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New Release: Smut by the Sea Volume 3, edited by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) and Victoria Blisse (@victoriablisse) #erotica #anthology #romance

Smut by the Sea Vol 3Blurb:

Light hearted, sexy fun by the sea is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From exotic locales such as Croatia and Australia to the coastal caves of England, Smut by the Sea Volume 3 has it all. Whatever your interpretation of naughty seaside fun, there’s something nestling between the covers for you. Kinky role play, gorgeous artists, bobbing boats, sexy cougars, hunky hermits and more abound in this exciting collection of stories from erotica’s finest authors.

Buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/smut-by-the-sea-volume-3/

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22703850-smut-by-the-sea-volume-3

*****

Excerpt from Hermit by Lucy Felthouse:

Karen grimaced as she drove the car onto the Dungeness estate. She knew for a fact she was on said estate because she’d just passed a sign proudly proclaiming her whereabouts. Personally, she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. It looked pretty damn grim, in her opinion.

She sighed. As soon as she’d been handed the assignment, she’d known it would be a bitch. The blog she wrote for, Universe of Quirk, published just that—anything quirky. This meant there was a huge amount of scope for articles for the site. Mostly it was about weird phenomena, picking out oddities in popular culture and freaky findings the world over. For the most part, Karen loved her job—she had a genuine interest in the bizarre and unusual, and a good nose for sniffing things out to write about. She didn’t often have to leave the comfort of her office chair to write her articles—the Internet gave her all the information she needed, at the touch of a button. And what she couldn’t gather via Google, she could find out by interviewing people. By email, phone or Skype.

But not Tom Pettyfer, it seemed. According to her notes, he was an ex-army dude who’d had some kind of meltdown, quit his job and moved to a shack in Dungeness. He was now a total hermit—hence the in-person interview. He had no telephone, let alone a computer or Internet access. Her boss had had to arrange the appointment by snail mail, for heaven’s sake! As such, there’d been no way of double checking he was still available. Karen hoped like hell he hadn’t suddenly decided to go out—leaving her with a long journey home with no article in the bag.

Continuing along the poorly-surfaced road, Karen slowed the car to a crawl—both to avoid damaging the rental vehicle and also to squint at the shacks she passed to find the one she was looking for. They all seemed to have names rather than numbers, which made the signs easier to read, but it was more difficult to find the right one, as there was no rhyme or reason to the layout. For all she knew, Tom Pettyfer’s shack could be the very last one on the lane.

Soon, she discovered that was not the case. Tom’s home was a strange-looking wooden building that wasn’t near to anything else. It sat alone in the shingle, a sparse garden-type thing surrounding it, and an ancient rusty car on the driveway. She supposed there was no point buying and running an expensive car if one didn’t go anywhere. Perhaps he just used it for errands and grocery shopping. He couldn’t shop online—so how else would he buy food and other necessities? How did he pay for those things if he never went out, didn’t have a job?

She reminded herself that this was the whole point of the trip. To meet this hermit and ask him questions, to find out why he lived the way he did, what made him tick. What had happened to make him choose this lifestyle?

Her car wouldn’t fit on the driveway behind his so she parked at the side of the road in front of his house, figuring traffic wouldn’t exactly be a problem anyway. Looking around, she was struck by the eeriness of the place, the loneliness. Add that to the ugly nuclear power station perched at the edge of the estate and you had a recipe for… well, hell on earth, really. And they called Kent the garden of England.

Pulling herself back to the task at hand, Karen grabbed her stuff then stepped out of the car, locking it and walking up to Tom’s shack. The sooner she got the interview over with, the sooner she could leave this desolate dump. Grey clouds overhead threatened rain, and she could hear the sea crashing mercilessly against the shore, the saltiness in the air filling her nostrils and coating her tongue. None of those things endeared her to the place.

Reaching the front door of Tom’s shack, she sucked in a deep breath and let it out, then straightened her stance. She was so used to working from home, lounging in her office chair as she researched and typed away, that she’d almost forgotten what it was like to meet someone on a professional basis. It was imperative to get this guy to trust her, so he’d open up and give her some good stuff for her piece. The project was a pain in the arse, but she couldn’t grumble too much—the site’s editor had made it worth her while financially.

Satisfied her body language was business-like yet friendly; Karen knocked on the door, and waited.

A couple of seconds later, the door opened. “Hi,” said a guy about her age, “you must be Karen, from Universe of Quirk.”

