Charlotte Howard Answers My Questions

Over at annabetherotica.com, I've interviewed Charlotte Howard, author of The Black Door. I asked Charlotte about women expressing anger, motherhood and sexuality, and many other things. You can read the interview here.

Summer Loving

Over at annabetherotica.com, I've reviewed Justine Elyot's "Night Swimming," one of the twenty sizzling stories in Summer Loving, an anthology edited by Alison Tyler. I'd love to see this book do fantastically well—it's been put together as a labor of love to benefit the brilliant, creative Sommer Marsden and family as they deal with cancer.

But you don't have to read it out of charity—you could just read it because it includes a truly stunning list of authors.

You can read my review here. And this will tell you where you can pick up the book.

Street Harassment Essay, Part III: On Dealing With the Horror of Innocent Men

I've posted the third part of my street harassment essay over at the new website:

I look forward to getting old partially because I look forward to going outside and being somewhat invisible. I am scared I will never get that freedom, though, because my hair is going gray and I'm not slim anymore and yet I still get harassed all the fucking time. I am beginning to understand down to my bones that this whole thing has nothing to do with my "beauty" and everything to do with reminding me that the street doesn't belong to me.

This essay means a lot to me, and I'd appreciate it if you took the time to read it.

You can find it here:

Part I: On Being Harassed and Having to Thank Him For It

Part II: On Putting Me in My Place

Part III: On Dealing With the Horror of Innocent Men

If you missed the video that inspired all this, I've pasted it in below.

Street Harassment Essay, Part II: On Putting Me in My Place

I've posted the second part of my street harassment essay over at the new website:

I have been harassed while I was in a dress and while I was in sweatpants. I have been harassed while wearing a pushup bra, while wearing a sports bra, while wearing no bra. I know that it doesn't matter what I was wearing—I know that intellectually—but the first thing I do every time I get harassed is worry about what I was wearing, what I was doing, where I was walking, how I was walking.

This essay means a lot to me, and I'd appreciate it if you took the time to read it.

You can find it here:

Part I: On Being Harassed and Having to Thank Him For It

Part II: On Putting Me in My Place

Street Harassment Essay, Part I: On Being Harassed and Having to Thank Him For It

This week, one of my afternoons was interrupted by a piece of writing that grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go. I've been wanting to write for a while about street harassment, and a video I watched unleashed the floodgates.



(Hat tip to Jon Pressick at Sex in Words).

That video's not going to tell you anything you don't know if you're a person who experiences street harassment, but the way it was shot and cut underscored how common this is, how similar the experiences are, and how angry it makes me. Over at my new website, I've divided the essay I wrote into three pieces. The first goes up today.

It means a lot to me, and I'd love for you to take the time to read it.

Here's a snip:

But what bothers me is that my "thank you" was insult to injury. What it really meant was, "Thank you for scaring me. Thank you for treating me like a piece of meat. Thank you for interrupting me when I was busy. Thank you for making me feel threatened."

You can read the whole thing here.

Bi Magic and Phase Out

My darlings, I'm moving to the next phase with the new website (annabetherotica.com). It's getting comfortable over there. I still have to unpack the boxes of books (read, load all my titles onto the site), but it's a clean, well-lit space, and it's where I'm going to be spending all my time in the very near future. If you're reading this on a feed reader, please take a second to add the new site's blog instead.

For a while, I've been cross-posting, but at this point I'm feeling that's creating a situation where I've got one foot at each site. From here out, this blog will just get pointers to the new site. In a little while, when I'm ready to let go a little more, I won't be posting here at all (though I will leave it up for the time being for the archives).

With that phase out notice out of the way, let me tell you what I just put at the new site!



That gorgeous cover is for Bi Magic, a collection of bisexual fantasy anthology released today by Forbidden Fiction. At the new site, I'm giving you more details, including the blurb, the blurb for my story, and a delicious excerpt of a cruel and seductive Naiad doing her thing. You can read it here.

I Submit to the Big Book of Submission

I've got a story in Rachel Kramer Bussel's latest anthology, The Big Book of Submission, but I've already posted an excerpt and a description of my inspiration for it. Now that the blog tour's come around, I started thinking it might be best, this time, if I don't make this all about me.

My story, "Crunches," gets me off, and I hope you love it, too. But for the blog tour, I decided to submit to a few of the other authors and see what kinky visions they had to offer. When I'm submitting, I, of course, don't want to be in control. I didn't want to have to agonize over which of the 69 delicious visions available I ought to choose—68, I suppose, since I'm leaving myself out of it. I especially didn't know how to choose when I've already shivered delightfully to work penned by so many of the names in that table of contents—Kathleen Tudor, Giselle Renarde, Valerie Alexander, Jade A. Waters, and the list goes on... Besides, I know Rachel always makes an effort to include new voices in her books, and I didn't want to rule out the chance of an intense encounter with an exciting stranger.

The only way to properly submit, I decided, was to make it random. So I took a trip to my favorite random number generator and let the fates determine what submissive tastes I would explore. I swear this is true: I drew my own story first—I take this as a sign that I should again remind you that I melt to the thought of a stern personal trainer controlling me, that I love the idea of wanting her more than I want to be her, and that following a list of instructions makes me tremble. But, persevering, I drew three new numbers, and this is what they led me to:

Draw 1: "The Test" by Kristina Wright

Suddenly, the constriction around my neck is no longer a hindrance, it's a promise.

Kristina Wright is a beloved name—not long ago, I enjoyed her kinky anthology A Princess Bound, and I've also had the privilege of writing for her. Her entry to The Big Book of Submission concerns a collar—a particular favorite of mine. There are many nights when I fetch my collar, run to my dominant, kneel while it is fastened around my neck, and then curl up in a nest on the floor of the office and languish like a pet. This is one of my favorite things in the world, and I don't need much more of a scene than that to glow with the sense of safety and being cared for, to warm with the arousal of trust. I am always thrilled to read a story that focuses on a collar and what it means, rather than simply seeing it as an accessory to a caning or what have you.

The protagonist in "The Test" turns out to find collars challenging. She doesn't like feeling anything around her neck, and this fact ratchets up the level of trust required to play with a collar. I loved the psychological depth of this story. There are layers of trust—inside and outside of the bedroom—and the story portrays a very interesting interplay between the BDSM life of the couple at its center and the public life they have and share. Just as there are several types of trust at play, there are also several tests. The story packs a lot of meaning into a small space, offering a satisfying exploration of the experience of being collared.

Draw 2: "The Bulldog Breed" by Lisette Ashton

"The marks look delightfully painful," she whispered.

At first, the word "bulldog" in the title made me think I'd come across another collaring story. The bulldog in question, however, turns out to be the bulldog clip, a particularly terrifying office supply when you've got one of those dominants whose favorite stores are Home Depot and Staples.

bulldog clip (klapka) / CC BY-SA 3.0

Just take a look at that baby and imagine it clamped...anywhere. As a person who enjoys clamps, I prefer the type with adjustable tension. They're a whole lot easier to take because I can build up to high intensity. The type that are made for papers rather than people are much, much nastier. You'll be shocked, I'm sure, that this bulldog clamp is used in the story in a nasty (read: extremely—or should I say, delightfully—painful) way.

This story is of the hot fantasy variety. I could picture myself caressing its details piece by tiny piece as I slowly turn the vibrator levels up one button flick at a time. First, the protagonist finds an unlocked door. Then she hears a gasp of pain—"needy, obvious and sexual," Ashton informs the reader. Then she's drawn into this filthy scene with the bulldog clamps, uncertain whether she wants to be on the giving or receiving end of the pain. This reads like a sincere and heartfelt fantasy, the tones of longing struck through the prose like veins of gold. There is also attention to the nature of the need for pain, a recognition of that turn of the mind that transforms the terrible into the deeply desired. I haven't read Ashton before, I don't think—this is what I meant about being open to encounters with strangers.

Draw 3: "The Chrome-Plated Connection" by Ginger F.

Everyone needs his release and my Master finds his in controlled pain—his control over the person giving him the pain: me.

