Tag Archives: things that go hump in the night

Elise’s Top Ten Halloween Movies (@EHepner)

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thingsthatgohump300x200Hocus Pocus: This is what I say to people who’ve never seen my favorite 1993 classic:

 

Also, can we please discuss the hotness that was Thackery Binks before he was a cat?

This movie started my obsession with Thora Birch as well.

Practical Magic: This is my feel good, women power, tingly feeling movie. I always happy sigh, no matter what age I am when I finish watching it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LN-0csAxQE4

 

Beetlejuice: Say it three times, you know you want to…

 

Casper: Come on, how badly did you want to dance with Devon Sawa? What? I’m the only one?

 

The Blair Witch Project: It’s a little corny now, but back in the day I used to post up with my best friend with a 24 pack of Mountain Dew and watch this movie on repeat until the sun came up.

 

Paranormal Activity: This was the second coming of The Blair Witch Project for me…until they started making sequels.

The Cabin in the Woods Joss Whedon Version: Those who don’t know, I’m a Joss freak. I have his quote and name on my arm.

What Lies Beneath: There was something about this movie that always tweaked my creep factor and I couldn’t tell you exactly what, but I still love it.

Tucker and Dale Versus Evil: I found this movie recently on Netflix and my Halloween wouldn’t be the same without it. Had me laughing so hard I almost passed out.

Sean of the Dead: A classic.

 

Now onward, to books!

Furious LustFurious Lust:

One mistake can change a life—let alone an eternity.

Tisiphone’s a revenge demon working for Hades in the Underworld torturing damned souls. When she escapes for three days under the sun with a human male, her leash is pulled tight. Tisiphone’s banished from the Underworld to Earth and stripped of her demonic powers. But that’s not what drives her horrendous nightmares.

Cithaeron’s human life was dedicated to revenge, until a demon walked into it. The wickedly intense, sensually destructive Tisiphone takes over his life with probing questions and haunting caresses. It’s over in a blink. After centuries of torture in Limbo, Hades brings him back for a judgment call that could change their intertwined lives—dead or alive.

Their future is in their past. Their lust can burn each other to the ground. But they’ve got to learn to work together or they’ll both go to Hell for good.

Amazon | B&N

 

Furious TemptationFurious Temptation:

For millennia Megaera, a Fury, has functioned as Hades right hand by passing judgment on demons who break the sacred laws. Stalwart in her moral compass, but harboring a curse triggered by rage, she walks a thin line between perfection and destruction. But when she digs into a case uncovering a string of demon rapes, she incites a war with Mount Olympus that could ripple chaos throughout the ages.

Omen Cole was demon made during the Civil War after repeated torture at the hands of his enemies. Sentenced to an eternity as watchdog over his emotionally frail, once human ex-wife, he’s haunted that he couldn’t save her from a brutal assault.

Now it’s happened again. And Megaera needs his testimony. Omen will sell his body—and anything else—to avenge his fragile ex-wife. If that means an alliance with Megaera, he’ll make it the most memorable of their eternity.

Amazon | B&N

 

Elise HepnerBio: Elise Hepner lives with two spastic cats and a very supportive, slightly crazy husband. There is never a dull moment in the house, unless the caffeine runs out, which it never does. She’s a multi-published erotica author with Cleis Press, Entangled, Ellora’s Cave, Xcite, and Secret Cravings Publishing.

She’s driven by her tea addiction and a tiny stuffed turtle her husband picked up from Disney World that sits on her desk and “supervises” her work.

When not writing (which is rare), she’s watching countless hours of reality television, playing the Sims or shopping online. Plus there’s that odd obsession with the color purple. Everything is purple. Visit Elise at her website www.elisehepner.com to keep up with her naughty ramblings, random tidbits and future work.

She has a newsletter where you can sign up for sneak peeks, contests, giveaways, new release news and other fun things: http://eepurl.com/pW8Sj

Website: www.elisehepner.com

Twitter: @EHepner

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/elisehepner

Blogger: http://celise91writer.blogspot.com/

Facebook: Elise Hepner

Instagram: Elise_Hepner

*****

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Mixing the Spooky With the Sexy by Vanessa de Sade

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thingsthatgohump300x200Mixing spooky with sexy…  For me that’s a cocktail so delicious that it often proves quite irresistible and, as an author, it also allows me to indulge in some of my darkest fantasies.