“Uh, yeah… that’s me.” So much for being professional. She hadn’t been expecting a god to answer the door. It had totally thrown her. “I mean, sorry, yes. I’m Karen Wilson. Lovely to meet you.” Holding out her hand, she tried not to swoon as the hottie reached out and gripped it, his own hand warm and dry, the shake firm but not crushing. Her belly did flip flops.

*****

Editor Bios:

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

 

 

Victoria Blisse is a Mother, Wife, Christian, Manchester United Fan and Award Winning Erotica Authoress. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco and Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea anthologies.

Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut Events, get togethers for authors and writers alike. Check out http://smutters.co.uk for the details of the next smut gathering.

She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker (She is TEB’s resident “Naked Chef”) and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.

Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

You can find often find Victoria procrastinating on Facebook http://facebook.com/victoriablisse , Twitter http://twitter.com/victoriablisse  and Pinterest http://pinterest.com/victoriablisse  and if you want to know more check out her website http://victoriablisse.co.uk

 

New Paranormal Erotic Romance Novel by Lucy Felthouse – PACK OF LIES! (@cw1985) #erotica #romance #werewolves

Pack of LiesBlurb:

Werewolf brothers Matthew and Isaac have lived in the peaceful village of Eyam all their lives. The villagers know what happens every full moon, and are happy to keep their secret. But their privacy comes at a cost—neither brother has taken a lover in almost four hundred years.

Then at the full moon, a sheep is slaughtered on Eyam Moor, by what could only be an animal. A large, vicious animal. Even the brothers’ staunchest supporters begin to have their doubts. Meanwhile Isaac is smitten by a handsome newcomer to the village, while a vivacious visitor is happy to offer Matthew her all.

As they indulge their lust, they must clear their names and convince their neighbours that they aren’t also letting their baser instincts out to play.

Inside Scoop:  This book contains sizzling scenes of both M/M and M/F sex.

Buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/pack-of-lies/

Add to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22756241-pack-of-lies

*****

Excerpt:

As Matthew and Isaac Adams opened the front door to their house, the telephone started ringing. Matthew sighed. “Typical. No rest for the wicked. I’ll answer it, you go and get ready for work.”

Isaac nodded and headed off to do as his brother advised. Matthew, the older of the two, walked toward the ringing phone and snatched it off the hook. Then, remembering that the person on the other end of the line would have no idea what a rough night he’d just had, he made the effort to inject some politeness into his tone.

“Hello? Adams residence.” Isaac had told him time and time again that the last part about the residence was old-fashioned, that people didn’t say that anymore, but Matthew couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Hello, Matthew? It’s Richard.” The village vicar’s voice, even though he’d only spoken four words, sounded strained, almost panicked. “You boys just get back?”

“Yeah, a moment ago. Why, what’s up?”

“I, uh… I got a call. A dead sheep has been found up on the moor. Not just dead. Mutilated. Like a wild animal attack.”

An unpleasant feeling wormed its way under Matthew’s skin and his stomach flipped. “Oh?” He paused, then figured he had nothing to gain by not saying the next words he wanted to. “You don’t think it was us?”

The vicar’s gasp was instant, one of genuine surprise. “Lord, no! Absolutely not. I just phoned to let you know and I was wondering if you’d come up there with me and take a look. You and Isaac are probably more qualified than anyone else in the village to tell what did this.”

“Isaac has to work, he just went to get ready. But yes, I’ll come up. I’ll let my brother know where I’m going, then I’ll be straight over. Are you at the rectory?”

“Yes. Okay, I’ll see you soon. Thanks, Matthew. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Matthew hung up the phone with another sigh. The horrible feeling that had crept under his skin and taken over his gut seemed as if it was there to stay, and it was never a good sign. The vicar’s news was surprising, yes, but he also had an inkling that it was going to spell trouble, or at the very least inconvenience, for him and his brother.

Pulling in a deep breath in an attempt to calm his jangling nerves, Matthew walked upstairs and toward his brother’s bedroom. The door was closed. He knocked. “You decent?”

“Yeah,” Isaac replied, “close enough.”

Stepping into the room, Matthew looked at his brother. He was half-dressed, ready for his shift at the doctor’s surgery, where he was a general practitioner. “Sorry to interrupt, mate, but that was Richard on the phone. They’ve found a mutilated sheep up on the moor, and he’s asked me to go with him to check it out.”

