Saturday, September 9, 2017

A Scandalous Fairy Tale (#lgbtq #fairytale #giveaway)


Bella and the Beast banner

Giveaway! Izzy will be giving away an ebook of Wendi and Tink, the first book in the Scandalous Fairy Tales series, to one lucky person on each stop during the tour. All you have to do for your chance to win is leave a comment for Izzy to let her know what Fairy Tale you would like to see re-told Izzy Szyn Style. To increase your chances of winning be sure to visit the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

Blurb

You only thought you knew the story of Beauty and the Beast.

When Bella's father runs into the woman known as the Beast, she agrees to take his place as a prisoner for the next six months. Plenty of time to get out of her pending marriage to the son of the village's wealthiest family.

When Bella is sent a list of demands and rules, one rule stood out: DON'T FALL IN LOVE.

That seemed simple enough, for who could fall in love with a Beast?



Excerpt

"I’m perfectly capable of showering by myself,” Bella protested, when Toby turned on the water, stepping inside

Bella? Are you disobeying?” Ms. Anna asked her from the bedroom.

Oh, shit. “No,” denied Bella, joining Toby in the shower, the warm water pouring over her.

Good, I must have misheard,” said Ms. Anna from the door. “Toby, make sure she is clean everywhere.”

Yes, Ms. Anna.”

That was close,” Toby said in her ear. “You don’t want to be punished first thing in the morning.”

You’ve got a point,” agreed Bella, jumping when she felt hands soaping her breasts. Lips moved down her spine, Bella couldn’t stop the moan. Wondering if this was going to get them both in trouble, but thinking it might be worth it. Toby’s hands felt incredible on her body.

Ms. Anna insists that we clean everywhere,” explained Toby, “Hands up.”

Holding her hands above her head, Bella noticed for the first time a hook over her head. Holding onto the hook while Toby washed her head to toe, the scent of apples and cinnamon filled the bathroom.

This is my favorite part,” Toby told her, holding up a hand with a bathing glove on, pushing a finger inside Bella’s cunt.

OH FUCCK,” swore Bella.

As you wish,” Toby replied, pushing another gloved finger inside her. Fucking Bella’s pussy hard, her fingers brushing her inner walls, making her wetter inside her cunt than her skin from the shower.

About the Author

New York Times Bestselling Author Izzy Szyn was born in May of 2014 when a friend dared her to write. Born and raised in Detroit, MI. Izzy now lives in Oklahoma City with her furchild Misty, the friendliest Chihuahua/Terrier you will ever meet. Currently Izzy works in a call center, where she writes in between phone calls.

Izzy loves to keep in touch with her readers. Email her at izzyszyn [at] gmail [dot] com.







Thursday, September 7, 2017

Three Sentence Thursday (#brevity #teaser #bdsm)

Three Sentence Thursday Banner

I’m not known for my brevity.

But I’m working on learning how to be succinct.

So I’m starting a new feature for Thursdays when I don’t have a guest: Three Sentence Thursdays.

I’ll treat you to just three sentences from one of my books.

And hopefully, that will make you want more!

