'll spend some time reading about the period, the people or the practices on which I'm focusing, but then I'll stop, only returning to my search when I have a question.

Geographic research is fairly straightforward, given the resources on the Internet. I also have two shelves full of travel guidebooks which I use extensively. I'm fortunate in that I've traveled quite a lot. Frequently I'll set a story in a city or country that I've visited. Even so, I will often need to check on details. “Prey”, for example, is set in Prague, but I wrote it nearly ten years after I visited that wondrous city. I spent quite a lot of time poring over maps and trying to reconcile them with my recollections. Necessary Madness takes place in Worcester, Massachusetts and its environs. I lived in central Massachusetts for more than twenty years, but I still find that I need to jog my memory. Of course, if a tale is set somewhere that I've never visited, like Guatemala (Serpent's Kiss) or Assam, India (Monsoon Fever), I have to rely entirely on external information, supplemented by analogy with places I have been.

Cultural research is particularly tough for me. Not foreign cultures—if I've visited a place, I usually have at least a rudimentary sense of the people and how they communicate. But in capturing the subtleties of other western subcultures, I have problems. The American south, for instance, has a particular flavor of discourse. Likewise the American west. I've tried to write criminals and mafia and stuttered badly. One difficulty is the fact that you can't search directly for the kind of cultural markers that make a character seem genuine. The best way to pick them up is to actually meet an individual from that culture. The second best method is to read other people's work featuring characters from the same subculture.

Sexual research is always fun, and not too much of problem. The 'Net overflows with didactic material on various fetishes as well as content that can serve as exemplars. My story “Body Electric”, in D&S Duos 1, features electric play, which I've never personally experienced. I had no trouble finding information on electric toys and the effects that they produce. Even my BDSM critic (the one who chided me over the bamboo cane) did not find fault with the result!

Historical research, of course, can go on forever. About a third of my novel Miranda’s Masks takes place in Victorian Boston. The physical environment was fairly easy; I had lived in Beacon Hill, which actually hasn't changed much since that period. However, I spent considerable time, effort and money researching costumes (Victorian clothing was extremely complex, with lots of special vocabulary), transportation, and the differences between social classes. I also read up on Victorian erotica, which was the subject of my heroine Miranda's dissertation, using Steven Marcus' encyclopedic though annoying tome The Other Victorians.

Even a historical short story requires an inordinate amount of work. Shortest Night, set in Shakespeare's London, took me nearly twice as long to write as a normal story, because I was working so hard to be true to the period. After all that effort, my editor still picked up a variety of words that were too modern for Elizabethan times. (I was extremely impressed.)

It's tough to get the facts right. Unfortunately, even if you do, that may not be enough. To accomplish the objective of creating a compelling, believable fictional world, an author needs more than a raft of detail. It's critical to have what I can only call a “feel” for that world—an intuitive sense of how it works and how its denizens think, feel and behave.

It's never possible to answer every research question. Sometimes I have to rely on imagination. But this only works if I can understand the people and places I am trying to portray, at a gut level. How do you acquire this sort of intuition? You won't find it on Google. For me, building a rich, nuanced picture of the world where I'm setting my story requires more personal experience. Reading original sources, including fiction, from a period can help. Visiting a museum or the actual site is a possibility. Ultimately, though, I find the process a bit mysterious.

Sometimes no amount of research will help. Several years ago I visited the ruins of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. During the twelfth century, the city of Angkor had more than a million inhabitants. It was the largest settlement in the world. I was fascinated by the civilization that had built such impressive monuments, only to disintegrate back into a village culture, and I had an idea for a time-slip erotic romance set partially during that period.

I set about reading everything I could find about Cambodia and Angkor. I spent lots of money on books. I went to museums. I scoured the Web. Somehow, the intuitive sense of those people eluded me. I just couldn't picture them, understand who they were and how they thought. I could look up all the historical details in the many books I bought, but my imagination remained bone dry. I've shelved the project for the moment, hoping that at some point I'll have some experience that triggers the sort of comprehension and empathy that I need to be able to proceed.

Research the facts. That's the starting point, sure. But developing a sense of your world, to the point where you can trust your guesses—that's far more difficult. Ultimately, it's a kind of magic. Like creating stories in the first place.

Sizzling Sunday: More Brides in Vegas #erotica #SizzlingSunday #LasVegas @Archer_Larry

Welcome to another Sizzling Sunday!

I’m still slaving away at my WIP, Sin City Sweethearts, which will be Vegas Babes Book 3, my third story set in Larry Archer's world of sexual excess. Meanwhile, here’s a sexy and romantic bit from Book 2, More Brides in Vegas.

Enjoy!

Blurb

Who can resist love at first sight? The minute Ted saw Annie shedding her clothes on stage at The Fox’s Den, he fell head over heels for the petite, busty redhead. She had to make the first move, though, dragging him into an impromptu orgy in the Den’s VIP suite, along with technically-virgin bride Francesca, secret slut Laura, and hot black mama Chantal.