Oh, this one is an amazing draw. Last fall I was at a kinky event where I attended a workshop given by the fantastic Ms. Suzanne SxySadist. She pointed out that people often make the following associations: dominant=sadist, submissive=masochist—but they're not necessarily the rule. Indeed, I have met people who don't follow those stereotypes, and I don't think I do either. I'm a submissive (see collar story above), and I'm a masochist (see clamp musings above), but I've realized lately that I really don't enjoy combining the experiences. I want to be in control when I'm being hurt, and when I'm submitting, I want to be cared for and coddled. Anyway, Ms. Suzanne's workshop involved the drawing of a chart (and, if it's not clear from what I said about office supplies and following instructions, I love charts). The chart showed all sorts of possible combinations of the four letters of the BDSM acronym, and seeing them mix and mingle made me shiver both as a kinky person and as a writer.

All that to say, that's what Ginger F. is exploring here. "The Chrome-Plated Connection" is about a very dominant dom—he is stern, he is allowed to pull his submissive away from the computer, and he is allowed to dictate when and whether she will come. It's very clear that he's calling the shots of the relationship, and at first the story seemed to be building up to some sort of typical spanking story or service submissive story, and I was ready for the protagonist to get her ass cheeks reddened or to have to perform a tedious chore wearing only an apron or some similar thing (not that I can't love those stories, too). I was, however, delightfully surprised to discover that the nature of her service is to hurt her master, with nipple clamps specifically. He is in control of how, when, and how much she is hurt, and I was fascinated by the way this is described by Ginger F.

Even more interesting to me is that the protagonist doesn't seem like the precise, perfect-fit opposite to the Master (another subject I've thought about a great deal). That is to say, she doesn't seem to be a sadistic submissive to exactly complement her dominant masochist Master. Rather, she reads as a submissive through and through, turned on by obeying him and pleasing him. I loved this a lot, both for its unusual combinations of kinks and for its recognition that people fit together the way people do, not as the solution to an equation where you subtract x from both sides and come up with the one true answer.

***



Those are all the experiences I've got time to share with you, but trust and believe that I'm going to have 65 more on my own time and in the privacy of my own mind. You can submit to The Big Book of Submission, too (or dominate it, I suppose, if that's the angle from which you will read it)—one of the places you can pick the book up is here.

You can find every stop on the blog tour here.

(Cross-posted from annabetherotica.com)

More Flash Fiction!

I've posted another free flash piece at my new website! Here's the beginning:

It was a beautiful cake, piled high with strawberries and cream, dripping with hardened fudge. I contemplated it carefully, cautious with my breathing. I knew without being told that if I tipped it off its perch on my stomach, Sarah wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice another rubber spatula in order to punish me. At the rate we were going, we’d have to buy more well before the wedding—no matter how many we had coming from our registry, they wouldn’t arrive fast enough.

I lay naked and shivering on our kitchen table—the room wasn’t cold, but my tension and excitement made me tremble.

You can read the rest here.

Nostalgia

At the Grip today, I wax nostalgic about the lost place I still wish I could go:

This is the place where my heart is buried. Today, the building has been demolished along with the dirty park beside it, both replaced by patio seating for an upscale sports bar, but on that spot of earth I fucked and loved and cried and shouted along with dozens of bands and was shamed and saw my lovers in the arms of others and performed my poetry to acclaim or to mockery and was praised and shouted at and became someone.

You can read the whole post here.

Guest Blog: Fast Cars by Tenille Brown

Today, I'm very pleased to host Tenille Brown, editor of Can't Get Enough. She must know I like to post about music on Mondays, so she sent over a great piece about hot sex in fast cars and reminded me of a fantastic Tracy Chapman song I've always loved.



See I remember we were driving, driving in your car
The speed so fast I felt like I was dunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped round my shoulder...
Fast Car, Tracy Chapman

I remember the sexy sound of strings in Tracy Chapman's version of Fast Car, her sultry ode to riding with a lover.

I remember how it made me feel, how I feel even now in a car, any car, huddled up close in the front seat, my adrenaline enhanced by the thrill of speeding down the street.

Yes, I'm fascinated with cars, riding in them, sitting on them.

In my mind I'm the kind of girl who belongs in a Mustang convertible, Special Edition, with sunglasses on and my hair blowing in the wind.

Maybe that's why I'm addicted to car sex...in my writing and in my reading.

Over the past decade, I've written a number of stories about vehicles and the people who have sex in, on and around them.

Be it on the hood, in the front seat, in the bed of a pick up, there's something about the urgency, the "give it to me now" that makes my heart beat and my tongue wag. I can't resist.

So, it's no surprise that three stories of the car sex variety made it into Can't Get Enough.

Take this passage form Miel Rose's Big Appetites:

"...it's not because of her threat that I buckle my seat belt and scoot my naked butt over to her. She takes one hand off the wheel and wraps a thick arm around me..."

Or this one from Heidi Champa's Free Ride:

"When I slipped into the backseat, I heard his belt buckle jingling and the metallic click of his zipper going down..."

And lastly, Lucy Felthouse's When He Gets Home:

"...She leaned forward and touched the button to recline the seat....the poor man had no idea what was coming to him."

Maybe it's the cramped space and the creativity it takes to get it going, maybe it's the idea of not being able to wait the ten seconds it would take to get inside the house.

Whatever it is, it makes the top two in my top ten places to get it on and no matter what, I'll always make time (and space) for a fucking good ride.



***

Can't Get Enough is on tour right now! You can see the full list of posts here. I've got a story in Can't Get Enough myself (though it's not about cars) — it's called Objects of Desire, and it's about kitchen tools turned sex toys. You can pick up the book here.

Flash Fiction at the New Site!

I thought I would encourage people to check out my new site, annabetherotica.com, by posting a free piece of flash fiction there. Here's the opening:

“Whoa, do we really need that many spatulas on our wedding registry? We don’t cook that much. I don’t even know what half those things are called.” Sarah rested a hand on my shoulder and peered at the items I’d checked off on the department store’s list of suggestions.

“I wasn’t thinking of cooking,” I confessed. Her eyes lit up, and I knew what she’d remembered.

To read the whole thing, head to annabetherotica.com, here! :)

The Pain-Studded Absolution of Those Boys

"I will set you free, but I won't let you go."

Rarely have I read a more shiver-inducing statement of what BDSM is all about. That sentence I quoted has plenty of impact on its own, but it's got even more embedded in the yearning, emotional, dead-sexy "Those Boys," Alison Tyler's latest novelette from the fabulous Go Deeper Press.

Readers of the previous novelette, "Those Girls," will welcome the return of Sandy, the cocky but not too perfect bisexual dom who starred in that outing. We've also been treated to the return of Vanessa, the titular girl.

The new addition is Rem, a silver-haired, tattooed, Western-shirt wearing rocker who Sandy sums up this by telling us what kind of boy he is. Rem, Sandy says, is one of "those 'I need your approval of my outfit, and it will take me six hours to choose a shirt' boys."

What ensues when these three collide is a tale of desire. Sandy wants Rem, Rem wants what Sandy can give him, and Vanessa wants to enjoy them both. With everyone wanting so much, the reader might ask what holds them back from satisfaction—but where sex comes into play, the answer is all too clear. What holds many of us back from satisfaction is ourselves, and that's no less true for the conflicted Rem.

The emotion between Sandy and Rem is intense, and the sex scorching, but I especially love that Tyler doesn't neglect Vanessa. Her relationship with Sandy remains nuanced, and is advanced by the story, and there is palpable chemistry between her and Rem.

I've read dozens of Alison Tyler's BDSM stories, and Those Boys delivers what fans of those stories are looking for—heat, attention to the psychology of BDSM, the search for an understanding of this drive but an ultimate refusal to apologize for it.