Isaac paused with one arm pushed into his shirtsleeve. “He doesn’t think—”

Matthew cut him off. “No. He was quite adamant about that. He just thought we’d be able to help figure out what did it. I explained that you’ve got to go to work, though. I’m going to head across there now and go up with him.”

“I could phone in, let them know I’ll be late.”

Matthew held up his hand. “There’s no need, brother. Relax. Just go to work and help the sick people. I’ll let you know what—if anything—I find out.”

Opening his mouth, then closing it again, Isaac seemed to have thought better of whatever he was going to say. He continued to dress. “All right, I will. But make sure you let me know what happens. Send me a text or something, and I’ll phone you as soon as I have a gap in between patients.”

Matthew grimaced. He hated texting. Hated mobile phones, actually. Technology was one of the things he disliked most about modern-day life, though he realized it was a necessary evil. It solved as many problems for him and his brother as it created, so he dealt with it as best he could. Fortunately, Isaac had always had an affinity with computers and phones, so he tutored his older brother.

“Yeah, all right. I’d better go and find my phone first then, eh?”

Smirking at his brother’s rolled eyes, he left the room and headed for his own bedroom, where he thought he’d left the device the previous night, before he and Isaac had headed for the caves. Immediately spotting the mobile phone—which Isaac often made a point of telling him was akin to a brick—he grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket and made his way downstairs.

Retrieving his keys from the hook by the front door, he called up to his brother. “I’m going now, Isaac. I’ll see you after my shift at the pub. I’m working until closing time.”

“Okay. Don’t forget to keep me posted!”

“I won’t.” As if he could forget. The dead sheep was going to be a big thing, he just knew it. The vicar might not think he and his brother had anything to do with it, but some of the other villagers might. When there was no proof either way, just his and Isaac’s word, it was understandable, really. Since he and his brother changed into wolves every full moon, it was a natural conclusion to draw. Particularly since normal wolves had been extinct in England for over five hundred years.

*****

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

 

Ruby Madden & Curious Readers

It’s my pleasure to welcome the lovely Ruby Madden to A Hopeful Romantic for the first time ever, but hopefully not the last.  Are you curious? Ruby likes you that way. 

Curiouser & Curiouser…

Ruby Madden cover imageI rely a great deal on the curiosity of readers when it comes to what I write. First, it started with my own curiosities needing an outlet and expression. Over the last two years, as I’ve had interactions with the writing-reading-publishing community in general, I’ve been thrilled to discover how much I enjoy the interaction, exchange of ideas, support, sharing of successes and the discussion surrounding challenges.

I’m never bored. Ever. Which is part of the thrill of writing in this particular genre – erotic fiction.

My stories focus on the journey, exploration and the growth a character (or more accurately, a cast of characters) embraces when experiencing new erotic pursuits. Typically, carnal and lustful need is the focus and then I weave in the emotional inter-play of how we, as human beings, sexually interrelate with one another. Our exploration of desire.

I enjoy exploring group dynamics such as threesomes, menages (menage-a-trois), orgies and ‘open’ or casual relations amongst sex-play partners. Also, the challenges that can come into play when there might be a bit of jealousy or rivalry. In this, my characters seek to explore learning maturity, boundaries, and being adults who respect other’s boundaries and right of sexual self-expression and experience.

In Toy Box: San Francisco (a West Coast Erotica stand-alone novelette series), I explore the world of initiating sexual interaction online, via the internet. The two primary characters, Cassandra and Ryan, come from two entirely different worlds. Cassandra was raised and lives in the San Francisco, Bay area. She is a Stanford graduate, and a successful businesswoman. Ryan lives in Santa Barbara, was raised in Southern California, and is a successful, albeit now-retired, pro Soccer player.

Cassandra is growing out of her comfort range of only have short-term and/or strictly carnal & sexual involvements initiated with men online. Men whom she introduces to her toy-box. A risk-taker in the business realm and bedroom, she’s never quite met her match. Until now.

Ryan is tired of being perceived solely as a jock and a ‘player’. Having grown bored of the women he typically meets and interacts with in the sport world, he’s seeking to know thyself better and has sought the guidance of a therapist who helps him navigate the next phase of his life and what he seeks from it. In this, he discovers he is seeking a partner and life companion.

Nonetheless, they’re both up to their usual tricks and meet online. What happens next? Will they be able to lure one another outside of their usual comfort zones?