This week’s sentence trio is from my paranormal BDSM erotic romance, Damned If You Do.

~~~

As quickly as they’d arrived, his fingers were gone, leaving her empty and aching. She gazed at him in a state of horny disbelief as he used a monogrammed hankie from his breast pocket to clean her juices from his elegant hands. “I shall decide what you must bear, my sweet little slave.”


If you want more...






Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Double Trouble from @AdrianaKraft (#polyamory #giveaway #babyboomers)


Blog Tour Banner

Adriana will be awarding a $10 Amazon GC, to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.


By Adriana Kraft (Guest Blogger)

One of my favorite recent memes from FaceBook reads as follows: When I get old, they’re never going to say “what a sweet old lady.” They’re gonna say “what on EARTH is she up to now?!”

If that sounds like trouble, hold on to your hat—we’ve got a double dose heading your way. Our two recent erotic romance ménage releases feature leading characters at mid-life.

Baby boomers ourselves, we often write characters in their 40s, 50s, and even 60s and beyond. If that’s not what trips your trigger, these two books aren’t for you – but, with any luck, all of us will reach these ages eventually, and we hope our readers do so with vim, vigor, and yes, a vibrant and active sex life. We like to think some of our characters can light the way.

Hot to the Touch takes the mid-fifties couple who star in our Swinging Games series to a clothing optional RV resort for some summer fun. In A Woman for Zachary, the early twenties heroine who starred in Seducing Cat hooks up with a mid-forties woman and an early-fifties man to ignite the spark that’s been smoldering between them.



Blurb

It’s New York! Broadway beckons, but Meg has more fun keeping an erotic triangle going with her current flame, Zach Cullen, and her drama coach, Josie Patrice.

Zachary Cullen has ignored Josette Patrice’s overtures for years, but she agrees to take on his latest protégé-slash-arm-candy Meghan Keenan in her off-Broadway workshop theater. Though the girl has incredible talent, Josie would stake her reputation on that little thing being a switch-hitter, like herself, and she doesn’t want Zach to be duped.

Josie sets out to seduce Meg and expose her for what she is, but all bets are off when Meg turns the tables on Josie to hook her up with Zach.

Buy Links:

Excerpt

Josie was shaking her head back and forth before Zach finished speaking. “That’s not enough.”

Zach closed the distance between the two of them.

She pressed her back against the wall, and he placed his palms against it, framing her head. She licked her lips.

What was he doing? She’d imagined him being this close countless times, but not in this way. Not in anger. Not struggling with his sense of fairness over sharing another woman. She kept her arms locked at her sides.

That’s exactly what Meg said. What is enough? Do we draw lots for her?”

Josie shook her head.

Maybe I can have her even days of the month and you odd days.”

That might work.” Josie could hardly breathe. Zach’s male scent was overpowering. She’d agree to almost anything, if he just stayed where he was. She should be afraid of him, but she wasn’t. This was a man she’d known for a decade. He might be very angry, even deeply pained, but he wouldn’t hurt her—at least not physically.

It works for parking cars in the winter. It’s a beginning, I guess.” His eyes darkened with a passion she couldn’t decipher. She watched his eyes shut and re-open.

And then his mouth was crushing against hers. She tried to breathe through her nostrils. His muffled groans filled her mouth. Tentatively, she lifted her hands to his shoulders. It was as if he was in a trance. She sighed and pulled him closer. Maybe she was, too.




Blurb

Can the summer get any hotter? Escaping Southern Indiana summer heat, swingers Brett and Jen check out a Minnesota clothing optional RV resort, where the rules are very different from the swing lifestyle venues they’re used to. When they spot a hot looking couple in the swimming pool, they’re definitely interested, but they know better than to make the first move. Will Paul and Kim turn out to be players, or will Brett and Jen get a cold shoulder?

Buy Links:

Excerpt

Hi guys,” Kim said, giving Jen a hug. “We ran into traffic, but we’re here at last. I love your outfit, Jen. That short skirt is just right for your long legs. You guys are fine dancers.”

And you look fantastic,” Jen managed to say. “That top is so sexy. As you said, just a touch of mystery. And I love those dangling earrings. They sparkle nearly as much as you do. Absolutely stunning.”

Thank you,” Kim murmured, turning to hug Brett.

As stunning as you look,” Paul said, gathering Jen into his arms for a long hug.
You both look scrumptious. Good enough to eat. Right, Brett?”

Brett nodded.

