Saturday, September 10, 2022

My Favorite (Dirty) Words -- #vocabulary #erotica #amwriting

Shameless scrabble

Image by Wokandapix from Pixabay

I’ve been writing erotica and erotic romance for more than twenty years. Since my work covers a fairly wide range of sub-genres, I tend to adapt my vocabulary and style accordingly. Still, I do have some favorite erotic terms that tend to show up in many of my tales.

One word I love is “wench”. The term is sometimes used in a derogatory manner, to refer to a prostitute. It is also applied to female domestics. Nevertheless, for me, it has positive connotations. A wench is a woman who’s not shy about expressing herself sexually. Unencumbered by social convention or false morality, she’s willing and ready for almost anything. Still, a wench is not necessarily a slut (not that I have anything against sluts, or the word “slut” in fact); she has a bit more self-control and tends to be more concerned about pleasure per se than about breaking taboos. The archaic meaning of serving girl also makes “wench” highly appropriate in D/s contexts.

I tend to use “wench” as an affectionate or commanding epithet directed at a randy female character.

The lust that had simmered in her centre as she surveyed the erotic artworks leapt into flame. She needed that lovely cock, rooting deep in her hungry cunny. She needed to be filled, as much as she needed oxygen. With luck, his expertise in constructing devices for sexual stimulation meant he’d be a more skilful lover than her bloody cousin.

Meanwhile, saliva gathered in her mouth as she imagined running her tongue along that elegant shaft and pursing her lips around the delicate curves of the bulb. Before her rational side could assert itself, she replaced the catalogue on the table, seated herself in his chair and beckoned him closer. “This floor’s too hard for kneeling,” she told him as she grasped him at the base and squeezed. “Plus I don’t want you to think you’re above me.”

She leaned in and flicked her tongue over his cockhead.

He groaned. “Whatever you want, wench! But please, don’t make me wait!”

~ From The Pornographer’s Apprentice

Another beloved word is “wanton”, which according to Merriam-Webster means “lewd; bawdy; lustful; sensual”. All good alternatives, I’ll admit, but for some reason “wanton” has a special attraction, implying as it does a state of desperate, barely contained arousal.

Kate stood before the mirror, legs slightly apart, hands on her hips. She was breathing heavily—she watched her breasts rise and fall. Her nipples were round and rigid, the size and shape of ripe olives. She imagined Gregory taking one in his mouth, and shivered. The dark leather around her throat made her creamy skin seem even whiter. The studs on the collar were red with reflected light, as if this emblem of submission were encrusted with rubies.

She gazed at her face, trying to recognize herself. The expression was strange, desperate, wanton. Her chest hurt from the pounding of her heart.

~ From Raw Silk

Of course, given my love of alliteration, I have a special fondness for wanton wenches.

Another word I adore is “shag”. Alas, I don’t get to use it all that often, given that it really only sits comfortably in the mouth of a British character (and a moderately contemporary one at that). In my opinion, “shag” is a good deal sexier than “fuck”. The former implies a sense of mutual fun that isn’t always present in the latter. When one character fucks another, the first is the aggressor. The second or might not be an equal participant. Sometimes, of course, I want that asymmetry, but often I want to convey the important point that a scene is about reciprocal pleasure. Shagging may lead to romance, but in the midst of a shag, that’s not the point at all. It’s very much about being in the moment and enjoying the delights of an enthusiastic sexual partner.

Then there’s “lascivious”. This word, too, means “lewd” or “lustful”, and is often used pejoratively, but for me, it’s a more nuanced description than either of the shorter synonyms. It can apply to a state of mind or a construction of the imagination, as well as to an overt action.

The studio was as crazy as always. She slipped easily into professional mode, joking with the cast members, giving orders and answering questions, shoulder holding her phone to her ear half the time.

Hugo loved the script. Her co-producer was a trim, energetic guy a few years younger than she was, with sparkling blue eyes, a ready laugh and a reddish-brown ponytail. Lauren had always thought him attractive, but today she struggled to keep her hands off him. It was sweet torture, standing close to him as they watched the rehearsal. Things weren’t much better with Daniel, the director, a dark and intense New Yorker with eyes that could bore into your soul. She’d fantasized about fucking him more than once. Now all those lascivious images came back to haunt her.

~ From The Slut Strikes Back

Finally, I have to admit a slightly embarrassing partiality for the word “reamed”. Literally, the word means “to widen the opening of (a hole)” or “to enlarge, shape, or smooth out (a hole) with a reamer”, but in erotica it’s often used to describe rough anal sex. And yes, in fiction at least, I find that a turn-on.