As she's discussed on her blog, Those Boys is different in a very important way—she's writing from the perspective of a male dom rather than the semi-autobiographical female "I" that's common to much of her other work (such as Dark Secret Love). That girl is still present in Those Boys (Vanessa, like many Alison Tyler narrators, has a preference for diaphanous dresses and a love of anal play), but it's fun to see her from a different perspective. And it's exciting to read the flip side of Tyler's kinky world. Sandy delivers the sure sexiness of a dom without becoming so certain of himself that he turns into a caricature (I feel as if I said something very similar when reviewing Those Girls, but it's true in both novelettes). His desires are front and center, and they're interestingly distinct from those of his subs.

Tyler's general exuberance about BDSM is on full display here, as fresh and strong as if this were the very first story she'd written. And Sandy's voice has a breathtaking intimacy to it. He speaks of his own desires, but he knows his subs so well:

"I know that a real, true sub requires more than pain. There's the understanding that accompanies the desires, absolution above all else."

I might appropriate that sentence to describe what I need as a reader. I want the pain and the sex, but I also need the panoramic view of kink that I've gotten from this series. I need to travel into Sandy's mind because I need that absolution, too. Tyler has said that she's at work on a prequel called Those Days, where we'll be introduced to Sandy's origins.

I am one of those boys. I am one of those girls. I can't wait to travel back with Alison Tyler to those days.

(Disclaimer: I received an ARC of Those Boys in exchange for an honest review. I have also written for Go Deeper Press and Alison Tyler. I've also spent untold sums of my own money buying books from both sources...)

New Website!

I've got a new website, and it's beautiful! It was built for me by the fabulous Angela Tavares at Here Booky Booky, and I couldn't be happier with what Angela has done.

I'm very excited for the possibilities at the new site. It's self-hosted, so I can post things without fear of sudden changes to blogger's terms of service and the like. I've got a cool podcast up there already, and I plan to post video of me reading excerpts as well.

That means, though, that I'm going to slowly phase out this blog. For the next several months, I'll be double-posting, both here and at the new blog, because I'm lazy myself about changing bookmarks and I don't want to leave anyone behind. Eventually, though, updates will only go to the new site. I'll post again when I'm preparing to make the change final. I won't maintain my publications list here, so if you want to see my latest stuff, please head over to the new site.

In the meantime, please change your bookmarks to annabetherotica.com

<3

Crunches

This Monday, Rachel Kramer Bussel's newest anthology of hot short-shorts released! The Big Book of Submission is a spiritual successor to The Big Book of Orgasms, except this time Bussel has focused on BDSM from the submissive's perspective.

My story, "Crunches," is about a personal trainer who takes control of more than her client's workout routine. Here's a clip:

One day, after she’d put me on the adductor machine and had me squeeze my thighs together against heavy resistance, I gave in to the urge that had been building. I rushed home, ripped off my sweats, and jumped into the bathtub with my vibrator in hand. I held myself in a half crunch (careful to pretend I had an orange under my chin for proper neck position), and stayed that way until my pulse pounded like a jackhammer and it felt like every drop of blood in my body had gathered just below my tightened abs. I shoved the vibrator deep inside my cunt, switched it to maximum intensity, then clenched every muscle in my body until I came. As I gasped and shuddered, hot water splashing around my shaking thighs, I could have sworn I heard Shira’s voice, counting off the spasms.

You can pick up The Big Book of Submission at lots of great bookstores—there's a good collection of links here.

The Moment Things Went Awry

Today, at The Grip, I've got a post up called, "What I Did Before I Knew Better." We're remembering the 90s for the current topic cycle, and I wound up talking about the sexual identity I was forming, and how I wound up betraying that as the decade ended.

In all my confusion, when I ask myself what I honestly want, or what my identity actually is, it doesn't hurt to think back to how I acted then, when I didn't yet know better than to be myself.

You can read the whole post here.

Evelyn Gets Ready

Last night, a great thing happened: I received my contributor copies of She Who Must Be Obeyed: Femme Dominant Erotica, D.L. King's latest anthology. Basically, anything I planned to do last evening got put on hold. No gym. No extra writing.

I'm not always so hot and ready for an anthology. Was it that cover (reminiscent to me of a kind of lost hippie girl that I'm, sadly, never going to get to meet)? Or was it the memory of how hot I got writing my story, and the expectation of 20 more like it...? Yeah, probably the second one—let's be honest. This concept is a rare and special one, and it's really up my alley, and it's not every day that there's a whole book about something so wonderfully... specific.

I petted the book all evening and even managed to read it. Maybe I petted myself, too.

OK, now I'm going to stop reminiscing and give you an excerpt. I'm going to post the opening of my story, "Evelyn Gets Ready." Often, when I write, I've got a big philosophical idea—not so much here. This time, I was remembering how turned on I got the first time I went to a BDSM con and attended a workshop on "objectification," without quite knowing what that meant (Thank you for enlightening me, Percy). I remember sitting on the floor at my partner's feet, shifting uncomfortably, stunned in that way that happens when you discover you're really into something you didn't know you were into.

Writing this story extended that thrill and horror of discovery. Last year, I had quite a crisis as far as my sexual identity. It would take a long, long time to explain all the ins and outs of it, but it was both delicious and difficult, and there are a few things I wrote in the thick of it that still carry those feelings for me. This is one of them. Heated Leather Lover is another. Untouched is a third.

But let me not distract myself. Today, I'm here to celebrate She Who Must Be Obeyed. (And how much I love that the title actually includes the period. Statement made. Full stop.) Without further ado, here's the intro to "Evelyn Gets Ready":

When Evelyn gets ready, it takes an army. Saturday night, the first time I was included in her entourage, she left instructions for me with Beau, her "concierge" and date for the evening. Dressed in a pinstripe suit, Beau met me at the front door of Evelyn's modest but lavishly decorated two-story home. "The safeword tonight is 'red.' She wants you to be the makeup table."

"A table?" I echoed, blinking. I'd been ready for "foot servicer" or even "mirror holder," but being an inanimate object hadn't really been on my personal menu.

I glanced down at my own suit, thinking about how carefully I'd gotten ready, slicking down my hair, packing something special for Evelyn. The table idea made me feel a little affronted. Beau was handsome, sure, with sweet, baby-blue eyes that promised plenty of favors, but I couldn't help sizing her up. I clocked more hours at the gym, had a couple inches on her, and felt a lot of confidence in my ability to handle a cock. I managed not to ask why she got to be the date while I got stuck being the table, but just barely.

Beau clapped me on the arm. "You're a strapping young butch with a broad back, Al. She wants to see how strong you are." I didn't miss the way Beau said she—the word carried the full force of Evelyn's fearsome femininity, but was also laced with enough proprietary intimacy to rub in the fact that Beau, not I, would play the part of Boi Charming that evening.

I ducked my head and nodded. I may not have known how exactly I could be a makeup table, but I wasn't about to lose my shot at being part of Evelyn's preparation. The club night we were supposedly getting her ready for was only a victory lap for her—everyone knew the real party was right here, right now.

"Rita will take care of setting you up," Beau told me before leaving the foyer, straightening her cravat as she went.

Rita showed up seconds later, an elegant, curvaceous brunette who would have made my mouth water if not for the thought of Evelyn. She led me to a room with no furnishings aside from a floor lamp, a thick, soft carpet, velvet wall hangings, for God's sake, and gold and crystal chandeliers. I hadn't thought real people actually liked stuff like that.

Catching my glance toward the lamp, Rita grinned, giving me a glimpse of the white teeth and delicately pointed tongue behind her full, pinup-red lips. "Be glad she didn't cast you as the lamp tonight." Her appraising stare caressed up and down each of my arms. I succumbed to ego and flexed under her scrutiny. "You might have the muscle to hold your arms out straight for her for three or so hours, but as a table, you'll be closer to the action."

Rita stepped toward me, and her perfume flooded my senses with the burnt-sugar bite of my favorite liqueur-laced dessert. She landed one impossibly soft hand on my arm. The more she looked at me with her big, brown eyes, which were passionate and warm despite the metallic colors that glittered on her face around them, the more I started to think that maybe Evelyn wasn't the main event after all. Rita was getting me achingly hard, making me constantly aware of my favorite cock lying against my thigh.