Jen noticed Kim made no move to break away from Brett’s arms. She watched the olive-skinned woman drag her lips across Brett’s wrist before lifting it up and sliding onto the curved bench. Jen slid in from the other side, with the guys sitting on either end. A bare leg brushed against her left leg, a trousered one against her right. If those legs were meant to only tease, she’d be very, very upset before the night was over.


About the Author

Winner of the 2014 Bisexual Book Award for erotic fiction, author Adriana Kraft is a married couple writing Sizzling Romantic Suspense and Erotic Romance for Two, Three, or More.

One man, one woman, danger and intrigue – always a happy ending, but oh, what a ride! Readers can count on our Romantic Suspense line for gutsy characters, hot sex, and breathtaking intimacy as our hero and heroine battle outer threats and inner demons to stay alive and fall in love.

A man, a woman (or two), or another man, threesomes, foursomes—what’s your fantasy? We write our Erotic Romance stories to entertain, of course, but most of all we write them because we believe in happy endings for all who fall in love, whatever their gender, sexual orientation or numerical combination. Here you’ll find multiple partners, three-way, four-way and more, swing lifestyle, lesbian, bisexual, ménage and polyamory, in both contemporary and paranormal settings.

Together we have published over thirty-five romance novels and novellas to outstanding reviews. We love hearing from readers at adrianakraft99 [at] yahoo [dot] com, and here is our website:

When It’s Time to Heat Things Up http://adrianakraft.com

Author Links





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Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Review Tuesday: Random on Tour Las Vegas by Julia Kent (#romcom #polyamory #ReviewTuesday)


Random on Tour cover

Random on Tour: Las Vegas by Julia Kent
Amazon Digital Services, 2017

What’s the most difficult genre to write well? I’d nominate romantic comedy. It’s really tough to create a story that is simultaneously funny and sexy, without pushing the balance so far toward the ludicrous that you lose the heat, or getting so serious about the bedroom interactions that you forget to make people laugh.

Julia Kent’s got this skill down cold. Random on Tour: Las Vegas evoked chuckles on almost every page. At the same time, the erotic scenes between Darla and her two rock star lovers Joe and Trevor never failed to get my juices flowing.

I’ve hosted Ms. Kent many times on my blog, so I’m familiar with her style, but this is the first time I’ve read one of her books. (Looking at her Amazon page, I come to the conclusion that I may be the only person in the universe of which this is true!)

Random on Tour: Las Vegas is part of a series featuring the indie rock band Random Acts of Crazy. In this installment, the band gets a gig in Vegas. All four musicians are excited—after all, this may be the break they’ve been waiting for—but for Darla, the band’s manager, the job has special significance. Having grown up in poverty with her disabled mother, just getting by and making do, she sees Las Vegas as the pinnacle of achievement, something like being admitted to the gates of Heaven. She’s dazzled by the glitter and the glamor, left breathless at the thought of all that money changing hands, based solely on Luck.

Darla’s no dummy. Dealing with all the details for the band, she can be hard-headed, no-nonsense, cold-blooded and organized. Las Vegas blows that side of her totally out the window. Starry-eyed to find herself on the famous Strip, spurred on by a new determination to expect the best from the universe, she finds herself at the roulette table. At first fortune, and her own powers of observation, lead to big wins, but before she knows it, she has gambled away not only her own savings but all the band’s money as well.

Shocked, desperate and wallowing in guilt, Darla hides from her lovers and friends in the first place she can find – at an animal-themed fetish fair. Faced with couples dressed in chicken suits, wandering among booths selling cat-tongue vibrators and fur-tipped butt plugs, Darla has to find a way to recoup the band’s funds – and to live with her own mistake.

My summary doesn’t do justice to the delicious absurdity of this story, or to the intricate emotional interactions among dominant Joe, laid back Trevor and the woman they both adore. This is a highly enjoyable book, a classic romantic comedy with plenty of both titters and titillation.

I have two caveats. First, I felt that Random on Tour: Las Vegas might have relied too much on the reader’s familiarity with previous installments in the series. The numerous references to events in earlier books (including multiple references to the same incidents) sometimes seemed to get in the way of my fully understanding the current story. I can understand that dedicated readers will already know who Mavis is, but I personally feel every book, series or not, should be complete in itself.

Second, I have to say I didn’t quite believe Darla. The gulf between her practical intelligence and her ditziness seemed too wide. She’s clever, snarky, devious, outrageous and hilarious. Somehow I didn’t find it plausible she could also be so dumb.