So when the nights begin to get longer and the dark comes early along with foggy evenings and the scents of fires being lit, it’s nice when emails from editors start filtering in with requests for Halloween stories for their October anthologies.

Being a lady of certain years, shall we say, and well past the spring chicken stage of life, I grew up on Hammer re-runs in our local Odeon on Sunday nights, and there was always a certain thrill in the way that old Jimmy Sangster movies used to mix men with hairy chests with large-breasted women in diaphanous nightgowns and copious buckets of blood.  (What can I say, I’m weird and I know it!)

Of course, I’ve always been into weird cinema where they love to put the erotic hand-in-hand with the forces of darkness, and there’s been a big helping of sexiness in the weirdos who slide out from under our beds when the lights go out at night from the silent-era German expressionists onwards.  Just Google Conrad Veidt as the Somnambulist if you’re feeling horny some dark sleepless night, and you’ll see what I mean!  And, oh,  Bela Lugosi’s eyes as Dracula…  Sorry, Robert Pattinson, you’re a beautiful boy but you just don’t have those eyes, oh those eyes…  [Slaps self in face to regain composure.]

Anyway, you get what I’m saying.  Dark and sinister, sexy, it’s a foregone conclusion.  Plus erotic horror gets to be that little bit darker than ordinary work-a-day erotica too!

So, to this end, I thought I’d treat you all to a little excerpt from one of my spine-chillers (though it will –hopefully – effect some other parts of your anatomy too!) – a naughty little piece of surrealism called First Blood that goes off into all sorts of forbidden places.  Here’s the blurb:

 

First Blood

World War II England. A voluptuous girl is led from her towering iceberg-like mansion while the midnight sky is aflame with the sound of bombs and gunfire. Taken across a gleaming black lake she is left bound, naked, to a tombstone, waiting for whatever is roaming the derelict island cemetery to slake its lust…

“A darkly Gothic tale which skilfully combines the macabre with the erotic, resulting in a ghoulish exploration of taboo sexuality that will make even the coldest blood boil.”

It’s available as part of my two-story collection called Crimson Velvet and I’m pleased to say that my wonderful publishers have several copies of this to give-away.  Just “like” my Erotic Fairy Tales Facebook page

( https://www.facebook.com/eroticfairytales?ref=br_tf  ) and I’ll send you one on!

 

Here’s a little excerpt for you:

But my hungers, far from being appeased, only became magnified ten-fold from my constant masturbation and I yearned constantly for the touch of another’s flesh, the hot sweet juices of an excited pussy all over my face as my lover buried her tongue deep inside my sopping slit.

And then one morning I discovered my power.

My family had lived on our land for millennia, constantly rebuilding our stately homes as fashion dictated.  We owned the valley in which we abided and the salt water lake that gleamed in front of us.  We owned the hills behind us and the fields in the plain and the wooded slopes and meadows beyond our hills.  More importantly, we owned all the people who lived here and worked for us too, the servants, the farmers, even the officious estate stewards who still exercised my long-dead father’s hunter in the frost-kissed parklands each winter dawn.

Thus when Rose came to my room with my tea that morning I asked her to undress for me.

I was trembling as I spoke the words, fearful and uncertain still of my power, but she simply looked at me from beneath her long lashes and nodded.

“Is there any special way that you would like me to disrobe, Madam?” she asked, a slight tremble to her voice as her fingers toyed with the pearl buttons on her blouse, her little breasts pert beneath the shimmering white silk.

And I knew that I should strip her slowly and savour the moment, like a fine French confection constructed from layer upon fragile layer of spun sugar and filo pastry, peel her garments from her like the petals of a warm artichoke dripping in butter.  And yet I could not.  I was like a starving man before a banquet, a carnivore with the scent of blood in my nostrils, and I just wanted to throw myself upon her and taste the salt of her cunt.