Dylan jerked his straining rod, humping his hand as he imagined Rafe flipping him over and spreading his butt cheeks. Nothing felt as fine as having Rafe buried in his ass, driving deeper with each stroke. They were perfectly matched. Dylan loved a bit of rough and Rafe enjoyed playing the brute, reaming him to the edge of damage—but never beyond.

He needed that now. He needed the physical sensation, to match his fantasy of being filled. Drawing his knees to his chest, Dylan wormed a finger into his hungry hole. All that did was whet his appetite for more. He tried two fingers, then three, but it still wasn’t enough. On his own, he couldn’t begin to compete with the sensation of Rafe’s cock stretching him to the limit.

~ From The H-Gene

I’m sure most erotica authors – and readers – have favorite dirty words. I’d be curious to know about yours.

 

 

Thursday, September 8, 2022

Splendificent 3: The Interview! -- #UrbanFantasy #Erotica #PoliticallyIncorrect

Splendificent 3 Cover


LISABET: My readers will be excited to hear that the next installment in the Spendificent saga is finally available. So what sort of supernatural apocalypse will the Hot Squad be tackling in this book?

GISELLE: You can’t talk the Hot Squad without talking about us saving the day, and this time we’re saving the earth realm from the ultimate team up! The elven Prince Gorick, the evil brother of our roomie, and Fleur’s vampire dad Saint Lazarus hook up—

 
Giselle Nyfall by Trung

FLEUR: Which — spoiler alert — ends in a murder/suicide.

GISELLE: No, it doesn’t! And FYI, Gorick and Lazarus don’t hook up like that. They join forces in an effort to rule over the mystical country known as Golden Land!

FLEUR: Well, that’d be my version of the story. What idiots, though. Hanging out in a café in Brooklyn plotting to overthrow a Scandinavian monarchy? What if Putin said “hey I’m gonna invade Ukraine, you guys are fucked, but I’m gonna do it by invading Djibouti!” Mwhahahhah! 4D chess! Mwhahahaa!

GISELLE: Don’t count 'em out yet, gang. These guys are super mean! They put their vast fortunes together to begin mass producing a supernatural performance enhancing drug to bulk up Gorick’s power. Aaaand they start producing monsters with a hidden monster factory located in the heart of Manhattan.

FLEUR: I thought the old lady shitting in the middle of the bodega was the worse it got in New York. I didn’t even get my bag of Lays.

LISABET: So is Fleur’s dad Saint Lazarus or Prince Gorick the main villain of the story?

GISELLE: Saint Lazarus does every bad thing they report on Frontline on PBS! He human trafficks -- er, witch trafficks, specializes in drugs, engages in terrorist activity, commits treason, summons demons, and probably spends too long in the drive through making sure his order is correct.

FLEUR: I thought I’d be in a chill book series where I get to lay spread eagle and get blasted by hot studs all day. Instead I gotta cram a can of shit up my dad’s ass and make him eat it. Jeez!

Fleur Flanagan by Trung

LISABET: Who's the main heroine in Splendificent 3?

GISELLE and FLEUR: I’m the heroine!

GISELLE and FLEUR: No, I’m the heroine!

GISELLE and FLEUR: You don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m the heroine!

GISELLE: You don’t get paid any more for being the heroine.

FLEUR: Giselle’s the heroine.

LISABET: Will readers meet any new characters in this book?

GISELLE: If you like your bad boys with a splash of One Direction and a little bit of he’s way too good looking to be straight, you’ll love the super samurai Arsen Holtz.

FLEUR: His super power is having a third Reich last name and being a samurai. By the way my name is Fleur Flanagan, queen of the Zulus bwhahahahah!

GISELLE: There’s Nasty Ricky, a demon sorcerer, who-

FLEUR: Summoned an incubus named Pigroach that Giselle had sex with! She’ll fuck someone named Pigroach but judge me for selling panties.

GISELLE: Because they’re MY panties.

LISABET: Who’s the hottest guy in the series?

FLEUR: He who lasts longest and remains hardest is the hottest so it’s certainly not my dad Laz aka the dickless wonder!

GISELLE: That’s an interesting way to talk about your father.

FLEUR: Wait until you hear the eulogy I wrote for him!

LISABET: Splendificent fans will be expecting plenty of raunchy sex. What's the wildest sex scene in Splendificent 3?

FLEUR: I dunno, it’s pretty tame this time around.

GISELLE: What about when you guys got captured and violated by that penis plant on the roof of the school’s Biology building?

FLEUR: Shit, I forgot about that.

GISELLE: Or when I went into the dream world and got super freaky with my evil twin?

FLEUR: Damn, that did happen.

GISELLE: What about when you and Sofi found creative uses for the cucumber?

FLEUR: That was a good tossed salad. Hehehhehe.