As if sensing the turn my thoughts had taken, Rita rewarded me with another slow, sly smile. Her fingers tightened on my arm. "As the table, you'll have to be good for me, because I'm the makeup girl."

The book is on sale now in paperback, and I'm told a Kindle edition is on the way in August.

In the meantime, if you can't get enough of this book, D.L. King has started a tumblr for it. You can read plenty of excerpts there.

MakerSex Resources

I've gotten a few requests for resources people can use to research what I'm looking for in my MakerSex anthology. Good news! I've got you covered!

I've got you so covered that I've made a whole Tumblr about it, called, unoriginally, MakerSex!

I've also made a post of basic resources to get you started. I hope you find those links as fascinating as I do. And, seriously, watch the Tumblr, because I'm hoping to put a lot of inspiring stuff there (and when the book actually comes out, I'll be posting excerpts from the, um, results of that inspiration...).

Call for Submissions: MakerSex

I'm editing an anthology for Circlet Press!!!! And I would love for you to write a story for me!

Here's the call:

MakerSex: Erotic Stories of Geeks, Hackers, and DIY Projects
Edited by Annabeth Leong

Deadline: September 30, 2014

Maker culture mashes together technological enthusiasm and a DIY punk ethos. It is about learning and doing, shaping the world, getting around the system, and making strange new things because you can. Skill is powerful, subversive—and sexy. Send me stories infused with the scent of hot solder, the flash of fabric sewn with conductive thread, the thrill of ingenuity, and the hotness of all things becoming possible. Your DIY stories could be near-future science fiction or cyberpunk, but they could also take place in far-flung galaxies, in the garage of a ham-radio enthusiast, or in the shadowy workshops of hacker mages. I want to believe in the plausibility of your DIY world, but that doesn’t require a technical manual. Give me a story that’s as much driven by hot sex and changing characters as it is by compelling projects and technical acumen.

All sexualities and gender expressions are welcome. Kink is welcome. I would particularly love to see worlds that recognize people of color and people of all genders as participating in Maker culture.

This e-book anthology is being edited by Annabeth Leong for Circlet Press. Annabeth has written stories for many anthologies including Circlet’s Like A Trip Through the Mirror, Like a Chill Down Your Spine, and What Lies Beneath.

For submission details, read on.

Length: Preferred length for this book is approximately 3000 to 6000 words, but we will consider the range from 2000 to 8,000 words. Query if you have something outside those ranges that seems otherwise fitting.

How to Submit: All submissions must be made via email to Annabeth Leong, editor, at the following email address: Annabeth.Circlet@outlook.com

Submissions sent to other addresses/other editors at Circlet Press will not be considered. Standard manuscript formatting rules apply even though sending as an attachment (MS Word .doc or .rtf preferred). Please note that this means your name, address, and email contact must appear on the manuscript itself and not simply in your email message. (If you’re not sure what a standard short story submission format should look like, Google is your friend.)

No simultaneous submissions (that is, don’t also send your story elsewhere at the same time, and don’t send it to multiple Circlet editors, either), and no multiple submissions to the same book. One story per author per anthology, thanks.

All stories must include explicit sexuality and erotic focus. Romantic content is welcome, but in a short story remember to keep the details on the action and its effects on the main character’s internal point of view. We favor a strong, singular narrative voice (no ‘head hopping’ or swapping between different character’s points of view within a scene). For more details on our editorial preferences, see the general submission guidelines on circlet.com. We highly recommend reading the guidelines, especially the “do not send” list, to increase your chances of sending us something we’ll love. Try to avoid cliches. Fresh and direct language is preferred to overly euphemistic. Sex-positive, please, no rape/nonconsensuality/necrophilia or other purposefully gross topics. We do not publish horror.

Originals only, no reprints. We purchase first rights for inclusion in the ebook anthology for $25, with the additional rights to a print edition later which would also be paid $25 if a print edition happens. Authors retain the rights to the individual stories; Circlet exercises rights to the anthology as a whole.

Are you tempted? Give in! I can't wait to hear from you!

Photo: Harland Quarrington/MOD [see http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Computer_Circuit_Board_MOD_45153623.jpg for license], via Wikimedia Commons

Icarus Takes Flight

Today, Forbidden Fiction released Taking Flight, an anthology of erotic stories focused on creatures with wings. Here's the blurb:

Desire can move the poorest man to take wing.
Curiosity can entice the smallest fairy to greatness.
Passion can drive the purest angel to fall.
And then there's the devils...

Flight has captured the human imagination for centuries, inspiring poets and lovers alike to greater heights. Is the exhilaration of soaring better even than sex? Is the ecstasy of a lover's touch worth more than all the feathers in heaven? Is one moment of passion on the wind worth the risk of a lifetime?

Here are seven erotic flights of fantasy, from gritty dystopian futures and surreal urban discoveries to mythic romances and fleeting moments of enchantment.

Includes:

Wingman by Catherine King
Valkyrie's Child by Ann Gimpel
Underneath It All by Kailin Morgan
Devilish Trick by L.D. Durham
Falling Into Her Arms by Laylah Hunter
Icarus Bleeds by Annabeth Leong
Elf Esteem by Nobilis Reed

You'll see that Taking Flight includes my novella, Icarus Bleeds, which I still think is one of the best things I've written. Here's the blurb:

Icarus, a man on the run, dreams of wings, and of taking flight like the surgically modified rich and famous of Central City. The hacker who harbors him will do anything to keep him, including paying for the dangerous operation in a back alley chop shop. Neither can imagine how much the wings will truly cost. (M/M)

And here's an excerpt:

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Open up for me.”

I pressed one finger in, and his body went stiff in my grip. He drew a shaking breath and writhed to get away, suddenly fighting me where before there had been only acquiescence. My hand froze, then eased out of him. He lay gasping in my arms.

“OK, maybe I am scared.”

I managed some compassion for the first time in a while. “Do you want to stop?”

He stayed silent for so long that I was tempted to take the lack of words as tacit permission and start playing with his ass again. I forced myself to wait, clenching my fingers to keep them still.

“No,” he said finally, though I had to strain to hear him. “I want you.”

“You do?” I could not keep the shock out of my voice. In response, he only nodded, keeping his face turned away. “Why?”

He shrugged, pulled my hand back toward his ass. I wanted to roll him onto his belly and just fuck him. Hard, triumphant victory filled my chest. But his expression of desire had destroyed my appetite for cruelty. I rubbed his back as my finger resumed teasing his hole, as gently and sweetly as I could. “Tell me about a beautiful thing,” I said. “Something that you think about that might help you relax.”

“Wings.” I felt his smile where his face pressed against my chest, but also in the sigh that passed over his body along with the word, leaving Icarus transformed in its wake.

“The wings of birds? Airplanes?” His ass had changed so much that it was almost sucking my finger in. I wanted to keep him talking.

“The wings of men,” Icarus sighed. “In the Central City, within the walls, you see them flying all hours of day and night. You know they’re not angels, but they look like they are. That’s not even the point, though. They go so high. It looks like almost to the sun. And it’s got to all look so different up there. You’ve got to feel free.”

I’d gotten two fingers into his ass by then, and had my other hand stroking his cock and balls. He shuddered with pleasure now as I worked my fingers in and out of him and dropped kisses along his neck and shoulder blade. I got a little distracted trying to place his accent. He had the flat, universal sound most of us have picked up from the Internet, but something changed when he mentioned Central City. I didn’t think there were any black people in the upper echelon. As a courtesy, I never looked into my clients’ histories while I obscured them, but now I wondered who he was.

A little whimper brought me back to more pressing concerns, and the need to help him stay inside his fantasy. “You ever seen one of those angel-men on the ground?”

A nod. “I used to climb up to the top of the Skywalk. They like to land up there. The view is nice, and there’s a good restaurant. That restaurant has towels for them, to wipe off the condensation they pick up from flying through the clouds.”

I grunted. “To wipe off sweat, more likely.”