And so I told her to lift her skirt and pull her panties down, and, to my astonishment, she obeyed wordlessly, her fingers tremulous as she drew the stiff black material up, quickly turning it inside-out and pulling it over her heaving little breasts, standing there breathing heavily as my eyes ate her up.

I had expected her to be wearing cami-knickers like my own, loose and silky, but instead she had on a pair of tight snowy white cotton interlock panties, the thin fabric glued to her frame like a second skin with a deep indentation at the crotch, like a camel’s foot.

“Do you want me to pull my pants right down or just flip them over?” she asked.  She should have been wearing stockings but the war had all but stopped the production of nylons and I knew that she was saving the only pair she had left for dinner time, her utility white suspenders hanging nakedly over the bleached cotton of her underpants.

“Turn them inside out and then pull them down to your knees, so that you cannot run away,” I managed to blurt out and she immediately obeyed, denuding herself for me.

At first I thought that she had shaved herself, but then I realised that her cunt was just as hairy as mine except that her silky vixen fur was so fine and blonde that it was almost white, like a snowdrift, her big deep slit like a chasm, all her pink low slung labia clearly visible.

“Am I what you imagined, Madam?” she asked in a low tremulous voice, touching herself.

“How do you know that I imagined?” I countered, eating her up with my eyes and inhaling her scent.

“Because I take your silken undergarments when they are still warm each night and press them to my face and breathe in your desire, and I imagine kissing your hot and hairy cunt and feeling your tongue in mine,” she whispered, then added respectfully, “Madam.”

I was speechless for a second before I managed to gasp, “Come here.”

 

Vanessa Biog

Vanessa de Sade is a forty-something full-figure gal who likes to write hot stories about real women exploring the darker regions of their own sexuality. She is a regular contributor to anthologies, plus is the author of the solo story collections Black & White Movies; Nude Shots; In the Forests of the Night and Tales from a Tangled Bush.

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Janine Ashbless Interviews Her Latest Hero

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thingsthatgohump300x200Hello everyone – I’m Janine Ashbless and today I’m delighted to announce that I have managed to blag an interview with Azazel, the hero of my new novel Cover Him with Darkness—

Azazel [smirks audibly]

Janine: Er … I’m sorry? Did I say something wrong?

Azazel: Not at all. Please, do go on.

Janine: Okay … Azazel is, of course, a leader amongst the fallen angels. He was imprisoned under a mountain in the remotest part of southern Europe, and guarded there for millennia by a family who kept him secret until the last of that line, Milja, disobeyed the Divine command and risked her life and soul by letting him go free. You must be feeling pretty relieved then, Azazel?

Azazel: That’s not the word I’d pick.

Janine: Really? Okay – so how do you feel?

Azazel: Angry. Yes, that’s not inaccurate. Imagine you’d been tied up for five thousand years. That your wife and children had been slaughtered. That your brothers had all been incarcerated too, for the heinous crime of becoming sexually involved with humans. Then tell me that you wouldn’t be feeling a teensy tiny bit like burning Heaven to the foundations and pissing on the ashes.

Janine: That’s your human wife and children, yes? That’s where it all went wrong, wasn’t it? You were set to watch over the human race, but you ended up…

Azazel: Falling for them.

Janine: [laughs uneasily] Well, I’ve got to say you don’t seem to have learned the lesson from your time in prison. You launched straight into a relationship with Milja, didn’t you?

Azazel: She was my only hope, my only joy, in five thousand years of torture.

Janine:  So don’t you feel bad about risking her life? Exposing her to the wrath of the Heavenly Host, and all those priests who are trying to recapture you?

Azazel: That’s a subject you might find it safer not to bring up.

Janine: Fine – let’s stick to some easy questions. Say … How old are you?

Azazel: Four billion years. Give or take. Slightly older than life on this planet.

Janine: Well that clears up the “seven days” question … And Milja is twenty-three. It’s hardly a relationship of equals, is it?

Azazel: Did I say it was? She’s mine. She loves me. That’s what matters.