GISELLE: …..Oh I get it! Go me, go me, go me.

LISABET: What’s the toughest fight you guys had?

GISELLE: Do you know how hard it is to get a refund for a buggy game on the Nintendo Switch eshop? Wait for a patch they say. It’s been six months!

FLEUR: I’m assuming our interviewer doesn’t speak lame ass so she probably meant in the book. So to answer your question, I fuck an eight incher and a ten incher. At the same time.

GISELLE: Eeep!

LISABET: At the end of Splendificent 2, Fleur promises her satanic grandfather to recruit Giselle to the army of darkness? What happens there?

FLEUR: What? You want spoilers for free? Fuck that. Gimmie ten bucks and I’ll tell ya

GISELLE: Fleur!

FLEUR: Twelve bucks.

GISELLE: You just raised the price.

FLEUR: Gimmie five extra bucks and I’ll raise Giselle’s top.

Blurb

Three times the babes, three times the action, three times the climaxes!

Giselle Nyfall has lost a lot: her innocence, her Prince Charming Krisdane and her naughty vampire-demon BFF. Even her saved games! She’s not going to desert her Hot Squad, though, as the gorgeous gang vows to destroy Saint Lazarus of Bethany, the original vampire.

With his ancient reservoir of dark powers, Lazarus would be a formidable opponent on his own. Allied with the Squad’s arch-nemesis, the rebellious (though ravishing) elven prince Gorick, he may well be unstoppable. Even the resurrection of Giselle’s take-no-prisoners bestie (and Satan’s granddaughter) Fleur Flanagan may not be enough to turn the tide of this epic battle.

The concupiscent co-eds bounce their way from bedrooms to boardrooms to afternoon tea with Satan himself, fighting the forces of evil with equal parts wit, luck and lust. If shedding their already skimpy clothing is what it takes to save the world, these babes are ready to make that sacrifice.

Warning: Splendificent 3 is a politically incorrect novel that contains adult themes, adult scenarios, adult language, and well…adult everything!

Excerpt

“Uhhhh,” Sofi muttered staring at the bird like creatures that bounced around the expanse of the hallway that led to the Biology building roof. “It’s okay if you wet your shorts, Dusty, they are pretty scary.”

“Stupid Sofi! I ain’t peed my panties since I was in tenth grade,”

“You pissed yourself at 16 years old? I bet you were the kind of kid to lick the windows on the school bus.”

“Stupid Fleur, there ain’t no bus to take me from the fairy kingdom to the human schools!”

Princess Tristabelle regarded the movement of the bird creatures with narrowed purple eyes. “As I suspected, the performance troop dressed as birds are actually harpies.”

“You thought that troop everyone was talking about was a magical monster normally confined to Golden Land, and you didn’t think to share this theory with anyone else?" Fleur questioned.

“Ohohhoho, I wished for your minds to discover the truth on your own. Now, the chosen heroine arrives, Mistlewoe, come to me!”

A glorious light engulfed Tristabelle’s right hand. Then the majestic sword known as Mistlewoe formed in hand.

The bouncing harpies barely noticed the hilt of translucent, the white crystal pommel, the winged cross guard, and the blade of ice and twisting mistletoe.

“Ohohohoh! Fear me, monsters, for I am the Allfather’s shining light!

“Waaaaaait,” Fleur said, words slurred. “We can work this shit out as extraordinary young women.”

The brunette stumbled to the forefront harpie. The creature was uglier than a staph infection. Its green eyes bulged from a human face with a nose that would make Pinocchio jealous. It posed a chin so sharp as to be absurd. The lips were fat, ugly things that covered a row of blackened teeth. The creature's wings were a mixture of puke yellow and off-white.

Yet, Fleur knew harpies craved what others valued most.

And what is more valuable to an alcoholic deadbeat mother than liquor?

“So you’re bouncing around and sort of dancing to no music. And I feel that because that fentanyl will do that to you. But here, bro, get your drink on.”

Fleur extended her bottle of tequila to the scowling harpie. Within moments, the bottle flew out Fleur’s hands thanks to a winged swipe.

“Alright, alright,” Fleur mumbled, staring at the shattered bottle. “I’m gonna handle this with the dignity of a princess of hell... ”

With that said Fleur started choking the life out of the harpie like a crooked pimp to an out-of-pocket ho.

“You fucking glorified pigeon cunt!” Fleur shrieked. “Fuck your bitch! Fuck your grandmama! Fuck your kids! I’m gonna kill all you motherfuckers! You think you’re a monster? I’m the fucking monster!”

“Onward! The stars shine upon our glory!” Tristabelle shouted as she rushed into battle.