 

EXCERPT:

{ CASSANDRA }

Home from work, I was sitting in my PJ’s on my sofa, laptop on my lap and peering at Ryan’s pics again. My fingers flew across the keyboard.

Me: If I were to masturbate, while thinking of you, your face and that sexy bod… what would you hope I’d do to enjoy myself? Thoughtful response, please. This will actually happen when I get a reply…

I included a picture of my toy-box, a beautiful hand-carved wooden piece that I’d been given as a gift in India while there for business.

I’m sure they had no idea what good use I would put it to when I returned home. The executive who’d given it to me had explained that the type of wood it was made from benefited from being touched and caressed by human hands as the oil from the skin helped to maintain the color and texture of the wood over time. He had rubbed his hand over the lid, while smiling at me.

The gesture was sincere and innocent. True gratitude for the contract I’d helped them with which meant more business to their company than they’d dare dreamed possible.

I’d smiled and known instantly what I would use it for. Of course, he thought I would use it for something far less naughty and imaginative. Say, for tea. And although tea bags would look absolutely scrumptious in just such a container, my collection of sex-toys would look better.

I love my sex-toy collection.

I invested in my toys like anything else, with a lot of thought and with a goal of acquiring the best. This meant designs that were both useful, practical and elegant. Materials that would last with proper care and were ‘insertion-friendly’. Toys that had aesthetic appeal, excellent functional purpose, and made sex-play with new lovers even more fun.

Men’s reactions to my Toy Box ranged from enthusiastic delight to offended confusion. It just depended on their exposure, curiosity and experience.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Buy Links:

AMZN US: http://bit.ly/1oLphql

AMZN UK: http://amzn.to/1oLplWW

PLAY: http://bit.ly/MEii6S

KOBO: http://bit.ly/1lWPSkr

B&N (Nook): http://bit.ly/Xj8G82

Scrbd.: http://bit.ly/Xj8NQQ

iBooks: Link to Come

 

Ruby Madden can be found at the following spots on the Internet:

GoodReads

tumblr

twitter

BlogSpot

G+

LibraryThing

FaceBook

 

The Story behind Helen Callaghan’s Deliciously Chilling Story, Sex & the Single Hive Mind

version1

It’s a total pleasure to welcome my dear friend and fabulous writer, Helen Callaghan to A Hopeful Romantic to share a bit of the story behind one of my favourite short stories of all time, Sex and the Single Hive Mind. Even better still, the story is now available in the vibrant new Science Fiction anthology, Mind Seed and as a podcast with CrimeCity. Enjoy! –K D

*****

Sex and the Single Hive Mind is set in the near future. It’s a very dark story about Susannah Watson, a woman who is kidnapped and then made into an immobile living host for carnivorous algae that devours her. The result is then to be sold on as an illegal drug. All of which is terrible news for Susannah, of course, but has unforeseen side effects.

Believe it or not, it’s a comedy.

I wanted to write something about body theft – not Burke and Hare cadaver thieves, but something more like Invasion of the Body Snatchers – things that come from outside, and steal your body for their own wicked purposes.

Helen Callaghan Sex Hive mindproduct_thumbnailPersonally, I find that kind of thing terrifying. When Donald Sutherland starts that unearthly shrieking at the end of the movie, I freaked out as a kid.

It’s the exact same wellspring of horror that The Exorcist draws from – something that doesn’t mean you well now has control of you, while you look on, horrified. Whether you are locked in there still, or your own personal will simply evaporates, the terror lies in the loss of your agency, your control over your own flesh, the very thing that is dearest to you, and is indivisible from your sense of self.

In all of these cases, the reader’s sympathy lies absolutely with the possessee, if you like – the possessing entity barely has a motive, never mind a personality (spewing out pea soup and rude words hardly counts as character).

So I thought it might be kind of cool to explore the idea of body-snatching from the body snatcher’s point of view – in this case the point of view of a divorced middle-aged cat lady who suddenly finds herself with access to the bodies of the spoiled young things that have effectively murdered her.

And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn out that doing this was tons of fun, but nevertheless, there is, I think, a core of sadness – Susannah has access to their flesh and its pleasures, but can’t enjoy it because ultimately her victims all reflect only herself, and her attempt to use her newfound powers to reach out to her object of desire does not go as planned.

Her absurdity and loneliness, is, in a way, also similar to the loneliness of the writer and her characters. Characters, however fascinating, are still just creations, manifestations of a single will.