Janine: She loves you? Don’t get me wrong—I can sort of see why. You’ve got the whole gorgeous Byronic dark-n-dangerous look going for you … even if the silver eyes are kinda creepy … Look, is that even your real form, or is it something you put on to please the girls?

Azazel: What do you think?

Janine: I’m thinking No, then.

Azazel: Pray you never find out.

Janine: Um, where was I? Oh yes – clearly there’s a mutual lust, but it takes more than red-hot filthy sex to sustain a relationship. Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you love her?

Azazel: Of course. I told you – she is mine.

Janine: You see, that’s the bit I’m struggling with. She must be like a mayfly from your point of view – here today and gone tomorrow. And fragile and useless and completely ignorant. How can someone like you, with all your power, love that?

Azazel: Hardly useless. She freed me. She saved me. She loves me. And we all need love, don’t we?

Janine: You mean that literally?

Azazel: The Almighty has withdrawn His love from His outcast sons. We must have something to take its place, or we go out like flame with no fuel.

Janine: So you … I mean, that sounds a bit vampiric, if I’m understanding you right. You need Milja to love you because you’ll die otherwise?

Azazel: I’m sure your readers will find that terribly romantic. Won’t they?

Janine: Uh … it’s not exactly hero material.

Azazel: I never said I was the hero. You’re the one who used that description.

Janine: Um. Well, it’s a romance, you’re supposed to be…

Azazel: If anyone’s the hero it’s that Egan who keeps trying to rescue Milja. He’s like a faithful dog, bounding to her side at every crisis.

Janine: No, he’s not exactly … he’s not telling the … Oh.

Azazel: What do you mean?

Janine: Nothing. Never mind. Forget it. Oh dear. If you’re not the hero, Azazel, then what are you?

Azazel: I’m a fallen angel. I’m damned for eternity. I imagine I must be the villain, surely?

Janine: I don’t … I don’t think it’s that simple.

Azazel: [smiles] Tell that to God, Janine. See how far it gets us.

[disappears]

*****

Excerpt:

I was book-smart, as they say in America – there was no such phrase in our village, though they understood the concept perfectly – and I was burning with curiosity, and not wise. One day I lay down beside him on the stone and nested my head on his chest. I could hear the slow beat of his heart. The bars of his ribs were like carved prehistoric rock-glyphs, and I walked my fingertips across each ridge and furrow. The skin above his hip was so smooth it was like stroking feathers, but the old altar cloth felt damp and coarse in comparison. There was something repulsive about the feel of the grimy cloth that preserved his modesty. With my right hand I drew off that swatch, and then for the first time I touched him without the excuse that I was tending him. Without any excuse at all.

Hair, matted into curls. Below that, duskier skin. I shut my eyes. My hand, for once, was bolder than my gaze.

A small cool heft in my hand, yet heavy with a secret weight: the significance invested in the forbidden. My heart was racing, far faster than the heavy beat against my ear. My mind shied away from what I was doing. But my body seemed to be sure of what it wanted, and urged my hand to its task.

Tentatively I began to caress him.

He responded to that. Not just that sleeping creature stirring to wakefulness under my open palm, but his heartbeat waking with a kicking thud  and then his whole frame following on – his back stretching, his breath catching in his throat, his toes flexing and curling. I snatched my hand away, terrified and thrilled, and when he groaned deep in his chest I felt it through my bones.

“Ansha?”

I didn’t recognize the name, if it was a name. His eyes were wide open, staring, but I couldn’t be sure he saw anything. I pushed myself up into his line of sight.

“Milja,” I whispered. “I’m Milja.”

His cracked lips parted, and he made a sound of need. He was beautiful in a way I couldn’t understand: so beautiful I felt it as pain. So I returned my hand to its former position, and nearly jumped with shock when I found that everything had changed. Nothing soft any more, and nothing cold, and just so much more of him, flesh brought into existence from the nothing, from the void. Like a miracle.

I wrapped my hand around that burgeoning miracle.