“Oh my god, are we really fighting because Fleur is a violent drunk?” Sofi wondered, shrugging her shoulders.

Buy Links (Available in Ebook and Print)

US Amazon Store

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BC2JY1KX

UK Amazon Store:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BC2JY1KX

Aussie Amazon Store:

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0BC2JY1KX

Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1163237

Barnes and Noble:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/splendificent-3-dacy-alex/1142120090?ean=2940165923227

Kobo Adult:

Apple Books:

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62230127-splendificent-3

About the Author

Dacy Alex is an author that has also taken home several screenwriting awards under a different name. Dacy loves the possibilities of the supernatural and 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. The 100 and The Originals are the best ones, don’t @ me, bro. You know what? Legacies is pretty good. Someone watch Supergirl and tell Dacy how it is. K? THX. Dacy’s an avid video gamer; Dacy’s favorite games are Final Fantasy X-2 and Persona 4: Golden. Oh! Persona 2: Innocent Sin is the GOAT. Anime is pretty awesome too. Watch My Dress-Up Darling!! And watch Hyperdimension Neptunia!

You can contact Dacy at dacyalexandria [at] gmail.com or at dacyalex.com or at roxy_kitten on Instagram


Tuesday, September 6, 2022

God, he’s annoying! – #EroticRomance #FlippedTropes #MFRWHooks #Giveaway

The Gazillionaire and the Virgin cover

Welcome to this week’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop! My excerpt today is from my BDSM erotic romance The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. I’m sharing a segment from the first meeting of the main characters. It’s a bit long – I hope you don’t get bored!

To keep you interested until the end... I'll bribe you! leave me a comment telling me what you think of Theo. I’ll give a free copy of the novel to one randomly selected person who comments.

Blurb

She’s the billionaire. He’s the virgin. Still, he knows how to make her melt. One word from Theo, one touch, and Rachel surrenders to bliss. It seems that love and complementary desire may harmonize their differing values, until Rachel’s unwitting violation of Theo’s trust tears them apart.


 

The Hook

I hadn’t expected him to be so big. He’s well over six feet tall, I’d guess, with the shoulders of a football player. A rumpled white shirt and loose trousers hide the details of his body, but I don’t think he’s fat, just large. His smooth, young face seems incongruous paired with his giant’s frame. Shaggy black hair overhangs his forehead and grazes his collar. Behind dark-framed, unfashionable glasses, his eyes dart from one detail of my luxurious office to the next, finally settling on the rust-hued trunks of the redwoods outside my window. He sucks in a deep breathe then releases it in a long sigh. He doesn’t look at me.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Moore.” I rise, circle the desk and settle into a chair next to the couch. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

He ignores my outstretched hand, continuing to stare out at the lovely view. His fists are clenched on either side of his thighs. Rarely have I seen anyone look so ill at ease.

“How far away is the sea?” he asks finally.

“About fifty meters. Most of the time you can’t quite see the water, but at sunset you can sometimes catch the glint of the reflections.

“You should have built closer,” he declares. The stark confidence in his voice is at odds with the nervousness I read in his body language. “I would have designed this place so that every office had a view of the ocean.”

“That would have been my preference, too. But California building codes are pretty strict.”

“With your money, I would think you could have arranged for a variance.”

I decide to ignore the jibe. He doesn’t seem to realize he has insulted me.

“I appreciate your taking the time out of your busy schedule, Doctor. I know Looking Glass Inc. is a bit off the beaten track. Did you have a comfortable trip?” I’ve gotten plenty of flak for establishing my company’s campus in Santa Cruz rather than in the heart of Silicon Valley, but I don’t care. This is where I want to be.

“Oh, yes indeed. That was one of the most comfortable limousine rides I’ve ever experienced.” Sarcasm drips in his reply. “With a ride that smooth, I was almost convinced that your company’s latest technology coup was an anti-gravity device.”

“Not yet.” My laugh sounds forced. His social awkwardness is affecting me. “That’s on our agenda for next year. Would you like some coffee, by the way? Juice? Water?”

“Nothing.” He yanks his eyes away from the view and stares over my head, focusing on the Klee original hanging behind my desk. “I drank my fill from the complimentary bar in your limo.”

I find myself in the unaccustomed state of being temporarily at a loss for words. Despite his lack of social skills, Moore somehow has gained the upper hand in this conversation. I swallow my annoyance and begin again.

“About your charity—”

“I don’t approve of you, Ms. Zelinksy,” Finally he looks at me, though he seems fixated on my mouth rather than my eyes. “You and your kind.”

“It’s Dr. Zelinksy, actually.” Guess he hadn’t bothered to Google me. “And what do you mean, ‘my kind’?”