“No!” The innocent wonder in his voice made me feel old. “Their faces have little frost crystals on them. Their wings are pale because the blood shrinks back in the skin under the feathers when it gets cold. When they warm up again, the wings get a rosy glow from the blood returning."

“You know a lot about this.” I slid a third finger into him. At this rate, he’d be ready for my cock sooner than I could have hoped.

“The operation is too expensive.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” I shouldn’t have said that, but my pulsing cock had destroyed my thinking by then. I needed inside him, and those words seemed like my golden key. I twisted my fingers, stroking the inner walls of his ass, while I pumped his cock with my other hand. Icarus moaned and pressed back toward me.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing is impossible, kid. Outside of Central City, we learn to take what we want.”

“You really think so?”

“Hell, yes, I think so.”

He closed his eyes, obviously caught in his dream of flight. His whole body softened, except for his cock, which had gotten so hard it was quivering. I put on the rubber, lubed up my cock, and took a chance, lining up the head and holding my breath as I eased my way in.

Icarus made a little sound in the back of his throat. “You think I could—”

“Get wings yourself. Yeah.” I spoke between gritted teeth, probing ever deeper with my cock. “I can just see how pretty those wings would look on you, spread out to either side of your hot little body, feathers brushing this round ass of yours, your muscles rippling while you pump those wings up and down.”

I was fully fucking him by then, gaining confidence in the power of these magical words I had discovered. His ass welcomed my every stroke. Beneath me, he whimpered and arched his back, taking me in to the hilt. “Yes,” he whispered. I wasn’t sure if he approved of my cock or my words, but I didn’t really care.

I grabbed his shoulders. “You could fly up past the buildings. Up even higher than the clouds.” I fucked him so hard my words came out as gasps. “Big, wide wings. Tall wings. Whatever color feathers you want.”

His ass, for all of its compliance, massaged my cock with such a tight and persistent grip that every inch I sank into Icarus sent nerves tingling down to my feet and up to my head. I was seconds from orgasm, babbling incoherently by then, spewing out whatever wing-related words I could think of. A man will say some stupid things when his cock is happy, especially when it hasn’t been for a long time.

“You find somewhere to get wings,” I panted. “I’ll take you there and help you check them out. Hell, I could even pay for it.”

You can pick up the Taking Flight anthology at Forbidden Fiction's catalog site, All Romance E-books, and more! There's also a print edition on the way!

The Perfect Taste

More Smut for Chocoholics is out, and I've got a story in it! My entry, "The Perfect Taste," is about a character having her first experience with another woman—all because of a mix-up over a box of chocolates. Here's an excerpt:

“Hmm, there’s a card,” Pam said, at the precise moment Katrina remembered that fact with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Katrina knew she had to say something to stop Pam opening it. She didn’t need the humiliation of sharing her futile crush with anyone beyond its object.

The words didn’t come in time. Pam slit the envelope open with a hot-pink nail. Katrina had selected her card with an eye towards elegance, but now the florid gold cursive letters on the outside made her cringe.

“Thinking of you,” Pam read aloud, and opened the card. “To Barry...” She trailed off. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you and Barry were together. Didn’t think you were into men, actually. Oh hell, I’m babbling. Why didn’t you stop me opening this?”

She folded the card quickly, replaced it in the envelope, and handed it and the chocolates to Katrina, who was too stunned to receive them. There were so many things Katrina knew she ought to say, but one of Pam’s statements had consumed her mind. “You didn’t think I was into men?” Katrina had entertained some fantasies, perhaps, but she’d never kissed a woman, and she’d never given her sexuality much thought. Every straight girl had a few fantasies about women, right?

“I thought that was why we always got along so well.”

Katrina wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement. Pam’s cheeks reddened. “I just put my foot in my mouth and kept right on going,” Pam said. “Please. Take your chocolates back. I’m sure Barry will like them.”

Wheels turned very slowly in Katrina’s mind. Pam had just told her something important, but it was taking time to process what it might have been. She found her attention drawn to Pam’s lips. Had Pam kissed women? Was that what she was saying? Katrina wondered what that had looked like. She pictured Pam’s mouth pressed against another woman’s mouth, delicate but also hungry. Fascination made her want to see Pam’s mouth working, and her stalled brain suddenly caught up with her and provided the perfect solution.

“Actually, Barry and I aren’t together. He, um, didn’t want the chocolates.”

“Oh?” Pam’s tone was careful and polite, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes. “That’s foolish of him. They look like very nice chocolates.”

Katrina’s hands began to tremble. The way Pam was looking at her reminded her of the last office party, when Pam had made Katrina laugh so hard her cheeks had hurt and she couldn’t catch her breath. At the time, she hadn’t thought much about it—hadn’t let herself think about it—but now she realised she’d only ever behaved that way with a crush. She remembered the times she’d stared at Pam, thinking she felt admiration. Could that have been something else instead?

“Do you want them?” Katrina asked quickly, before she could change her mind.

“Are you sure?” Pam murmured, stepping slightly closer. She was still holding the chocolates, and again she offered them to Katrina. “They’re wrapped so nicely, you could probably still get a date with them if you wanted to. If you asked the right person.”

Katrina lifted her chin and took a deep breath. It seemed too easy to move on so quickly after months of giggling at every joke Barry made. She had, however, been giggling at Pam’s jokes just as frequently, often enough that Pam hadn’t realised Katrina normally dated men. And there seemed to be no better cure for her tears of humiliation than indulging in whatever consolation prize Pam was offering. “I think I am asking the right person.”

You can find the full table of contents and buy links here. May I also recommend you check out the first anthology, Smut for Chocoholics? I've got a story in that one, too—a decadent tale of menage and chocolate-flavored mind games.

Five Reasons to Read Sweet Spot by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

I've been really enjoying introducing this blog's readers to other Hot Pink authors, and I'm absolutely delighted to have Lucy Felthouse here today to discuss her contribution to the series!

Thanks so much to Annabeth for having me here today—I’m so excited to have a title in the Hot Pink series along with you!


So, without further ado, here are five reasons to read Sweet Spot:

1. Because Wimbledon starts next week, and what better way to get yourself in the mood for a tennis tournament than reading some tennis sports romance?

2. Because Los Carlos Tennis Academy is packed full of some seriously sexy athletes. First we had Travis Connolly from Grand Slam for those who like men, and now I’m catering for those who love ladies with Virginia Miller and Nadia Gorlando.

3. Shower sex. Who doesn’t love some shower sex? Especially when it’s all steamy and soapy, and features two smokin’ hot women?

4. The intrigue. Yes, this is an erotic romance novella, but I tend to let my books lead me where they want to, and this led me down the thriller path, to an extent. There’s some serious non-romantic action and angst in amongst the lady loving, in this book.

5. The tennis. The Raw Talent series was born when Lily Harlem sent me a chapter which is now the first chapter of Grand Slam, and although I’m no sports expert, I grabbed on with both hands and went along for the ride. Now I’m on my second sports romance and planning more! Watch this space for my next sports romance, which, all being well, will be a femdom novella. Yum.

Happy Reading,

Lucy x

*****

Excerpt:

Nadia Gorlando and I had just gotten off the exercise bikes in the gym when one of the academy’s coaches, Peter Ross, headed over to us, all smiles.

“Hey, Nadia,” he said, his all-American grin widening and his blond hair flopping down over his forehead, “I need a huge favor.”

I flicked my gaze to Nadia. She raised one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows and waited for him to continue. He did.

“I totally lost track of time just now and I have an appointment with Travis Connolly. Would you mind wiping down my machine for me? Or maybe stick a note on it saying it’s out of order? I don’t want to leave it all sweaty for someone else. You’ll be doing me a real solid. I’ll owe you.”

My jaw almost hit the floor.

Now Nadia rolled her eyes, looked over at the offending machine, then back at Peter. “Sure, I understand,” she said, as cool as ice. “The world’s number one can’t wait. Go right ahead—I’ll fix it for you.”

He babbled a load of thanks, then jogged out of the gym.