So heavy. So strong. My hand embraced that hardness, stroking. His breath started to come faster, with a little tremble at the end of each exhalation, interspersed with murmured, unintelligible words. Soon he was so eager that he was too thick for my grasp.

I paused. I wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, or how long it would take to get there. My own body was a cauldron of conflicting needs and fears.

“Milja!” he groaned, desperate.

*****

Cover Him with Darkness

Blurb:

What happens when an archangel banished from heaven falls in love with a very human woman? Milja’s story begins when she is shown the winged prisoner her father, the village priest, keeps hidden away in a mountain cavern. This mysterious and unearthly charge is a beautiful being like the most handsome of men – and yet not. Unable to keep away from this silent creature chained in darkness, Milja is torn between family loyalty and her growing connection to their prisoner. One day her father discovers their forbidden intimacy and sender her off to America to be raised by her aunt in Boston. But Milja cannot forget her the one she loves—and she determines to free him even though that puts everything at risk: her family, her life and her soul.

Cover Him with Darkness, the story of what happens when a young woman releases a fallen angel from centuries of imprisonment, is available from October on Amazon US : Amazon UK

“If you loved an angel, how far would you fall with him?”

*****

“Calling Cover Him With Darkness a romance is like calling a Lamborghini a cute little car. Janine Ashbless has broken every unwritten rule of writing romance and makes it work most spectacularly—it’s dark and gritty and so beautifully written that the words are pure poetry.”

—Kate Douglas, author of the Wolf Tale series

 

“Janine Ashbless has long been a master at conjuring the erotic in myths and legends. Now she’s taking on religion and all I can say is wow. Just wow! What is evil? What is good? Could the faithful have completely missed the point? Sexy food for thought: Cover Him With Darkness is an intensely wild ride.”

—D. L. King, editor of Seductress and The Sweetest Kiss

 

“This book was truly a fantastic read.”

—Rose Caraway, editor of The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica

*****

JA-colorBio:

Janine Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure – and that’s “fantasy” in the sense of swords ‘n’ sandals, contemporary paranormal, fairytale, and stories based on mythology and folklore.  She likes to write about magic and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human.

Janine has been seeing her books in print ever since 2000, and her novels and single-author collections now run into double figures. She’s also had numerous short stories published by Black Lace, Nexus, Cleis Press, Ravenous Romance, Harlequin Spice, Storm Moon, Xcite, Mischief Books, and Ellora’s Cave among others. She is co-editor of the nerd erotica anthology Geek Love.

Her work has been described as: “hardcore and literate” (Madeline Moore) and “vivid and tempestuous and dangerous, and bursting with sacrifice, death and love.”   (Portia Da Costa)

www.janineashbless.blogspot.com

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Janine Ashbless Facebook

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Blinking with Kay – A Hump in the Night (@kay_jaybee)

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thingsthatgohump300x200I’m delighted to be taking part in Kd Grace’s Hump in the Night!!

October is the time of the year when the Ancient Gaels believed the fabric between the worlds of the living and the worlds of the dead thinned, and broke open, so that on Samhain- later known as All Hallows Eve, and then Halloween, evil spirits would be released into the world, spreading pestilence and plague.

To ward off these forces of evil, huge bonfires were lit, and people dressed up in frightening masks to scare the spirits away, and therefore keep themselves, their families and their harvests safe.

trick or treatIt was also thought at this time when, if an offering of some burning hay was held up to the heavens, then souls trapped in purgatory could be freed.

Okay- enough of the history lesson! I could go on, and on, and on about the history behind Halloween…But that’s not why you stopped by today! You came to see what I could offer to tease and perhaps even scare you!

I’m not known for writing paranormal stories, but hey- for you guys, I’ll do anything (well, almost!!)

So here’s a little taster from a special one off short story called Blinked…

 

Blinked

(copyright Kay Jaybee 2013)

Human minds are so unimaginative, so closed. There’s usually a soft blue glow surrounding them. Not this one.