“You Valley billionaires, who think your money can buy anything, including the human soul. You use technology to enslave the poor, benighted masses. You lure them into spending their time and money on devices and services they don’t need. You suction up their personal data so you can slice it, dice it and use it to sell them more trash. And then you brag about how you’re ushering in a brave new world of hi-tech miracles. Hmmph!”

Suddenly he’s on his feet, towering over my chair, his full lips twisted into a black scowl. For an instant I think he’s going to hit me. Instead he turns his back on me to stride over to the window. Sunlight filters through the boughs to dapple the earth below. The view appears to calm him somewhat. His fingers uncurl but his shoulders are still hunched and tight.

“‘Enslave the benighted masses!’ Don’t you think that’s a bit melodramatic?” I’m tempted to cross the room and stand by his side, to soothe and coddle him. I refrain. He’s too skittish.

“Melodramatic?” He glances over his shoulder at me. “I know one kid, from South Central LA. A former member of Code in the Hood. He beat his mother senseless when she wouldn’t give him money to buy the latest iPhone. Another guy died of a stroke after spending three days and nights non-stop playing Grand Theft Auto. Then there was young Aurelia—her brother came to a couple CIH meetings. She killed herself after her boyfriend posted naked pictures of her on Facebook.”

“There are always unstable individuals in the population,” I begin. “You can’t hold technology responsible—” I stop short. Why in the hell should I defend myself? “In any case, Code in the Hood exists at least partly to counter those tendencies, doesn’t it? To inspire disadvantaged kids to engage with technology in a productive way, and to give them the computational skills they need to succeed.”

“You’ve been studying our PR materials, I gather.” He wanders over to the Klee and peers at it like some art critic. “This is real, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s real,” I snap. I take a deep breath, summoning every shred of patience I can muster. “And yes, naturally I’ve been researching your organization, given that Looking Glass is considering a substantial contribution.”

“Considering? Your email led me to believe that you’d definitely decided to support CIH. That’s the only reason I agreed to meet you.”

“We have decided. In fact, I’ve already prepared a check. I invited you to Santa Cruz because I wanted to give it to you in person.” With slow, deliberate steps, I make my way back to my desk and open the top drawer. I half expect Moore to flee as I get closer, but he stands his ground, watching my every move with an intensity that’s unnerving. “Here you are, Dr. Moore. To assist in your worthwhile efforts.”

He scans the slip of paper I place in his hand. “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars... that’s...that’s quite generous. Enough to fund our drop-in tech center in LA for a year.”

He raises his head. Our eyes really connect for the first time since he arrived. Some unidentifiable emotion jolts me. Behind the Clark Kent glasses, his are a deep, rich brown, brimming with intelligence. They drill into me like lasers, burning through the layers of polite etiquette and business strategy, seeking to unmask the truth about me and my motives.

“So tell me, Dr. Zelinsky,” he says at last. “What do you expect in return for this contribution?”

I meet his gaze, accepting his challenge. “Nothing at all. The money’s yours—that is, it belongs to CIH—free and clear.”

He skims the check one more time. “No strings?”

“None. In fact, I’m prepared to help you raise more funds for your excellent cause. I expect that with a little prodding, I could get Sergey and Larry to shell out at least as much. Maybe Mark could be convinced, too.”

Theo Moore folds the check and carefully deposits it in his shirt pocket. Then he plops his bulk into my ergonomic desk chair, swivels to face the wall, and resumes his inspection of my painting. “Based on your earlier communications,” he comments, “I had some notion that you were interested in SHAMAN.”

God, he’s annoying! I grab the chair arm and swing him around to face me once more. “It’s rude to turn your back in the middle of a conversation.”

He shrugs and half-grins. “I’ve been called worse than rude. Sorry. I’m not very good at dealing with people. So was I mistaken about your intentions? You’re just interested in CIH, not in my software?”

He’s doing it again, taking control of the interaction. He’s even stolen my chair. I hike myself up onto the polished teak desk so I can look him straight in the eyes.

 


Don’t forget to comment, for a chance to win! And please do visit the other authors participating in this week’s Book Hooks.


Sunday, September 4, 2022

Digging Up the Past…From Dirt to the Page – #Archeology #RomanticSuspense #Giveaway #OutNow @BrendaWhitesid2

Joshua, Arizona

By Brenda Whiteside (Guest Blogger)

Have you ever considered what it would be like to be an archaeologist? I love digging in the dirt, although I’m usually planting live plants not digging up dead ones. Archaeologists study the material remains of cultures and societies. One type of archaeologist, archaeobotanist, concentrates on the remains of plants people collected, grew, and utilized for food, raw material, and ceremony. The life of an archaeologist appears romantic and intriguing to this outsider. Traveling to unexplored sites, finding clues of past civilizations, and creating the history of the people who came appeals to me. Maybe in another life I’ll go that route. But if you think about it, authors take a similar path. We travel to unexplored sites with our research and in our minds. In a suspense book, there are clues to be uncovered. And, of course, we create stories from it all. I might be stretching it a bit!