Anyway, the story appears in the anthology Mind Seed (http://www.lulu.com/gb/en/shop/edited-by-david-gullen-gary-couzens/mind-seed/paperback/product-21702685.html) edited by David Gullen and Gary Couzens. The book has been put together to remember Denni Schnapp, biologist, traveller, science fiction writer, and alongside me (www.helencallaghan.co.uk) a member of the T Party Writers group (http://tpartywriters.wordpress.com) based in London, which also included KD.

 

Excerpt from Sex and the Single Hive Mind:

It’s not Conor this time, but Imogen. Raoul and Conor and Imogen, named for the pretensions of their parents, carriers of their bougeousie. Colonised by them.

But for now, I’m dreaming Imogen. I know this because she’s in a tiny neat kitchen, looking at our mutual reflection in the darkened window. She still looks supercilious even with no-one on hand to disapprove of. I suspect that it might just be a cast of her features, something she can’t control but which her character does little to mitigate.

She’s washing dishes. She’s doing this very slowly, as she’s obviously drugged out of her tiny mind. I can taste the sharpness of cut grass in her mouth.

She’s eaten half a piece of steamed fish and boiled vegetables, without salt or pepper. I know this and am not sure how. My/her hands stir through warm soapy water.

Time to try it, then.

Her head raises, she looks into the window.

“My name is Susannah Watson.”

The words emerge without ceremony. I don’t know what I was expecting, to be honest. I thought perhaps there might be some sort of intense psychic battle, where I warred for dominance against her innate personality, but she doesn’t appear to have one. Her body is an empty house and I control it utterly, without let or hindrance.  The drug has reduced to her to a series of mannerisms, which fill her head like ugly furniture left behind by the previous tenants.

“My name is Susannah Watson,” I say again. My voice is a stranger’s, filled with unfamiliar music. “I am fifty-two years old. I am a detective in the Metropolitan Police, Smithfield division. I have two cats and one ex-husband. I have been… I am…”

My voice fades away.

Imogen stares back blankly at me from her reflection.  From my reflection.

It’s too much, too much, and I fly, back to my concrete room. I linger there, my consciousness circling above my green body, buzzing. I see what is happening. I have colonised the flies. They ate me, and I fill them. Spider-Girl ate the flies, and I filled her.

I understand, I think.

I gather myself. I tell myself, “I want to be Imogen now.”

Nothing happens.

“Take me to Imogen.”

I summon up the memory of being her, of hot soapy water over my hands, of the taste of cut grass.

I’m standing in the kitchen again, as if I had never left. She has not moved in the meantime, as far as I can tell, and a little trail of saliva drips down from the corner of her semi-open mouth.

I wipe it away with one of her wet, soapy hands, fascinated by her soft, unmarked skin against my face. She must be thirty years younger than me, at the very least.

“I am Susannah,” I say, and my voice rolls with confidence. I laugh then, and the girl in the window’s reflection laughs with me. In a bare instant, her superior squint vanishes and I shine out of her, like the sun breaking through fast passing clouds.

Enjoy a podcast of the complete Sex and the Single Hive Mind here:

http://www.starshipsofa.com/forums/topic/crime-city-central-no-109-helen-callaghan/

 

*****

 

The anthology, Mind Seed,  celebrates Denni’s interests and all of the proceeds go to Next Generation Nepal (http://www.nextgenerationnepal.org), who are an anti-child trafficking organization. We had the launch at LonCon 3 in the ExCel centre in London, and we’re all very proud of the book and hope it will do well.

 

Buy Mind Seed Here: 

Amazon UK

Lulu.com

 

Helen CallaghanAbout Helen Callaghan: 

Helen Callaghan writes genre fic­tion inspired by her love of intel­li­gent books and brain­less movies. Her first novel, Mephistophela, is set in a near-future Lon­don and inspired by ele­ments of Marlowe’s Doc­tor Faus­tus. She is cur­rently work­ing on Bethan Avery, a psychological thriller about a teacher who receives letters from a (presumed) murder victim.

She lives in Cambridge with a hamster called Zenobia, a beloved car, some muti­nous house­plants and too many books. Her per­sonal web­page and erratically updated blog describing the writing of Sleepwalker and Mephistophela is here. She is rep­re­sented by Judith Mur­ray atGreene and Heaton.