Of course, I suppose that discrepancy is at the root of the book’s humor. If Darla were less of a Jekyll/Hyde character, the book might not work. It’s hard to know.

In any case, I was able to suspend disbelief enough to have fun reading it.

Monday, September 4, 2017

Creature of Pure Sensation (#fantasy #masturbation #Stimulation)


Pleasure

I'm a polymorphously-perverse humanist who believes that almost anything can be arousing, under the right circumstances. So in general, I don't have too much difficulty writing sex from the perspective of the “other”. I've written lesbian stories (but that's easy because I'm attracted to women myself) and gay male stories (more surprising since I have little or no experience with M/M sex, even with gay porn). A significant fraction of my stories are told from a man's point of view. I find I can inhabit the mind and body of my male characters and female characters with nearly equal facility.

Although I've created a number of secondary characters who were male-to-female transsexuals, thus far I haven't written any tales where the POV protagonist is transgendered. However, I've had one simmering on the back burner for a while, a story that looks at the world through the eyes of a pre-op transsexual Thai go-go dancer. Over the years, I've met a few. I can imagine the thrill my heroine would feel seeing her new, feminine body – not to mention the kick of being admired by the men in the audience. At the same time, there'd be fear and shame, worries about being rejected, a sense of inadequacy compared to the biological women she worked with. I'd really like to explore those emotions and see how they play out when I manage to get her into a hotel room alone with the guy who buys her out of the bar. Actually, this fledgling story is almost a rewrite of my tale “Butterfly”, with the point of view flipped. I wonder, though, whether it might end more happily.

I'm less confident that I could write a main character who was female-to-male – it's tough for me to think about chopping off my tits – but I'd be willing to give it a shot. I like an erotic challenge. In my smut-on-commission work for Custom Erotica Source, I've managed to crank up the heat writing scenarios that would never arouse me personally.

There's one sort of “other”, though, where I doubt I'd be successful. I don't think I could convincingly write a creature of pure sensation – a woman (or man) for whom physical stimulation is the primary focus of sexual experience. All my characters share one trait with one another – and with me. For all of them, arousal begins in the mind and flows out to the body.

My sex scenes concentrate on what's going on in my characters' heads. The circumstances and meaning of the sexual encounter, the emotional connection between the participants, the fantasies shared or held in secret, these are the elements that fuel my erotic writing. The physical actions involved are definitely secondary. The brush of a single fingertip along the sensitive side of a breast can evoke a reaction more intense than full penetration. Vibrating dildoes inserted front and rear won't do a thing to one of my heroines if her mind isn't engaged in the scene.

This mirrors my own sexual experience. I've been to swing parties and sex clubs, been fondled and fucked by strangers, and felt almost nothing, because my partner(s) just weren't pushing my psychological buttons. I can masturbate forever without coming, unless I envision a transgressive tableau to accompany my actions. When I replay my most cherished sexual memories, I can't really recall the details of what we did. But how I felt – that's still sweet, raw and precious.

I gather that many women experience sex in a similar manner. (That's probably one reason why I'm doing pretty well writing erotic romance.) I'm sure that at least some guys do, also. However, not everyone is wired that way. We've had discussions on the ERWA Writers list which made it clear that some women achieve orgasm from specific kinds of stimulation, without regard to context. Some people fuck for the pure physical pleasure of the act. They don't care about taboos, or power exchange, or whether their companion has a great sense of humor. A good hard cock, a hot wet cunt, is all they need to have fulfilling sex.

It's tough for me to wrap my mind around that concept. I mean, I can understand it intellectually, but it's so distant from my own sexuality, I'm not sure I could write about it. Furthermore, I have to admit the notion of reading stories about such people doesn't interest me much, either. I realize that sounds judgmental. It's not meant to be. Sometimes, in fact, I regret that I'm not more present in my body during sex. I suspect I'm missing a lot.

At this point in my life, though, I'm not likely to change. I guess I have to accept that there are limits to my perversity - though that very notion makes me want to try and push the envelope. Still, is it possible to write a character who's driven entirely by physical sensation, and still have the story be erotic? My definition of erotic fiction is fiction that explores the experience and nature of desire. Can desire be totally physical? I'd love to hear others' opinions.