I gaped at her. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

Nadia chuckled. “Of course not. He may be coaching Travis Connolly and Rufus Lampani for the US Open, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to clean up his mess.” She pointed with her chin over to the machine Peter had just vacated. “Come on, V, I’ll show you how I’m going to deal with this.”

I followed her, grinning. Her tone told me that it was going to be something fun. Well, for us, anyway. Probably not for Peter.

Sure enough, when she returned from the room off the side of the gym, she had a pad of paper and a pen in her hands. Deliberately shielding the pad from my view, she wrote something down, then pulled off the top sheet. Folding it, she then propped it on the sweat-slicked seat so the writing was on view to anyone who happened past.

When I’d read and absorbed the words, I turned to Nadia, impressed. Her smile lit up her face, showing dimples in each cheek, and her brown eyes gleamed with amusement.

It was in that moment that I decided I had the serious hots for Nadia Gorlando.

The sign read,

PLEASE EXCUSE THE STATE OF THIS MACHINE. PETER ROSS, TENNIS COACH SUPREMO, “LOST TRACK OF TIME”.

*****

Blurb:

A Raw Talent book.

Virginia Miller is an up-and-coming tennis star. She’s gone from a ratty tennis court in a park in south London, England, to the world’s top training facility—Los Carlos Tennis Academy in California. In awe of the talent around her, Virginia is all the more determined to make the most of the opportunity and show that she’s worthy of her place there. Her mentor, Nadia Gorlando, has every faith in her.

But Virginia finds herself distracted—Nadia, as well as being a top-notch tennis player, is seriously sexy, and Virginia’s mind keeps wandering where it shouldn’t. Will her crush get in the way of her career, or can she find a way to push the other woman out of her mind before it’s too late?

Buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/sweet-spot/

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21521972-sweet-spot

*****

Author Bio:


Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

*****

GIVEAWAY!
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Leigh Ellwood – The Sugar Rush Top Five + Giveaway

I'm excited to welcome Leigh Ellwood today. Not only did Leigh edit the fantastic Coming Together: Girl on Girl, she's also a fellow author in the Hot Pink series for Ellora's Cave.

Hello, and thanks for stopping by! My name is Leigh Ellwood and I write romance and erotica. I write most pairings and genres – M/M, M/F, and F/F, and I’m here to talk about my debut with Ellora’s Cave, Sugar Rush.

Purchase now: Kindle ~ Barnes & Noble ~ Ellora’s Cave


Sugar Rush is part of a line of stories from EC called Hot Pink, romances featuring lesbian and bisexual female pairings. When I first saw the call I was intrigued, because EC is known mainly for their sexy alpha heroes. I’ve certainly read my share of them! I knew EC published some F/F romance, but the production of a special line prompted me to try for it. I was thrilled when Kelli Collins delivered “The Call.”

I had so much fun creating the story and characters and hope to expand on this world In the future. In the meantime, I invite you to learn more about Sugar Rush and what you can expect from me. I love lists, so I thought I’d share the Top Five reasons you should try this new novella.

1) Who doesn’t love the sweet stuff? Cupcakes, cake pops, chocolate chip cookies…you’ll find these and more at Neve Rush’s bakery. She loves to bake, and a certain lady loves her for that, and for other skills outside the kitchen.

2) Who doesn’t love romance? Neve loves love. Sugar Rush opens with two women inquiring about a wedding cake, and when Neve takes the job she doesn’t realize she’s caused a media sensation. If you support the right for same-sex couples to marry you will like Neve.

3) It’s awesome to try new things. If you have never before read an F/F romance, this is your chance. Ellora’s Cave has shown great support by putting out the Hot Pink line, which gives you many options to choose.

4) It’s the start of something big. I’ve started work on the follow-up story, to be called Sugar High. You can never have enough sweet stuff!

5) Reading romance rocks! You can download Sugar Rush to your reader and take it with you anywhere this summer – the beach, the mountains, or stay at home.

To get you as excited as me about Sugar Rush, here’s a sneak preview. Hope you check it out and let me know what you think. You can tweet me @LeighEllwood anytime.

***

Baker Neve Rush is surprised to receive social media attention, both the good and bad varieties, after agreeing to bake a wedding cake for a lesbian couple. She cares about people’s tastes in pastries, not sexual partners. The newfound fame has gained her new customers—as well as one resurfaced ex. Gianna stirs up memories Neve would rather forget, and an impromptu flirtation with a client might just do the trick.

Judy Goldsmith finds Neve’s open-mindedness refreshing and attractive, and isn’t above a little scheming to get to know her better. As Neve and Judy satisfy each other’s sweet tooth in the most pleasurable ways possible, feelings begin to blossom. But their deepening attraction may not survive a little white lie…and an even bigger, darker secret.

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.

An Excerpt From: SUGAR RUSH

Copyright © LEIGH ELLWOOD, 2014

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Judy drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting out the red light so she could pull forward and turn into the shopping plaza. Should I park in front of the bakery? That’ll make it look obvious, huh? Desperate cupcake groupie looking for something sweet. In Neve’s mind, however, it might look as though Judy didn’t trust Sugar Rush to deliver the party treats; that perhaps she wanted to spy on her.

Of course, that notion had to occur just as she’d pulled into the lot and drove past the bakery storefront. This is silly, she thought, and decided to pull through to the opposite exit and join Rachael at the coffeehouse. As much as Neve enchanted her, Judy didn’t want to come off like a stalker.

The lights were still on at Sugar Rush and she saw activity within… and nearby in front of the Mexican restaurant. An overhead lamp illuminated the two figures, one perched on the short iron gate, and Judy recognized Neve’s outfit. The woman looked upset.

Worry seized Judy by the throat until she couldn’t swallow so easily. Did Neve need help?

Creeper or no, Judy changed her mind and wheeled into the first available space. She’d never forgive herself if she drove away and Neve ended up the victim of an assault so close to work.

“Hello?” she called out, approaching the sidewalk. The figure hovering over Neve, a woman, whirled around and glared hard.

Neve, by contrast, appeared relieved to see her.

“Oh hey, Judy. You’re early.” Neve stood and eased past the other woman, surprising Judy with a full-on embrace. Neve’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and Judy’s body reacted with a quiet surge of lust. Even with the winter clothing barriers, her skin tingled and her pussy throbbed. Unconsciously, she pushed her groin closer in hopes of more intimate contact, but Neve’s next words proved more sobering than the coldest shower.

“Play along, please?” she whispered in Judy’s ears. “I’ll explain later.”

Judy gave a sound that must have satisfied her as assent, though inside her heart dropped to her shoes. Okay, so she had to play pretend in front of this stranger, which could only mean Neve wanted a quick escape. The woman had to be an ex on the make—this scene didn’t have the look of a confrontation with a disgruntled customer.

Neve withdrew but kept a soft grip on Judy’s hand. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said to the slow-burning brunette. “I have plans for tonight, and I need to finish up at the bakery so my employees can go home.”

“I get it, sorry.” The woman nodded and drew her coat tighter around her waist. “I’ll see you around, I guess,” she added, and stormed off without acknowledging Judy.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Judy whispered close to Neve.

Yeah, right. This had lover’s spat written all over it—and Judy noticed Neve was grinning like an inmate on parole.

You’re not sorry at all that I showed up, are you, Neve?

She tried not to smile herself.

Neve waited for the woman to get into her car. “Not at all, you were right on time. A minute more and I would have been in serious trouble.” She didn’t elaborate, but instead turned to Judy. “You saved my ass.”

Judy’s face flushed hot. An ass-related thought came to mind, and stayed wisely unsaid.

About Leigh

I am Leigh Ellwood. I write smutty stories about people who like getting naked and having sex. Some have more sex than others, some have sex with people of the same gender, some have sex with more than one person, and still others have sex with toys and things that require the use of batteries. My stories range from a few thousand words to well past 70k.