The taste around him was sharper, it tingled against my skin, zesty with an edge of…what to call it? To say it felt sulphuric would suggest it was accompanied by an unpleasant odour, but that wasn’t the case. The aroma emanating from this human was irresistible, yet it was oddly metallic in its intensity, in its bitter tang, in its…

He turned and looked directly at me, cutting off my line of thought. I was startled by the piercing nature of his deep brown eyes, and began to wonder if he already knew, if he could tell what I was?

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled beneath my red ponytail. He really was something different. My green eyes narrowed, my heart-rate, always rapid, increased further, and I felt the familiar swell of my chest and a twitch at my crotch as I observed him watching me.

Mentally I admonished myself. There was no way he could possibly know.

The hum and buzz of the bar faded to a mere background annoyance. He should have come to me by now. Impatience rose in my throat. This was unsettlingly strange. My quarry usually comes to me as soon as my craving for them enters my psyche. It’s part of the power; an automatic response. I want them, so they want me; madly, insanely, and without a hint of uncertainty, for the desire was all. The desire IS all. Hunger, sex, success, power and control. Without them the blood I crave is simply a nice warm drink.

My senses constricted further, tuning out the other drinkers. Confusion edged uninvited into the corner of my brain. Conquest should be easy. Then the small part of me that remembered what it was like to be human, reminded me that sometimes the pursuit was as exciting as the capture. Yeah, right!

I went to him, my head held high, my pony tail swinging purposefully behind my back. His lack of instant obedience wasn’t my failure, it was his, and he would pay for such insolence.

Essential need had taken me over, and as my breasts pushed against the satin of my black bustler, and the thud behind my ribcage became louder, I stood only inches away from him. Then instinct took over, and I moved in for the kill. My eyes, blazing dangerous lust, met his without flinching, without wavering, without blinking.

He blinked. That was when I knew I’d won. That whatever strange game he thought he’d been playing, it was already over. He blinked, and I didn’t. He had a weakness I had long since cast off. Simple.

We didn’t speak. I just nodded and turned around, walking purposely towards the exit, my hips swaying, my tight leather mini-skirt revealing the tops of my stockings and the contours of my backside. I could already taste his drooling mouth as he picked up the bag that had sat at his feet, and followed me, finally my slave.

His mind had cleared of the haze that had first kept me away. All he thought now was of his need, the need to fuck. To fuck me.

I kept walking. I didn’t look back, I knew he was there. I could smell the chemically caustic edge of his presence, even if I couldn’t see him.

My flat, small and obsessively neat, was only a short walk from the bar. I unlocked the front door and pointed inside, watching as he followed the line of my finger with his eyes, before obeying the unspoken request and entering the dark hallway.

Locking the door behind me, I led him to the bedroom, and began to unbutton the studs that held my top together down my right hand side, enjoying the sight of his wide hungry eyes and his parted lips. Hell, he was virtually panting like a dog.

Dropping my bustler to the ground, I showed him I wore no underwear beneath, and that my tits were more than ready for his touch. He was clearly in need too. The bulge beneath his denims was all but breaking out on its own. I smiled, but did nothing about his growing discomfort, instead, I commanded him to remove his black t-shirt. My crotch gave a twitch of anticipation as he obeyed without question.

I admired the torso before me, the beautifully thick neck, its veins running blue, pulsing slightly just below the surface. I would visit that neck soon; linger over it, but not yet. I had learnt to be disciplined, that the wait for the kill was more fun than the moment itself. For once the second of victory came, it was soon over, and then the hunt would have to begin again.

Walking around my guest in a wide circle I nodded in approval. His head turned with me, his brown eyes never leaving my chest, his mouth watering. This was obedience.

Beneath his left shoulder blade there was a small tattoo. It was a black Celtic cross. I moved closer, and with a single blood red fingernail traced its outline. A sudden chill engulfed me, but that was all. I didn’t disappear in a puff of smoke. I wasn’t reduced to a pile of ash upon the floor. Religious symbols versus the vampire. The vampires won that battle years ago. We are simply too strong to be beaten that easily.

I felt his flesh quiver beneath my touch, but to his credit he didn’t move, although his breathing did quicken, and the gleam in his eyes said more about his requirements than any words could have expressed.