Now Annie and Ted are getting married, and they’ve invited all their friends from that wild Amateur Night to the party. Taking over a vintage eighties motel with a courtyard and pool for their private function, the bride and groom expect a certain amount of carnal excess. Still, nobody’s prepared for the sexual free-for-all that breaks loose, involving not only the gals from the Den but also Annie’s rock star brother, Ted’s MILF mother, Chantal’s new slave girl, a lascivious hippie couple, a susceptible priest, the butch hotel manager, and an entire Scottish rugby team. As the wedding guests act out their secret fantasies, they push the limits of both lust and love. Finally arriving at the altar, after an exhausting, arousing twenty four hours, Annie and Ted realize that tying the knot doesn’t have to mean tying themselves down.

Excerpt

Bent over her phone and concentrating on her list, she was startled when a pair of strong arms slid around her waist and a warm mouth nuzzled her ear.

“How’s my beautiful bride?” Ted licked his way down the side of her neck, making her shiver, then turned her head so he could plant a kiss on her mouth.

“Much better, now that the groom is back!” She melted into his arms, offering him a more convenient angle. Ted kissed like an angel. For long moments, Annie dwelt in heaven.

“Everything go all right?” she asked, when he finally released her.

“Like clockwork, except that I missed you.” Ted palmed her breasts through her thin top, his thumbs circling her nipples. Her nubs snapped to attention. Pushing the shirt up to her armpits, he bent to suckle the tender buds, making them harder still. He dragged her hand to his bulging crotch. “See? I need to be inside you, Annie-belle. Right now.”

“We don’t have time, baby,” she protested, even as he shimmied her shorts down her shapely legs.

“The guests—”

“Are coming for our wedding, Annie.” He hoisted her up so she was sitting on the dining table and spread her thighs. “This weekend is about us. Our love. Everything else comes second.” Leaning in, he took a lungful of her musky scent. “You’re turned on, don’t pretend you’re not. You want me.”

“Of course I want you—oh!” Her fiancé’s tongue left a trail of fire as he swept it through her folds.

“Oh, god, that feel’s so good! Oh, Ted…!” Her lover burrowed deeper into her snatch, licking and biting, driving her crazy. “Ted—the glass doors—anyone could be watching!”

“Let ‘em watch,” he replied, tearing open his fly to release his pulsing erection. Positioning himself in the V of her legs, he drove his cock into her juicy cunt in one smooth, glorious motion.

Annie sighed with bliss as he stretched her wide. He felt incredible. No slow starts for her Ted. Right away he was pounding her pussy like a jackhammer, with a force that made her toes curl. Resting on her elbows, she opened herself to his fierce thrusts.

God, she loved the way he fucked her! She remembered the first time, in the VIP quarters at The Fox’s Den. She’d wanted him the minute she stepped onto the stage and saw him seated at the edge, his eyes following her every move. Sure, she had entered the Amateur Night contest hoping to win one of the generous prizes, to help cover her university tuition, but once Ted appeared, he was all she thought about. She’d danced for him only, to seduce him, to win him. She could see he was shy and a bit nerdy, with his glasses, clean-shaven cheeks and neatly clipped hair. Well, Annie knew how to get a guy hot. In her debut performance as a stripper, she’d used every trick she could think of.

Not that Ted really needed encouragement, once they were alone. He’d plunged his fine cock deep into her hungry cunt and ravaged her just the way she liked. Even when it turned out they weren’t exactly alone—Franny and Jake, Laura and Steve, Chantal and Foxy, even fusty old Aunt Giulia had ended up in carnal clinches in the VIP suite that crazy night—Ted hadn’t stopped fucking her until she’d climaxed four times. Only then did he roar and fill her with his cum.

A true gentleman, her Ted. With a very talented cock.

He continued to ram into her body, which was draped at the perfect height on the sturdy dinette table. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she held on, gripping his wonderful cock with her inner muscles. Ted growled—she knew he loved that—and pumped even faster.

An orgasm shimmered on her horizon, glittering with promise. Tightness gathered in her pelvis. Her clit ached; she needed friction. Arching up, she ground herself against his body, forcing his cock even deeper.

Yes! He slammed into her. She clenched down as cataclysms of pleasure shook her, starting deep in her belly and rippling out to her extremities. The climax went on and on, aftershocks rumbling through her one after another. Her lover continued to plow her shuddering pussy as the last echoes died away. Finally he jerked, yelled and poured his spunk into her twitching hole.

Ted slumped down on top of her, panting. She let her legs flop onto the table and slipped her arms around his neck, pulling his head to her breasts. He was too tired to lick them, but his warm breath soothed her.

“I love you,” she told him, running her fingers through his hair. “And you were right. That was just what I needed to relax.”

“Mmm,” he answered, burying his face in her ample tits. For long minutes they lay there, sated and content, in a world of their own.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature: http://kinkyliterature.com/book/4374-more-brides-in-vegas-vegas-babes-book-2/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DYPQ57T

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07DYPQ57T

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/844220

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/more-brides-in-vegas-lisabet-sarai/1128957058?ean=2940155308614

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/more-brides-in-vegas-vegas-babes-book-2

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40615243-more-brides-in-vegas