Visit Leigh online:
Website - http://www.leighellwood.com
Blog - http://leighwantsfood.blogspot.com
Twitter - http://twitter.com/LeighEllwood
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/LeighEllwoodAuthor

Giveaway
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New Release: Calendar Men: Mr June – The Other Brother by Lucy Felthouse

I'm pretty excited about this new release from Lucy Felthouse. It sounds like military erotic romance of a type I've discussed before—hot, and also sensitive to the real issues facing those who serve and those who love them. - AL


Photographer Melodie Carr moved to New York City to escape and make a fresh start. Her soldier fiancé was killed in a friendly-fire incident in Iraq, and she has been struggling to come to terms with it ever since. She still feels strongly about needless death and those left behind, so when she sees a call for photographs for a calendar of topless men, with profits going to the Hero Family Fund, she’s eager to help out. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know any men that fit the profile, so she gives up on the idea. That is, until Patrick Brogan—her late fiance’s brother—turns up in New York. Seeing him brings up all kinds of memories, but she’s determined to push them aside and be friends with Patrick. She also realizes he’d be perfect for the calendar. But can she persuade him to take part?

Buy links
Add to Goodreads
Calendar Men freebies

*****

Excerpt:

Melodie Carr reluctantly clicked delete on the e-mail with a disappointed sigh. She couldn’t contribute to the charity calendar for the Hero Family Fund, a cause very close to her heart, because she didn’t know anyone suitable to photograph. Although her photography work varied—from children to pets, landscapes to portraits, she’d done a bit of everything—she got the impression the call for calendar models sought hunky guys to create a collection to make women swoon. Unfortunately, she didn’t work with professional models and therefore had to give up on the idea. A cute dog, something she had plenty of images of, simply wouldn’t cut it.

She might not be able to contribute, but resolved to find out when the calendar would be available and do her bit to help by buying a few copies. Some eye candy on her wall would definitely not go amiss, and her friends Poppy, Lola and Charis, and her grandmother, Joyce, would no doubt appreciate it. She grinned. Joyce, always good fun, said, there’s no such thing as too much eye candy. The saucy old broad.

Her smile faded. She missed her, having not been back to Boston to see her friends and family for a while. She should ask Joyce to come and visit her in New York—she hadn’t traveled much, and would love the hustle and bustle, the endless opportunities to people watch. Maybe Melodie and the rest of the family could buy her a ticket for her birthday. She’d have to give it some thought. It sure would be nice see a familiar face, other than via Skype.

Someone pressed the buzzer to her apartment and she sighed again. It was probably a delivery driver trying to get into the building. It wouldn’t even be a package for her.

Taking her time getting to the intercom, she hoped whoever it was would go away. No such luck—the buzzer squawked again. She inhaled deeply, trying to rein in her annoyance and avoid being rude or abrupt.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” a male voice said. “Are you Melodie? Melodie Carr?”

“I am.” A caller looking for her? Had she ordered something and forgotten about it? “Who’s calling?”

“It’s Patrick,” the voice replied. “Patrick Brogan.”

“Patrick….” Speechless, she laid a hand on the wall to steady herself as the bottom dropped out of her world. Evidently, running to New York—albeit under the pretense of a good career move—hadn’t been enough. Her past still followed her, still tried to flood her with reminders of what she’d lost.

“Melodie?”

Damn, the man’s persistent. She never should have admitted her identity before asking his. She could have told him he’d gotten the wrong place and sent him away.


*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

New Release: Yield To Me

I've got a serious weakness for MMA, and I was extra excited when I saw that this book features a female MMA fighter! Enjoy!



New Release! Sexy fighter romance Yield to Me by Sarah Castille
On sale for $0.99 from June 2-9, and then it will be priced at $2.99.

BLURB
Below the belt, no-holds-barred attraction...

Amateur MMA fighter, Marcy Foster is determined to win the state championship. But dark secrets and a broken trust mean there's one submission she just can’t master. Fortunately Club Excelsior has hired a coach who knows all the right moves.

Sexy, confident and commanding, fight consultant Jax demands control, both in and out of the ring. But once he has Marcy against the ropes, Jax knows he’s in too deep. He has the dominance to give her what she needs, but once he unleashes her hidden passions, there's no going back.

Under Jax's skilled hands, Marcy submits to her deepest desires. But when her personal and professional worlds collide, she is forced to face a brutal truth—yielding to her darkest needs may be the one thing that costs her the fight...and her heart.

BIO

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Sarah Castille, writes contemporary erotic romance and romantic suspense featuring blazingly hot alpha males and the women who tame them. A recovering lawyer and caffeine addict, she worked and traveled abroad before trading in her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home in shadow of the Rocky Mountains. Readers can find her at sarahcastille.com.

EXCERPT

“Mount.” Jax beckoned her forward, his voice curiously husky, and for a moment she wondered if his touching exercise had affected him as much as her.

Marcy crawled up his body and then sat astride his abdomen in Full Mount. God, his stomach was rock hard. Just like the rest of him.

Jax’s body stiffened beneath her. “Christ, Marcy. Are you trying to kill me?”

Puzzled, she shrugged. “I thought you wanted me like this.”

“I do. No. Hell. I mean…to practice the submission, you need to be in High Mount.”

Understanding dawned and she tried and failed to repress a smile. “Am I mounted too low for you, Jax?” She was sorely tempted to give a little wiggle because she could feel something hard pressing into her ass and she was desperate to know if he was wearing a cup. In all her years of training she’d never affected a guy this way and she had to bite back a laugh.

His eyes blazed with liquid heat and his voice dropped to a husky bark, “Move up.”

Marcy eased herself up, her thighs parting wider as she positioned herself high on his chest, her knees under his armpits. “High Mount is easier with female fighters. Your chest is so broad…”

He cut her off with a low growl. When she glanced down to see what she’d done to irritate him this time, she was caught in the blistering heat of his gaze.

“I’m on to you, little fighter.” His eyes glinted, amused. “Don’t think for a minute you’ll distract me from doing what I came here to do.”

A smile curled her lips. All week she’d had to listen to the fighters at the gym talking about the aura of mystique surrounding Jax and his “fighter whisperer” ways. And yet his visible discomfort at her position on top of him made him seem all too human. All too male. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He raised an eyebrow and exhaled through gritted teeth. “How about we try for Mid Guard?” The warmth of his breath caressed her inner thighs and heat flooded her veins. How unprofessional. She’d practiced this position countless times with other fighters in the club. Not once had she ever wanted to tear off their clothes and…

“Actually, probably better if we move to Full Guard.” Jax bucked suddenly, throwing Marcy forward and onto her hands and knees, a standard defense to High Guard, but one that put her breasts within an inch of his lips.

Her nipples tightened and she quickly rolled to her back to hide her body’s response.

Jax moved into position on top of her, taking his weight on his elbows, his legs tucked between hers. So hot. So heavy. So masculine.

Dominant. Controlling.

Arousal coursed through her veins and she tried to think of anything but the erotic weight on top of her.

Coach. Training. Professional. But her body, now a live wire, wasn’t on board.

“How do you want me?” Her breathy voice shaded into a whisper.

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How Much Do I Wish I Were in the UK Right Now?

My darlings, it's that time of the year when I grow passionately jealous of those of you on the other side of "the pond." (Not that I've ever had the jet-setting life that would allow me to call it that, just that this is how I've heard the Atlantic Ocean referred to by those who do).

Why, you ask, am I so jealous? It's because I long to go to Smut by the Sea (so much so that I wrote for a book by that name!).

Alas, this year, I cannot make it. But perhaps you can, and below I've got the info from Victoria Blisse.

Smutty fun by the Sea in Scarborough.


Smut by the Sea on the 14th June is the second time the smutters have taken over Scarborough library. Last Summer, we had a fabulous time. Check out the photos and blogs here. This year, we’ve got even more for you to enjoy.

Sessions from bestselling authors Victoria Blisse, KD Grace and Lucy Felthouse on different aspects of erotic writing set you up in the morning. Start with inspiration with Victoria, then KD Grace helps you write better erotica by finessing sex. The last workshop of the day gives you the tools you need to wow editors and get your stories accepted and will be led by Lucy Felthouse.


