Monday, December 26, 2011

Music Mondays: "Get Some" by Lykke Li

"Like a shotgun needs an outcome, I'm your prostitute--you gon' get some." -- Lykke Li

Happy Boxing Day! Here's hoping that everyone out there is busy getting some. Lykke Li's "Get Some" is sexy--sometimes, I think her songs don't have enough beat, but this has a very satisfying twangy guitar driven by tribal-sounding drums. The video is a bit creepy, but also cool to watch.

When Lykke Li says, "You gon' get some," she doesn't sound like she's inviting or promising. She sounds--and looks--like she's threatening. It's pretty hot, if you're into that sort of thing.

If you need another reason to think this song's sexy, see it's association with Catwoman in the trailer for the Arkham City video game. Notice the creative editing to remove the word "prostitute."

Thursday, December 22, 2011

The Advent Calendar

Advent is about anticipation, and that's the mood I was aiming for in "The Advent Calendar," which went up last night on Every Night Erotica. Here's an excerpt:

He didn’t have enough in the way of fingernails to do it easily, but he managed to open the windows for the 1st and 2nd. The first was a window to nothing identifiable–just a cream-colored square. The second, however, positioned close to the first, opened onto a view of a bright red fingernail. The fingernail slipped under a red satin bra strap, lifting it away from an otherwise bare shoulder.

Intrigued, Zack wrinkled his forehead. Day one must have shown a patch of bare skin. Where the hell did Eliza get this Advent calendar?

Read the rest of the story here.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Going Down

"Taking in the essence, taste, smell, and sexy up-closeness of a lover is a powerful aphrodisiac that affects one physically, mentally, and emotionally. Once you have your lover in your mouth, the heat of desire, passion, and lust focus, tying your arousal directly to them." -- from the description of the forthcoming Going Down anthology, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

My story, "Getting Something Out of It," will appear in this book. You can preorder now at Amazon, or you can wait until the book is out and pick it up at your favorite local purveyor of erotica. Expected publication date is May 15, 2012.

I'll post an excerpt of my story closer to time.

Here's the table of contents:

Pretty Dull Charlotte Stein
Milk Moustache Jacqueline Applebee
Lavender Cynthia Hamilton
Etiquette Sylvia Lowry
Stacked Logan Zachary
Sucking Casey’s Cock Shanna Germain
Getting Something Out of It Annabeth Leong
Bubble Dance Jeremy Edwards
Seriously Jeanette Grey
Shuck It Dusty Horn
Dover to Victoria Station Roxy Rogers
Blush Mary Borsellino
Clean/Dirty Lucy Felthouse
Trimming Tenille Brown
Your Body is a Temple Neil Gavriel
New Additions Rachel Kramer Bussel
Do You Speak French? Chrissie Bentley
Close Your Eyes Viktoria Michaelis
Snowjob A.M. Hartnett
The Perfect Shade Elizabeth Coldwell
The Thousand-and-One Ways Graydancer

Monday, December 19, 2011

Music Mondays: "Will Do" by TV on the Radio

"Any time will do. What choice of words will take me back to you?" -- TV on the Radio

Don't just listen to TV on the Radio's "Will Do." Watch the video. It's incredibly sensual, wistful, and, when I'm in the right mood, it makes me cry. I'd thought virtual reality was played out back in the 90s, but this video makes it fresh, meaningful and symbolic. Run, don't walk.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

The Artist's Retreat

I love H.P. Lovecraft, and have been gratified to see a recent trend in Lovecraftian erotica. I was even more gratified to have a story of my own included in Circlet Press's excellent Lovecraftian collection, Whispers in Darkness. I'm proud to have had my story in this book described as "mercilessly sexy" (in the book's introduction), as well as "thoroughly, unwholesomely sexy" (in a review).

Here's an excerpt from the Artist's Retreat:

Up close, the ground swelled with twisted, fertile promise. The muddy earth sucked and pulsed around my feet. I could not imagine what might burst from it, what ancient things might wind around my ankle and pull me down to them. Olivia’s cheeks had grown bright. She pressed her body against the boulder as if against a lover’s chest, her free hand stroking it languidly. “Touch it,” she said.

I resisted, feeling a surge of fear and revulsion even as I wanted nothing more on earth than to feel the sensations I saw reflected in her eyes. I watched as if in slow motion as she pressed our linked hands also to the stone.

The boulder might have shuddered beneath my touch. Olivia guided me to stroke its moist surface, as smooth as skin. I felt little grooves in the stone and leaned closer. Shrouded by the moss, I could just see intricate engravings, impossibly complex and certainly older than any civilization I had known to live in this part of the world.