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Sizzling Sunday: The Gazillionaire and the Virgin (#bdsm #romance #SizzlingSunday)


Sizzling Sunday banner

It’s Sunday again, and I’m back with another extra hot, X-rated excerpt to celebrate.

Today’s offering is from my genre-busting BDSM erotic romance, The Gazillionaire and the Virgin.

A billionaire entrepreneur. An inexperienced virgin. A searing love affair. Think you know this story? Think again!



Theo spears me with a curious gaze. “Is something wrong, Rachel?”

No, no. I’m fine.” I tuck the paper into my purse, then force myself to meet his eyes. “I’m very glad to see you, Theo.”

His stiff posture softens a bit. “Me too.” He sweeps his gaze over my form. “You look – well – just beautiful.” Before I know what’s happening, he reaches out to engulf my small hand in his much larger one. He gives me a squeeze. “I’ve missed you,” he says, almost inaudible.

You missed me? It’s been less than forty eight hours, I start to say, trying to laugh off his intensity. But his warmth accelerates my pulse and dampens my pussy. His scent of soap and menthol shaving cream swamps me with memories of our transcendent first night together. I ache to have him in my arms again—to have him in my cunt. I can’t deny I’ve missed him too.

He’s watching me, reading my face, his dark eyes flickering with emotion. I am suddenly as frightened as I am aroused. Theo Moore isn’t going to do casual. He’s an all-or-nothing sort of guy. I could seriously hurt him.

I want him, oh yes, more than I’ve wanted anyone in a long time. Am I ready to take responsibility, though, for the consequences?

So I don’t answer, don’t tell him how he has monopolized my thoughts for the past two days. Instead I change the subject.

Have you thought about how you’ll use the donations?” Even to my own ears, my enthusiasm rings false.

No–no–never mind that. I’ll consider that later.” He tugs on my hand, pulling me closer. My body slides across the leather upholstery, until my thigh presses against his. “I want to talk about us, Rachel.”

There is no ‘us’, I want to tell him. It’s too risky. Last night was great, but it won’t happen again. I choke down the words. I can’t think of any reply that won’t damage his fragile self-image.

There’s no chance for me to speak anyway. Theo wraps me in his bear-like arms, leans in, and claims my mouth. His kiss scatters my resolution like sun burning through fog.

His lips lock to mine, firm and muscular, taking control. I don’t fight him – how can I, when both of us know this is what I want? When he runs his tongue along the seam, I open automatically, following my instincts as he, I suspect, is following his. He tastes of peppermint. He smells like sun-warmed earth. He drinks me in as though he’d like to swallow me whole.

It sounds melodramatic to say I swoon in his arms, but it’s not far from the truth. I relax into his embrace, buoyed by his strength, dizzy with arousal. He kisses me thoroughly, thoughtfully, as though he’s memorizing my flavor. Meanwhile, he slips one hand under my jacket to palm my breast, thumbing my rigid, needy nipple as though he’d known about my nakedness all along.

Perhaps he did. He also knows exactly what to do with it, how to play with me until I’m drenched, trembling, moaning into his mouth.

I’m breathless when he finally releases me, with my pulse pounding in my ears and my clit throbbing in time.

You’re not wearing a bra.” He grins as he states the obvious. “What about panties?”

I suck air into my lungs and rake my fingers through my tangles, as though that might bring some order to my thoughts. When I start to pull my jacket closed, he stops me with a glance. Do I really think I can hide from him? “That’s none of your business.”

Oh really? I disagree.” He sniffs. Mingling with the scents of brass polish and seasoned leather is the tidal fragrance of my wetness. “I’m willing to bet the price of this fancy ride that your pussy’s bare under your skirt.”

Don’t be rash, Theo. Luxury Limos Limited charges six hundred dollars per hour…”

Prove me wrong, then. Spread your legs, Rachel.”

Don’t be silly…”

Rachel. Are you really going to disobey me?” There’s that tone of authority again, out of nowhere, challenging me.

Why am I resisting? Why in the world did I go commando unless I wanted Theo to see?

Still, it’s hard for me to comply. I’m so used to being the one in charge.

A fresh gust of pussy-scent fills the car interior when I part my legs. He rests a cool palm on my stocking-clad knee. I freeze as he walks his fingers up the inside of my thigh, up to the sensitive skin above the elastic of my hold-ups. Meanwhile, he holds me with that intense, knowing gaze. I can’t bear the sense of transparency but I can’t look away, either. Theo won’t allow it.