 

Flappers, Jazz & Valentino’s Editor, Jillian Boyd, Talks Jazz

It’s a total pleasure to have the very talented Jillian Boyd on my blog today. Jillian is the editor of the fabulous new anthology, Flappers, Jazz, and Valentino. Welcome Jillian!

 

Restless rhythms – All about that music called jazz

Jilly BoydJ.J. Johnson was once quoted as saying “Jazz is restless. It won’t stay put and it never will.”

Jazz music has been around in some form for quite some time, originating in the late 19th – early 20th century as interpretation of American and European classical music entwined with African and slave folk songs and the cultural influences of West African culture. It’s a genre borne of musical tradition, and one that’s ever evolving (still, to this day and probably way beyond).

And Jazz’s restless rhythms were a perfect accompaniment for the restless 20s. It was a time of change in so many ways; a time of choosing not to sit still and enjoy life as it comes after the horrors of the First World War. When the Prohibition kicked in, banning all sales of alcohol, Jazz music found its home in illicit speakeasies – the venues of the Jazz Age.

“If music be the food of love, jazz is surely the food of lewdness, of love that dare not speak its name, of the sort of “love” practised at petting parties and in speakeasies. What the young flapper may take for the cat’s pyjamas, father and mother rightly see as vulgar, cheap jazz whose wilful cacophony leads young people to degeneracy and depravity.”

The opening paragraph of The Sin in Syncopation, one of the stories in this very anthology, perfectly describes the opinion that many of the older generation of the time carried about Jazz music – viewed as an immoral threat to the old culture values and a promotion of the new and decadent values of the Roaring Twenties. One University professor dubbed it a sensual teasing of the strings of physical passion.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t see why that’s a bad thing. Jazz is in a way like sex: it’s restless, it’s rhythmic and it makes you feel alive. So it was indeed the perfect soundtrack for an age with as much light as it had shade. Jazz is like the Twenties and the Twenties is like Jazz. Jazz music is still alive today, and the Twenties are (in a way) alive too. In pictures in books, in films, in memories, in today’s vintage culture; you name it and there will be a bit of the Roaring Twenties for you to take and cherish.

Best enjoyed with a side of Bessie Smith, playing on the gramophone, of course.

 

Flappers Jazz and Valentino Blurb:

Is it not enough to lead my son into wild ways without teaching my daughter the tango?                     – Dona Luisa, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Step back in time to a decade full of glamour, glitz and decadent sin with this collection of erotica set in the Roaring Twenties. With twelve stories, in all shades from romantic and sensual to burning hot, this collection is the perfect appetizer for a night out at the speakeasy. A journalist gets a sexy introduction to the sinful syncopation of jazz music. A three-way tango performance becomes the steamiest ticket in town. The owners of a speakeasy set up a very special audition for their new trumpet boy. All this jazz and more in Flappers, Jazz and Valentino, edited by Jillian Boyd.

 

Excerpt:

From The Sin in Syncopation                                                                                                                                by Blacksilk

Cal jerked my hands away and for a second I thought that something was wrong. “Your dress,” he said, lifting my hands above my head before doing the same with my dress, tossing it to one side. I started to lift up my necklace, but he shook his head. “Leave the pearls. I like them.”

I watched as his eyes flicked down and ran up my body as they had at The Chapel before. Now, though, the look in Cal’s eyes was unconcealed, unrestrained. I looked down at myself, a little self-conscious. My crêpe de chine step-in had a lazy lustre in the dim light of the room and I hoped to heaven that I didn’t disappoint.

I felt fingers under my chin and a flurry of kisses as Cal tilted my head up to meet his. “Stand up,” he said and, as gracefully as I could manage, I climbed down from his lap. He stood too, slipped off his shoes and socks, and began to undo his belt. I loved this part. I was tempted to stand and just watch, but I’ve never been good at being passive. I pulled down the straps of my camisole as he started on his pants.

As well as my necklace, I’d kept on my rayon stockings. Men liked that. We stepped out of our remaining clothes at the same time and gazed at each other.

His toned chest, that I already loved so much, gave onto an athletic stomach and a not inconsiderable erection which jutted from angular hips. He raised his arms, etched with the delicately raised veins so often found on the male of the species, and wrapped me close to him, pressing my flesh against his.

I sighed as he lifted me in those strong arms and deposited me gently onto the mattress, falling onto me with his body and then with his mouth. His lips kissed a trail across my collar bones and then down into the subtle mounds of my small, thankfully fashionable bubs.