The air between us began to change as his aura altered. The sulphuric tang was evaporating and red hot chemical desire had taken its place. Still not quite what I’d have expected from the average human, but this guy was so together, literary pulsating sex; he was everything I wanted.

From nowhere, I heard my mother’s shrill voice from centuries ago, telling me not to play with my food. A disobedient child to the last, I began to do just that, and ran my tongue up and down his back in long languid strokes. As I savoured the salty sweat against my taste buds, my self-control began to wane, and I felt the yearning for blood creep up my spine, heightening my senses further, clouding my eyes so that they are but a black focused fog, taking in nothing but my victim and the overriding longings of my body.

I tore off his remaining clothes with a speed that was beyond mortal, clawing them so they lay in mere shreds upon the floor.  At that moment his semi-hypnotised state broke, and with a hunger I would normally only associate with the un-dead, he returned my urgency with fervour. Peeling off my tight skirt and boots, a flick of his brown eyes showed brief pleasure at my lack of knickers, as I pushed him back onto the bed.

If he was surprised by my strength then he didn’t show it. His heavy masculine aroma, his lust, intoxicated me as I sat astride him, impaling myself to the hilt. Rocking back and forth, and sliding up and down in alternative motions, I revelled in the expression on his face. His eyes closed in concentration, as I snaked my right hand beneath us, and stuffed two sharp fingernails up his arse, making him yelp in surprise.

I tore off his remaining clothes with a speed that was beyond mortal, clawing them so they lay in mere shreds upon the floor.  At that moment his semi-hypnotised state broke, and with a hunger I would normally only associate with the un-dead, he returned my urgency with fervour. Peeling off my tight skirt and boots, a flick of his brown eyes showed brief pleasure at my lack of knickers, as I pushed him back onto the bed.

If he was surprised by my strength then he didn’t show it. His heavy masculine aroma, his lust, intoxicated me as I sat astride him, impaling myself to the hilt. Rocking back and forth, and sliding up and down in alternative motions, I revelled in the expression on his face. His eyes closed in concentration, as I snaked my right hand beneath us, and stuffed two sharp fingernails up his arse, making him yelp in surprise…

 

****

Gratis cover2-smash-150x150So where can you read the rest of this tale?

It is tucked away inside the FREE anthology, Gratis: Midwinter Tales

Amazon UK | Amazon US

****

Thanks again for inviting me Kd!!!

Happy Humping!!

Kay xx

 

Bio

Kay Jaybee was nominated as the Best Erotica Writer of 2013 and 2014 by the ETO.

Kay wrote the The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (Xcite, 2011-14), Making Him Wait, (Sweetmeats Press, 2012), The Voyeur (Xcite, 2012), as well as the novellas, Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man (2nd ed. 1001 NightsPress, 2013), Digging Deep (Xcite, 2013), A Sticky Situation, (Xcite, 2012), and The Circus, (Sweetmeats Press). She has also written the anthologies The Collector (Austin & Macauley, 2012 & 2008), The Best of Kay Jaybee (Xcite, 2012), Tied to the Kitchen Sink, Equipment, (All Romance, 2012), Yes Ma’am (Xcite e-books, 2011), Quick Kink One and Quick Kink Two (Xcite e-books, 2010). Kay has had over 70 short stories published by Cleis Press, Black Lace, Mammoth, Xcite, Penguin, Seal, and Sweetmeats Press.

Details of Kay’s work, past, present and future can be found at www.kayjaybee.me.uk

You can follow Kay on Twitter- kay_jaybee

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/KayJaybeeAuthor

Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/3541958-kay-jaybee

Brit Babes Site- http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk/p/kay-jaybee.html

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Ghostly Encounters by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

Guest Blogger, , , , , , , ,

thingsthatgohump300x200I love a good paranormal, whether it’s about vampires, shapeshifters, succubi or ghosts. I love the variety you can play with – your characters can inhabit completely different worlds with different rules… or they can live alongside humans in our “normal” world, our reality. The latter is what I went with when I wrote Timeless Desire, which in a previous life was called Love Through Time. I recently republished it, as I got the rights back when one of my publishers went under. It’s been rewritten and reedited so is a slightly different tale to the one that went before.