His thumb grazes my pubic hair. It’s the tiniest of touches but still enough to trigger a cascade of sparks in my cunt. I tense, waiting, hoping for more. He withdraws instead, a half-smile gracing his expressive mouth.

I knew it,” he murmurs. “You’re a total slut.”

Heat flashes through me at his crudeness. Anger? Shame? Excitement? Maybe all three. All I know is that my cheeks are blazing, my weeping pussy is staining the seats, and I want his fingers back between my legs.


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Excessica




Friday, September 1, 2017

Learning to Say No (#stress #deadlines #amwriting)

clocks

I hate pressure, absolutely hate it. When I have a deadline looming and my writing isn't going smoothly, you'd be well-advised to go somewhere else. I moan, I cry, I literally tear at my hair. (Fortunately I have a lot of hair.) My head aches. My back hurts. Even the cats know enough to hide under the sofa.

You want to know the truth, though? The pressure doesn't really come from outside. Although I expend a huge amount of energy trying to keep my life organized in order to avoid crises and crunches, in fact I create the pressure.

I used to make myself sick when I was a schoolchild, worrying about my grades. An A- just wasn't good enough. If I didn't get an A, I'd be a total mess, most likely in tears, much to the disgust of my classmates. Now, this didn't come from my parents. Certainly, they emphasized the importance education (which was hardly necessary, since I loved the life of the mind from my earliest days). However, they never pushed me to be the absolute best in the class, nor punished me on the rare occasions that I fell short of my extreme targets. No, that need to excel came from somewhere inside of me.

Writing is like that for me, too. I'm the one who establishes the goals. Nobody forces me to write. I willingly commit to deadlines. No one is going to kick down my door and rough me up if I don't follow through.

The notion of not meeting a deadline, though, is practically unbearable. If I've made a commitment, then I'm going to fulfill it, come hell or high water, the Rapture or the tornado of the century. When I suspect that might not possible, I fall apart.

The presence of deadlines, the accumulation of tasks on my to-do list, and the inevitable unforeseen obstacles - these aren't the source of the problem. No, it's my reaction. I panic. I hyperventilate. I lose exactly the concentration that I need in order to make progress.

So really, what I need to do is manage my reactions. Not easy, but clearly possible. Meditation, exercise, enough sleep, these are all strategies that can help. Mostly I need to get my priorities straight. Yes, my deadline is important, but not as important as my relationship with my husband or my own inner peace.

I understood something else, however, as I continued to consider my post. Sometimes the external aspects of a crunch are also my fault, because I'm so bad at saying no.

I'm the perennial volunteer. When my publisher sends out a note saying that they're in critical need of a story or two for an anthology, I'm ready to pony up and commit to supplying one. When I'm contacted by a fellow author, asking if I'll help judge a writing contest, how can I refuse? Peer reviews needed? Lisabet can oblige. Crit for a colleague? Of course - after all, I've received so much help from others' crits, it's only fair to pay it forward. Take charge of editing a series of books? Gee, I'm so flattered - I'd love to.

This happens in other areas of my life, too. A few weeks ago, an academic colleague mentioned passing that it would be great if I could give a guest lecture to her class on a subject where I have special expertise. Before I knew it, I'd agreed to creating a brand new two hour presentation, which ended up taking two days to prepare - two days that I might have devoted to my work in progress, if I'd thought for a moment and declined.

I've wondered whether my urge to say yes has anything to do with my submissive tendencies. Or maybe I just want people to like me. Actually, to be honest, I think that pride is a factor - you know, the kind that goeth before a fall? I know that I'm competent in a variety of areas and also that I'm the sort who gets things done. When someone identifies a need, I figure that I can do at least as good a job satisfying that need as most people. Perhaps at some level I'm even trying to show off.

I've got to watch myself, though. Pressure just isn't healthy, for me or for my writing career. The quality of my writing is far higher when I can approach it in a spirit of play, rather than as a task that has to be completed.

So I've got to practice saying no, even when I'm dying to say yes. Perhaps some role playing as a Domme might help. You want me to do what to do what to you? Dream on, slave.

On the other hand, I know that would be terribly difficult for me. I've written dominant characters, but they're usually far more indulgent toward their subs than they probably should be. Face to face with a submissive who's eager to offer you his or her whole self - how could you refuse?