For my soon-to-be-released novel, Curse of Wolf Falls, I had to do research into the career of archaeology. My heroine, Elidor MacKenzie, chose the career to keep physically in touch with nature which calms the empathic personality. Oh, yes, I researched another subject I find intriguing…empaths. She also chose the career to keep her on the move, attachment free, and far away from her home of Joshua, Arizona where her family lives and her empathic talents are so connected it drives her a little crazy. An empathic archaeologist…I had fun living the life through her. But danger does follow as well as character growth to find her happy ending.


Secrets can protect what the truth will destroy. 

Elidor MacKenzie has a gift she can't return—the ability to absorb the joy, pain, and suffering of others. She's spent her life running from what she considers her curse. Now, her best friend is dead, and she alone holds the key to an archaeological discovery that could destroy a culture. With newfound inner peace, Elidor has returned home to make amends and guard the secret revelation. But greed-driven scavengers have followed her. Once again, the energies of Joshua will stir the hurricane, with her at the deadly center.

Jules never got over Elidor. Twenty years and a famous journalism career later, he's back in Joshua—and so is his first love. If his heart can stand the torture, he'll risk reviving their relationship. But saving Elidor from herself and the secret she won't give up may be the death of them both.

With Jules by her side, Elidor is determined to outrun the scavengers, guard the secret, and renew their love. But fate is coming after her, and there's nowhere the couple can hide.

Curse of Wolf Falls, The MacKenzie Chronicles book 3, eBook will release to the world on September 5. The print book is available now. You can preorder the eBook at a sale price until release day and have it delivered right to your reader.

Amazon Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B663MY1D

 


Excerpt

“Boyd. What on earth are you doing in Joshua?”

He choked. Coughing and sputtering, he leaned away from her.

She handed him the full bottle of beer and waited, her stomach awash in a wave of nausea. A sure sign she read the aura of a person not to be trusted.

After gulping several swallows, wiping a hand over his mouth, he shook his head. “Sorry. You startled me. Elidor? I could ask you the same. What a surprise.”

“Really? I grew up here.”

“What a coincidence. I, uh, have a lot of interest in old mining towns. Marty didn’t need me for a few days, in fact, he said he’d probably let me go. I’d heard about Joshua years ago. Decided now was as good a time as any to check this place out.”

A bitter taste coated her tongue and saliva pooled in her mouth. The lie was as big as the Verde Valley. Marty needed every hand he had with the loss of Cam and her. Never lie to an empath. The internal alarms were strongest when confronted with dishonesty. Why the lie, and why had he come here? “Quite a coincidence.”

Boyd’s face remained neutral and gestured with his bottle. “Can I buy you a beer?”

“No. I’m on my way somewhere.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you sure? I’d love to shoot the bull about the dig, or maybe other digs you’ve been on.” He leaned toward her, his beer breath punctuating his words. “In fact, you could clue me in on the best sites to take in for an archaeologist in Joshua.” His speech pattern, fast and clipped, and his invitation increased the revulsion gripping her.

“I really can’t.” She backed away. “I’ve got a full plate today. Enjoy your stay.”

“Hey, maybe we can meet up tomorrow?”

She whirled around.

With one foot on the floor, facing her, he gave the impression he might leap off the stool and come after her. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve got tons to do with my family. Check the historical society. They can give you maps and stuff.”

As she walked away, she focused on getting to the door and out. Her clammy hands gripped the straps of her backpack. Back in the cloud-filtered sunlight, she traversed the few feet to the corner, past the windows, and stopped, hand to chest. She slipped a hand off her pack and clutched at the pendant. More than his evil nature bothered her. Were Boyd’s presence in Joshua, the break-in, and her missing phone linked events? How could he know? She flared her nostrils, inviting the freshness of mother earth’s air to calm her, and crossed the street to the hardware store. Boyd was there when Cam died. He’d seen Cam give her the cell. But how could he have deciphered they held the key to the Mescalero Myth?


I’d love to hear if you like to dig in the dirt. Have you had any déjà vu moments or empathic sensations? Share with me. I’ll choose one lucky person who comments to receive a $5.00 Amazon Gift Card.

About the Author

Brenda Whiteside is the award-winning author of romantic suspense and romance. She's penned a couple of historicals and straight romance, but she's found villains and danger make a good story that much better. After living in six states and two countries—so far—she and her husband have settled in Central Arizona. They admit to being gypsies at heart so won't discount the possibility of another move. They share their home with a rescue dog named Amigo. While FDW fishes, Brenda writes.