The cryptic images did not depict any shapes or beings I knew--still, they stirred me. I got to my knees beside Olivia, and together we explored the contours of the boulder. I could not piece together an overall image of the design. Neither could I decode any individual piece. But the longer I ran my fingers over it, and the longer I knelt beside her and stared, the more I began to see flashes of meaning. Two coiled appendages, wound around each other and rubbing their undersides together obscenely; what could have been a thousand tiny fingers caressing a swollen, monolithic shaft; a long and muscular tongue, curved into a suggestive question.
Though the boulder stood only as high as my shoulder, the engravings seemed impossibly vast. Soon I gasped aloud as we explored new regions of it. Olivia edged closer to me; we leaned our shoulders together as we moved our hands across the stone with increasing eagerness. I heard her panting beside me.

Gently, Olivia released my hand and placed both palms against the stone. I copied her movements. I imagined the boulder pressed back against my touch, molding itself to the contours of my hands. The skin below my collar bone felt hot. A light breeze chilled me more deeply than it should have, cooling the layer of sweat that coated my forehead and the back of my neck.

Olivia let her head fall onto my shoulder. I froze. She smelled earthy, like what I would expect from the herbs in a witch’s kitchen. I swallowed hard and turned my face into her hair, breathing deeply. The boulder in my palms pulsed to the rhythm of my breath. Intoxicated, overwhelmed, enthralled, my nose ventured deeper into her thick, red locks. Olivia’s hair brushed my lips, soft and warm in the shaded chill beneath the trees.

I could not think. I moaned and pressed my lips against that hair, kissing the top of her head. Olivia let go of the boulder and wrapped her arms around me. Even through my clothes, her hands burned. I released the boulder as well and buried both hands in that ambrosial hair. I shivered as I wrapped it around my fingers, remembering Olivia’s self-portrait and the way the woman’s body had disappeared into the dull black mass. I wanted to disappear into her hair just that way, to be tangled and shaped and possessed by it, though I could not allow those thoughts to form a bridge from urges to conclusions. I felt heat coming from all directions--my body, her body, the boulder, the ground.

Olivia stirred. She lifted her head. Her hair slipped across my lips and nearly undid me. Then her serious green eyes asked a question, a mere inch from mine. I couldn’t face questions or answers just then. I closed my eyes and pulled her against me, searching with blind lips. I found the top of her ear, her temple, her cheek, and finally her mouth, which opened willingly beneath my first avid touch.
Her tongue felt hot and strange against mine. The mystery of her taste drew me to reach deeper, gripping the back of her head now to explore her better. I could not have explained what I was doing, but at that moment I did not care to. My mind filled with incoherent thoughts, guided by the images of the past few days, but also with urges I could not fully describe. I wanted to pull her so close that I brought her into me. I wanted to press inside her so far that I would know her completely.

I needed this kiss like I had never needed anything. I gripped Olivia’s arms and directed her against the boulder. I needed leverage. I needed something to press against. I could not control my hands. They wanted to uncover all of her. I slipped them under her shirt and touched the small of her back, the flushed skin there twitching slightly under the force of my grip. I tugged her shirt up, my fingers attempting to decode her spine. I kissed harder, pinning her naked back to the boulder and crushing my hands against its rough engravings.

The kiss exploded around me. Suddenly, the trees were part of it, and the ground, and the rock, and the sun. Olivia and I, tangled together, became another part of the engravings on the stone, their natural extension as they reached into the air. We became part of something old and ancient and wanting, something that coiled at the bottom of my belly just as it nestled under the flesh of the earth.

I wanted to do everything, have everything, to plunge my hands into the mud, to curl my belly around the boulder and lie baking in the sun, to kiss and kiss Olivia until neither of us could ever breathe again. We screamed into each other’s mouths. Her body began to jerk slowly and rhythmically against mine, her tongue lagging just behind. For a moment, I felt she was feeding me secret, forbidden knowledge. Against the dark and private backdrop of my closed eyelids, I could almost glimpse a place far beyond the stars, a wild, great, terrible, and exhilarating enigma. She was there, I felt, but I could not quite join her.

I shifted my hands. Her skin felt clammy now. Concern gave me the strength I needed to break the kiss. The sight of the milky skin of her stomach and the bottom wire of her black bra would have enthralled me again were it not for the sickly pale of her face and her eyes rolled back in her head and the horror of her mouth, which did not seem aware that I had pulled away and still worked as if in the throes of ecstasy.
A dizzying wave of shame struck me full-force in the chest. I’d never felt these sorts of urges before. I couldn’t understand what I’d been doing. And I feared what might have happened to Olivia. My lust set aside for the moment, I gripped her arms and pulled her away from the boulder.

She came away heavily. I imagined for a wild moment that the stone parted with her only reluctantly. I stared into her clouded green eyes. She gave a slow blink, then began to shiver violently, her teeth chattering with the force of hailstones on pavement. “Olivia,” I said, a few times until she responded.

If I expected her to be disturbed by what had happened, her expression disabused me of my mistake. “Do you understand a little more?” she whispered when she had recovered, the feverish brightness returning to her cheeks and eyes.

It was great to have room to really stretch out and write this story, building up from sparks to a raging fire.

I highly recommend buying the anthology--not just for this story, but for everything in it. I'm astounded at the company I'm keeping here. Every one of the stories in this anthology is awesome, and there's a lot of range.