After a free lunch (oh yes, such a thing exists!) we’ll be enjoying the Reading Slam, short, sexy snippets from some of the smutty authors in attendance. You’ll get tasters of some of the best erotica and erotic romance in the country and their books will be available to purchase at the book stall too.


All day you’ll be able to browse the stalls in the side room. Check out Steph Ann Summer’s goodies, hot books from attending authors or pick something unique up from our craft stall. Then of course you’ll want to have a go on our unique erotic tombola – the prizes are truly thrilling!

Tickets are selling fast, but there are some left. So what are you waiting for? Join us for lots of smut and laughter at Scarborough library on the 14th June from 9.30am.

Quotes from last year’s Smut by the Sea Attendees:

“In between the readings there was another key component that made SBTS such a fantastic experience, and that was the chance to chat, to share ideas, to meet people face-to-face who we had only ever talked to online before and to discover that they were just as amazing face-to-face as they are on social media.” KD Grace

“For an amateur erotica author and long-time consumer of smut, the day was a perfect mix of readings, more formal Q&A but also the chance to mingle with all the participants and ask questions. I was blown away by how friendly everyone was, and how much advice I was given.” Anna Sky

“So, lovely people, smut, PVC, fish and chips and ice cream – how good a day is that?!!” Slave Nano

***

Slave Nano sounds like a person after my own heart.

I Also Make Audio...

The topic at Oh Get a Grip! this week is near-death experiences. This time, I'm not telling a true story — but I am singing. I've posted a raw recording (vocals only) of a song I wrote years ago about a car accident and a brush with death. You can check it out here.

Heated Leather Lover: One Hot Scene

It's out today!

I've been going on and on at various places in the Internet about how hot this book makes me, and now it's time to prove it. Here's one of my favorite scenes—I wrote it early on, and it set the tone for what would be going on in this novella:

Tam stroked Yasmin’s hair. “How many spankings should you get, little girl? How bad have you been?” She wanted to give the woman a chance to set expectations. For some bottoms, taking ten hits was practically edge play. For others, taking a hundred was just warming up.

Yasmin turned her face upward, her expression veiled by a curtain of her thick, curly hair. She bit her lip adorably, into her part already. Her mouth formed the letter “F” but she didn’t speak a word. Tam thought her hesitation meant she was pushing herself, and indeed she seemed to be waffling about whether to follow the “F” with an “O” or an “I.” Tam grinned and hurried her with a sharp, fast strike to one bared cheek.

“Which is it?” she pressed. “Is forty enough, or were you so bad that you need fifty?”

Yasmin gasped. “Fi— Fi—”

Another slap. “Ask me for it, baby. Tell me what you need and I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh God.” Yasmin sighed and jerked, then decided on another vowel altogether. “Fuck me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Tam couldn’t resist an affectionate kiss to the back of her neck. “You’ve been terribly neglected, haven’t you?”

“God, you don’t even know.”

“I’ll fuck that pretty pussy soon. First, though, you have to tell me how much to spank you. After you get your punishment, you can have your reward.”

“Fifty!” Yasmin wailed, grinding against Tam’s thigh.

Tam obliged. She paced it slowly and evenly so she had time to watch Yasmin’s reaction. Sometimes she enjoyed striking with an irregular rhythm, toying with her bottom and making it impossible to brace at the proper moment. With Yasmin, however, she still wanted to be careful and keep an eye on how things were going. Also, Yasmin was glorious. She responded to each hit as if Tam’s hand had pushed deep into her pussy, arching her back, lifting her head and letting out orgasmic moans. The cheeks of her ass blushed slowly and deeply, a dull pink gradually blooming from beneath her dark skin until she glowed. Tam’s palm tingled and sparked every time it made contact with Yasmin’s beautiful, round ass.

Yasmin didn’t seem to feel any real pain until Tam reached about twenty-five, at which point she began to give sharp little rocks after every hit, making her cheeks jiggle. Tam, by this point, had to resist squirming herself. She hadn’t seen anyone as hot as Yasmin in God knew how long, and it had been even longer since she’d actively participated in a moment as sexy as this. Consider me distracted, Tam thought, allowing herself a victory smirk.

She laid into Yasmin harder and faster. Yasmin yelped and, for the first time, tried to twist away, beginning a running motion that was stopped by Tam’s muscled thigh. Tam held her in place with one hand and kept spanking with the other. They’d both started to sweat, and Yasmin’s helpless struggles set off a hard delight in Tam. “No,” Yasmin breathed, and even though that wasn’t the safeword, Tam stopped immediately, just to check.

She swirled a soothing hand through Yasmin’s thick hair and waited a few seconds. Then she asked, “How are you doing, honey? You still okay, darling? You still having fun?” Tam didn’t know where all these endearments were coming from—she normally wasn’t so gooey. Something about Yasmin brought out all her deepest, most protective instincts. For a dizzying moment she saw herself guiding Yasmin into her favorite bar back home, the beautiful femme tucked under one of Tam’s strong, leather-clad arms and her every sweet curve nestled against Tam’s body in an attitude of perfect, submissive trust. She shivered and forced herself to focus on how Yasmin responded to the question.

“Mmm,” was all Yasmin said.

“You’re in la-la land, huh?” Tam rubbed Yasmin’s back. Her unbuttoned silk blouse had ridden up and Tam wound up stroking her knuckles across soft skin made sticky by strain and arousal. That shot straight to Tam’s clit. Jesus. This woman really made her lose her head. “Talk to me. You’re a little more than halfway through your spanking. Do you want to keep going?”

“Fuck me. Please.” Yasmin’s voice sounded indistinct and Tam realized she was sucking on one of Tam’s leather chaps. She chuckled.

“Not until you take your spanking, naughty girl. You just remember to use your safeword if you need to, okay?”

Yasmin nodded vigorously and tongued the leather some more. Tam took that as permission to give it to her hard. She didn’t hold back at all this time, really whaling at her ass. The hard, staccato blows started a sympathetic ripple in Yasmin’s ass that just about hypnotized Tam. She loved the sight of all that sweet flesh rolling just for her.

Yasmin whimpered, her hips jerking in an unmistakable rhythm against Tam’s leg. She didn’t forget to count, either, though the numbers she pronounced came out slurred and confused and Tam was pretty sure they should have gotten through the forties a lot faster than they actually did.

By the time they hit fifty, Tam couldn’t take it anymore. She stroked Yasmin’s backside for a count of ten, just to keep herself from moving too fast, but then gave in to her desires and ordered, “Strip.”

“What?” Yasmin really had dropped into subspace. She lifted her head and blinked at Tam with wide, innocent eyes.

Tam gave her a gentle shove to signal that she could get out of position. Yasmin stumbled to her feet, moving as if drunk even though Tam knew she hadn’t given Yasmin time to drink more than a few sips of that beer. “You keep asking me to fuck you, sweetheart. How am I supposed to do that when you’re still wearing all those clothes?”

“Oh.” Lust and understanding dawned over Yasmin’s face and she struggled out of her already disheveled outfit. She shrugged off her open shirt. One of her breasts had climbed up out of its bra cup during the spanking, the nipple hard and dark and perched just above the lace rim. Her hands trembled as she worked on the zipper of her skirt, and she almost fell over trying to step the rest of the way out of her tights.
Tam took pity on her and stood up to stabilize Yasmin instead of continuing to watch her delicious battle with her clothing. On the other hand, maybe Tam just couldn’t wait any longer to touch all that soft, inviting flesh. She pulled Yasmin against her and sucked on her earlobe while teasing her hard nipples. Yasmin gave up on trying to push her thong down her hips. Instead she sighed and melted into Tam’s embrace. “You smell like leather,” she said dreamily.

Tam grunted with satisfaction and growled in a low voice, “You like that, don’t you?”

“So much.”

***

You can get the book here. Or, if you prefer, Barnes and Noble or Amazon. This book is part of Ellora's Cave's Hot Pink series—you can see the full collection here.

Also, I'm running a giveaway!