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https://www.brendawhiteside.com

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Saturday, September 3, 2022

Sizzling Sunday: An Adult Wonderland -- #EroticFantasy #ExtremeSex #SizzlingSunday

 

Sizzling Sunday: Alex in Tittyland banner

Greetings, and Happy Sizzling Sunday!

Today I’m regaling you with an exclusive excerpt from my irreverent erotic retelling of Alice in Wonderland. Like Lewis Carroll’s original story, this book features fantastical creatures, bizarre physical transformations and a dangerously excitable Queen of Hearts.

Unlike the children’s tale, it also offers lots of outrageous sex.

Since you’re all adults – enjoy!

Blurb

Wonderland? Or wet dream?

When you’re up to your armpits in hot babes, it can be hard to tell the difference!

Alex’s life looks bleak. His basketball scholarship’s been canceled due to Covid and his foxy California girlfriend has dumped him. Now he’s stuck in Baltimore, living with his mother and working the night shift at the Shake ‘n Shop mini-mart. He’s sure he’s going to lose even that crappy job when a curvy customer in a rabbit mask takes off without paying.

Racing to catch her, he tumbles into a world of wonders, where sex organs grow on trees and horny women fawn over his endowments. Always the gentleman, Alex does his best to satisfy the lascivious inhabitants of Tittyland, even as he searches for the delectable rabbit-girl. But his quest leads him into the clutches of the sadistic and insatiable Queen of Hearts, who’s determined to first drain, then decapitate him.

Maybe Baltimore was better after all!


Excerpt

One does well not to disobey a queen, especially when she has a convenient dungeon. His trepidation mixed with undeniable excitement, Alex gave the monarch a half bow, then approached her impromptu throne. Her rosy cunt-lips pouted up at him, plump and slick with pussy juice. The sight was far from unappetizing. His rigid dick leaked pre-cum onto the verdant lawn, while his unnaturally long tongue dripped with saliva.

As he drew closer, the Queen’s scent grew stronger and more pungent, overwhelming all the other smells that swirled around him. It drew him like a bee to a flower.

“Kneel, knave” the flame-haired despot commanded. “You have exactly three minutes to make me come.” She gave a casual waved in the direction of another pair of halberd-toting guards. “Or else.”

Three minutes! Alex was no slouch at pussy munching, but he knew from experience that many women needed extended, vigorous attention in order to reach their peak. In any case, he didn’t waste time on debate or even acknowledgement. Sinking to his knees between the Queen’s splayed thighs, he leaned in and swept his tongue through her gaping snatch, from back to front, ending with a fillip to her prominent clit.

“Mmm!” A shudder of pleasure vibrated through her statuesque frame. Encouraged by her reaction, he repeated the move, more quickly and with more force. The woman tasted, so help him, like seafood – like Maryland crab cakes, in fact. The incongruous realization reminded him that this was just a dream; he wasn’t really in danger of losing his head. His mood lightened and his excitement climbed. Burrowing deeper into her cleft, he lapped up her savory secretions, pushed his out-sized organ into her vagina and pumped it like a cock.

“Yes-s-s-s!” she hissed, grinding her slippery pubis against his nose. Her hips jerked repeatedly as he diligently stimulated every inch of her nether regions – licking, sucking, gnawing on her meaty labia and poking at her rear hole.

He would have used his fingers as well, but the fact was that his massive tongue left no room. In any case, his efforts seemed to be bearing fruit. The Queen was now moaning non-stop. Little shivers of tension coursed through her as she thrashed and writhed under his assault. Her pussy-muscles clenched around the fleshy probe he drove into her channel, so tightly that he could barely pull out in order to plunge back in. New waves of pussy juice flooded his nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. When he wrapped his prehensile organ around her clit and squeezed, she went wild, clamping her legs around his neck and slamming her pelvis into his face with such incredible force that he worried she’d broken his nose.

The Queen of Hearts was coming, coming hard. A flood poured from her cunt, almost drowning him. Her powerful thighs threatened to snap his spine. Trying to limit the damage, he let himself go limp, but he continued to run his tongue back and forth within her soaked groove.

The ruler’s whole body went stiff for an instant, then she convulsed in a second climax. Fresh liquid filled his mouth as she shuddered in the throes of violent bliss. His chest ached from holding his breath. He wondered whether anyone had ever actually suffocated while eating pussy. What a way to go…

The Queen held him in an iron grip, his face buried in her musk-drenched folds. His attempts to pull away and suck some air into his lungs were futile. Black spots danced on his closed eyelids.