Check out, for example, Elizabeth Reeve's "The Dreams in the Laundromat," which is the sweetest, most romantic tentacle sex story I've ever read.

If you need more convincing, read this very flattering review. Then go forthwith and check out everything Circlet has to offer--they're doing great work over there.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Saturday Morning

And here's Saturday Morning, a romantic piece that appeared in Oysters & Chocolate:

“Saturday morning,” she whispered, stroking the side of his face and then letting her hand slide over his chest and down to his already hardening cock.

“Mmm,” Will said. His hands were much more awake than he sounded. He pinched her nipples with one, while the other felt between her legs. How was Alanna wet already? She wondered if some sort of Pavlovian reaction was at play.

“One second.” Alanna climbed out of bed, not even minding the chill of the room outside the covers. She’d gone to bed naked, too, wanting to feel Will’s skin even though they’d both been too exhausted the night before to do anything more than sleep.

She stumbled to the door and locked it. For a moment, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood and just breathed. The kids knew that bothering their parents on Saturday morning for anything short of fire risked the harshest punishments--hours or even days with no Xbox. Then she turned to Will and grinned. “You want to wrestle for who gets to be on top?”

“Sounds like a lot of effort.”

“Oh, you’re going to be making an effort, honey. Better get used to that now.”

You can read the rest here.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Some Useful Sailing Knots

I wanted to write a story that expressed the way I feel about rope. Just a length of it across my forearm makes me shiver. So, I wrote about a character who feels that way trying to get the courage to ask her boyfriend to tie her up for the first time. Luckily, she asks a guy who's done it before--"A few times, maybe."

Here's an excerpt from the piece, which appeared in Oysters and Chocolate:

He bit her earlobe, then worked his way down her neck. She shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her ass against his hard cock. She wanted him inside her more than she’d ever wanted anything.

“Please fuck me,” she whispered, amazed at how easily the words came now that the rope actually embraced her body.

She felt Chad grin against her neck, right before sinking his teeth in right at the nape. Rachel let out a strangled scream. Her legs gave way, but he held her up by the harness he’d made on her chest. “Seems to me like you need to be patient, sweetie,” Chad said. “You want me to tie you up, you want me to fuck you. You’ve got to give me time to do all these things you’re asking for.”

He picked up the third bundle of rope. Instead of the thick, braided lengths he’d used so far, this one was thin as clothesline. He fastened it to her chest harness and twisted it. Rachel’s eyes widened. He deftly caught her erect left nipple in one of the twists, squeezing it even tighter as he finished the maneuver and tied it off under her breast.

“You like that?” Chad asked.

Rachel bit her lip and nodded. The burn of the rope felt even more delicious on the strained nipple. Chad tweaked it gently and she gasped at the rope fibers that rubbed against the sensitive flesh.

“What’s your safeword?” Chad said.


“When are you going to say that?”

“I’ll say it if I need you to stop.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“God, no,” Rachel breathed. “Please, no.”

“OK, good girl. I’m going to do the other one now.”

You can read the rest here.

It was really important to me when I wrote this to show accurate details about rope, and also to show a responsible dom. I'm turned on sometimes when I read about dangerous bondage scenes, but it always gives me a little twist in the stomach. I wanted Chad to really know what he was doing--to dominate Rachel, but to make caring for her part of his dominance and confidence.

It was also very exciting to see my work illustrated by the talented Lochai--it made me feel rewarded for my specificity in describing Chad's rope technique.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Noise Complaints

I may have an unhealthy obsession with neighbors. My partner certainly knows--I whisper, "Hi, neighbors," after every time we fuck, a joke referring to how loud I usually get. And in my "to write" list, I have a huge bunch of ideas about neighbors and being overheard.

This story, which appeared a while back on Every Night Erotica, is the first of my neighbors stories to see the light of day.

Here's an excerpt:

Ginny had thought a gag would keep her quieter. Instead, it just makes it hard for her to use words. Behind her, Abram brings the crop down onto her ass with a crack. She knows it’s late, but she can’t help it. She screams into the leather bit gag. The horizontal bar stretches her mouth uncomfortably and digs into the corners of her lips. Each scream sends a new rush of drool dangling over her chin. But it also sends a flood of moisture to her cunt.

Despite the lingering sting from the crop, she pushes her ass back against Abram’s crotch, begging with her body since she can’t beg with her mouth. His jeans brush roughly against her naked flesh until he pushes her away and stuns her with another searing strike.

To read the rest, go here.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Playing Catch Up

I've got some catch up to play here, as I've fallen behind on posting story announcements and have sadly missed posting many sexy songs.

You'll see some updates over the next few days, packed with excerpts, links to a great new anthology, and, of course, some pointers to music to get you in the mood.

For writers out there, you may be interested to know that Every Night Erotica, where I frequently publish stories, is actively seeking submissions, including for holiday stories. If you're interested, you can submit here.