I could feel his prick pressed against my thigh as he bent over me and, truth be told, I longed to feel it in my hands, to take it in my mouth, even to take it inside me. I moaned as he found my nipple with his lips and alternated between kisses, licks and tiny teases with his teeth. I wrapped my legs around his body and ran one hand through his hair, the other over his back, arching into his ministrations and yet longing for more. More of him. More of everything.

Reaching down with one hand, I grasped his cock and began to massage it. I knew what to do, of course. If this was my first rent party, I’d certainly been to petting parties before. His moans into my breasts soon proved that. As I joined in, letting the thrill I was feeling at his touch out into the stuffy air, I wondered if the couple next door were having this much fun. I couldn’t hear them anymore, but the sound of music still sounded strongly through door, more so now as if more instruments had joined in.

He was bucking into my hand as I pumped him, his mouth fixed around my left nipple, sucking me slowly but surely. One hand propped him up and the other was at my right nipple, tweaking and flicking and twisting me into a frenzy. The pit in my stomach had turned into a pull in my pussy, an ache that I’d felt before but had been so much easier to ignore then.

Cal’s breath had quickened, become ragged, but now he pulled his erection back from my hand and his mouth from my tingling nipples. “Stop,” he said. “I’ve got a bit of an edge, but the way you’re going, Mae, I’m going to be completely useless to you in a minute. You’re going to make me come and I want to be inside you first.”

The words sent a pulse through my pussy. I wanted him, too. I knew it as sure as I knew my own name. And as sure as I knew I couldn’t let him have me. At least, not tonight. “I’m sorry, Cal. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. Not tonight. You know what it’s like. This? This is nothing, but if I slept with every man who’d wanted to sleep with me after one night, I’d be dubbed a quiff before I knew it.”

I expected him to be disappointed, even angry. Instead he smiled and said jokingly, “Oh! Like that is it? You’re a popular girl!”

He planted a kiss on my lips. “I understand. You don’t let people take advantage of you, Mae, and you’re smart too. I guess I know we can’t, really. I want to. Oh, boy, do I want to, but I get it.”

“Well,” I said. “I took you to The Chapel tonight. We can go to another jazz club in the week, if you’d like that. There’ll be another party like this we can go to afterward or there’s my apartment, maybe even yours…” I wrapped myself around him again, pushing my lithe frame up into his body. I liked his body and I liked what I knew of his mind. My so-called unattainable man hadn’t been so unattainable after all, but he sure gave me a run for my money. And I liked a challenge.

I ran my fingers down Cal’s chest and along his cock, watching his face contort in pleasure. “We can meet in the day, too. We can date. And maybe after enough jazz clubs we’ll see about promising to go to a real chapel. But I bet sometime between now and then we’ll get to know each other just well enough for me to see if you give as good as you look like you do.”

He grinned and pulled away, slipping down my body in a smooth movement until his head was level with the fuzz of my vulva. “Oh,” he said, “I can give pretty good right now if you like.”

His warm breath hit me, teasing me, filling me with anticipation. “God, yes, Cal.”

His mouth bent to my pussy, nuzzling aside the hair there, and he touched his tongue to that tiny bud of flesh between my folds. He licked, and as he did so he picked up the rhythm of the jazz still filling the air through the door. Perhaps it should have felt odd, but with the music in my ears and my head in the clouds, it felt… Well, it felt like the bee’s knees.

Maybe Cal’s ridiculous article had been right after all. Maybe jazz did lead to sensuousness, maybe there was more than a little sin in syncopation. But if there was, well, I liked it.

 

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About Jillian Boyd:

Jillian Boyd is an erotica author and blogger, who has been putting dirty words on paper and on her blog for the past three years. She likes taking everyday, seemingly mundane situations and making them sexy and sensual – and when she’s not doing that, she lets her imagination fly off into history and distant planets. Where she also tries to find everyday situations and make them sexy and sensual.

She’s been published in several House of Erotica anthologies, contributed to Tiffany Reisz’s office supply erotica charity anthology Felt Tips and has a story in the Golden Crown Literary Award-winning Best Lesbian Romance 2014, published by Cleis Press. She is currently working on her first novella, a sci-fi erotic thriller called In Another Life.

 

Find Jillian Boyd here:

Blog: http://ladylaidbare.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JillyBoyd

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jboydwrites

 

 

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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