As he tottered on the edge of consciousness, she finally relaxed her hold and let her thighs drop to the ground. He tumbled backward, landing on his ass on the soft grass. Blinking and gasping, he gazed up at her imperious figure. Her cunt gaped, dark crimson, gleaming wet in the sunlight. Exhausted as he was, he still would have licked his lips, had his tongue been short enough for that to be possible.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature: https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/742-alex-in-tittyland/

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09W1HRYWG

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09W1HRYWG

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/alex-in-tittyland-lisabet-sarai/1141258680?ean=2940165817816

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1138375

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/alex-in-tittyland-an-irreverent-erotic-fantasy

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60652499-alex-in-tittyland


Thursday, September 1, 2022

Boring Legal Stuff -- #Professionalism #FinePrint #LifeLessons

Copyright graphic

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Almost every author I know writes first and foremost for personal satisfaction. There’s something addictive about capturing your visions and passions in a story. At its best, when you’re in the flow, the process of writing itself can be intoxicating. Sentences and paragraphs spill onto the page, almost like magic. You’re lost in a world of your own creation, focused on the transformation from idea to expression. Everything else slips away.

After you’ve written your story, you get the ache to share the products of your imagination. With the advent of self-publishing, it’s delightfully easy to make your opus publicly available to anyone wants to read it. And every royalty payment or positive review rekindles the spark of excitement. Someone likes my writing enough to pay for it! What a heady concept!

Of course, there are plenty of writers for whom the money is a major motivator. I have a few author friends who make a significant fraction of their income from sales. Still, I doubt they’d continue in this arduous endeavor if they did not enjoy the act of creation. After all, there are many more lucrative professions. When you do the math, you find that even highly successful authors earn a pretty pathetic hourly wage.

Once you start publishing and receiving payment, however, writing becomes more than just fun. You now have to concern yourself with the business and professional aspects of publishing: contracts, accounting, taxes and all that – all the boring legal stuff. I think it’s safe to say that nobody likes this aspect of being a writer. Certainly I’d rather completely ignore these issues, and just write thrilling smut.

Alas, if we want to publish, we can’t.

I got a wake-up call this past month that hammered this truth home. I’ve been spending what scarce writing time I have on my WIP, the third book in my steam punk erotica series the Toymakers Guild. During the first part of 2022, I reclaimed the rights to a number of my romance titles and re-released them, but the remainder won’t become due for reversion until next year. So I haven’t published anything in months.

Painfully aware of Amazon’s thirty day cliff, I decided to release an old erotic short called Goldberg Variations as a single title. It’s 8500 words, which I figured might be long enough to tempt some readers. I duly spent a day reformatting the text and making a cover, then uploaded to both Smashwords and Amazon as I normally do.

A few days later, I received an email from Amazon, asking for evidence that I owned the rights to this story. I’m not sure if they found the story in the anthology where it originally appeared (The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes, 2010, edited by Linda Alvarez, Running Press) or if they have my story confused with some other tale with the same title (alas, there are many). Either way, they wanted me to prove it was mine.

I discovered that I couldn’t.

I have a file which I believe contains every paper writing contract I’ve ever signed, and a folder on my hard disk with all the digital contracts. I did not find a contract for this anthology in either location.

Is it possible there never was a contract? Sure. Those of you who’ve been around since the early part of the century may recall that Maxim Jakubowski, who edited the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica series, not only neglected to provide contracts but occasionally reprinted stories without the author’s permission! Maybe this Mammoth Book followed the same sloppy practices.

On the other hand, it’s also conceivable that I’ve lost the contract. Not likely, but I can’t rule this out.

Anyway, I tried to locate the editor (no luck). Then I tried to contact the publisher to ask for a letter certifying that I owned the rights. It turns out that Running Press was acquired by Perseus Books, which was later acquired by Hachette, a huge juggernaut of a publishing company.

Their website says that people with questions about rights should use the web contact form. I followed their instructions. Needless to say, I have not received any response. Why should they bother to answer an individual author inquiring about a publication twelve years ago, in a book that’s currently out of print?

So, ultimately, Amazon refused to publish Goldberg Variations. There’s nothing I can do. Well, I suppose I could try telephoning Hachette long distance from Asia... or sending them a registered letter. But honestly, I don’t have the time (or the energy) for that sort of thing. It’s just an 8K short story, and I’d rather devote my scarce resources as Lisabet to creating new material.

Still, it’s a lesson. I should have been more conscientious. I should have insisted on a contract, if one was not offered. I should have made sure I got a copy with signatures by both parties, then stored it in the correct file.

I should have paid more attention to the boring legal stuff.

It’s hard to force oneself to do that because... well, it’s boring. But unfortunately, important.