The story encompasses several of my very favourite things… libraries, books, hunky men, stately homes, history, and ghostly encounters. That last one I’ll stick to just in fiction, though.

Timeless Desire is a story with lots of facets—it’s contemporary, but also paranormal. It’s set in modern day, but a big part of the plot harks back to World War II. The main characters just met, and while it’s not instalove, there’s a promise of more to come. Throw in some sections that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I wrote them, and you’ve got a quirky little tale that reviewers have described as “clever” “a wonderful novella filled with suspense, undying love, and drama,” and “a delightful ghost story.”

So, if you like yourself some ghostly encounters and a quirky romance that will pluck at your heartstrings, then check out Timeless Desire.

Happy Reading!

Lucy x

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Excerpt:

Emily received some strange looks and frowns from the people she passed as she walked across the graveled drive towards the front entrance of Westbury Hall. She could appreciate their confusion. It was closing time for the stately home and the last of the visitors were being politely ushered out of the building, yet she was heading inside. What’s more, she’d been invited. She had a job to do.

An elderly lady stood in the porch smiling and nodding as she held the door open for those departing the property. Most of them seemed in no hurry to leave, stopping to make comments to the woman, thanking her for a lovely visit and so on. Emily waited patiently, allowing the patrons to leave before attempting to get in. When the staff member—most likely a volunteer, Emily thought—caught sight of her, she gave her a polite nod of acknowledgment.

Finally, the last of Westbury Hall’s visitors moved out, leaving Emily free to enter. Climbing the single stone step to the threshold of the front porch, she took the hand that had already been offered to her.

Shaking Emily’s hand with a surprising firmness, the woman said, “You must be Miss Stone.” Her smart appearance and the intelligence in her eyes indicated that despite her advancing age, she was far from past it, “I’m Mrs. Thompson, house supervisor.”

“I am,” replied Emily, dropping her hand back to her side, “but please, call me Emily. It’s lovely to meet you. So, house supervisor? Do you live on site?” Not a volunteer, then, but a paid member of staff.

Indicating Emily should step inside the entrance hall, Mrs. Thompson proceeded to close and lock the porch and front doors of the house, securing them in.

“I do,” the older woman said, turning back to face Emily, “I have rooms in a separate building just off the back of this one. So you needn’t worry about me disturbing you.”

“Oh no,” said Emily, worried she’d inadvertently rubbed Mrs.  Thompson up the wrong way, “I didn’t mean that. I was just curious, that’s all. You’re more than welcome to see me at work, Mrs. Thompson, although I’m afraid you won’t see anything terribly exciting.”

Mrs. Thompson smiled now, the warmth reaching her eyes. Emily almost sagged with relief. She’d yet to see the extent of the work she had to do, but she’d been told it was no easy task, so she could be here for some time. The last thing she needed was to upset any of the staff.

“Oh, you’d be surprised, my dear. This is a fascinating old place. Of course, all these old houses have history, but Westbury Hall’s is particularly rich.”

Emily smiled. The woman’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Well then,” she replied, “I can’t wait to learn more about it. I hope you’ll feed me some historical tidbits throughout the time I’m here?”

Mrs. Thompson gave an enigmatic smile. Then, startling Emily somewhat, she turned smartly on her heel and walked deeper into the house. “Come, my dear, I won’t hold you up any longer. I’ll show you to the library, where you’ll soon start uncovering Westbury’s illustrious history for yourself.”

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Timeless DesireBlurb:

Emily arrives at Westbury Hall with a job to do. She’s to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library, preserving them for future generations. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She’d expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. The introductions complete, George leaves Emily in peace to get on with her job. But when a falling photograph sets off a chain reaction of ghostly events, Emily and George are thrown together in order to find out who—or what—is causing them. Their investigation uncovers a tragic past, a lost love, and a stunning secret.

PLEASE NOTE: This is a revised and extended of a previously published title, Love Through Time.

Buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/timeless-desire/

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22911436-timeless-desire

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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

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