Liz Everly's Blog, page 51

Animalistic Sex With People Dressed Like Animals. Hello, Furries!

By Elizabeth Shore

Have you ever reached a point where you wanted to just say f**k it, throw away your street clothes and start wearing a coyote costume? And then maybe have wild sex with other like-minded folks, perhaps a fellow coyote or a penguin or even a polar bear? Turns out, lots and lots of people do. I’ll confess, I’m *very* late to this party because until just a few days ago, furry fandom and anthropomorphic delights were as unknown to me as modesty is to Donald Trump. But thank the animal gods above! I’m now hip to the furry fandom and can wile away the hours as I explore my inner bunny. Or bear cub.

For those few out there who, like me, are realizing there’s a gap in your knowledge when it comes to the furry fetish, allow me to enlighten. Wikipedia provides the definition of “furries,” as they’re casually known, as “a subculture interested in fictional anthropomorphic animal characters with human personalities and characteristics.” But that only scratches (or claws!) the surface. Several years ago, Vanity Fair published an in-depth look at those who partake in furry fandom with its focus more heavily on the sexual aspect of the subculture.

According to both a Furry Forum and an article in The Huffington Post, the majority of furry fans are male, as high as 80%. 33% of furries identify as bi-sexual. What brings them together at conventions and fan forum sites is their mutual interest in identifying with, and wanting to be, animals. At conventions furries will don any number of different animal costumes, although the prevalent choice – their “fursona” – is that of a woodland animal – raccoons, foxes, rabbits and the like. The costume can really be any animal you like, and you’re not obligated to wear an entire full body get-up. A furry could, for example, limit himself to just a tail or set of ears. Attendance at a furry convention doesn’t even technically require a costume at all.

So, OK. You’ve chosen your costume, you’ve arrived at the convention, what about the sexy stuff? Hmmmm? To be clear, not every furry goes to a convention to get in touch with his wild side. But for those who do, the draw to animals and animal-related objects is undeniable. As one furry put it in the Vanity Fair article, “If a [high school] mascot walked into a room surrounded by naked women, I’d be thinking about the mascot.”

Several furries also identify themselves as “plushies,” – those who are sexually aroused by stuffed animals. But if you wanna get primal with a fellow furry, it’s best to first learn some lingo. Sexually turned on in furryland isn’t feeling horny, it’s feeling “yiffy.” And “yiffing,” to no surprise, means mating. To get to the yiffy state you might consider jumping in a “fur pile,” which is a bunch of furries affectionately lying atop one another. And yes, according to furry convention-goers, there’s a lot of animal sex going on in furry land.

The furry subculture claims the number in its fandom to be in the tens of thousands. To services those who worship the anthropomorphic arts, there are of course websites, such as SoFurry.com and Furry4Life.org. There’s even a dating website, furrymate.com (“where real relationships begins”) as the place to meet Mr. Right. Or Mr. Squirrel, if you prefer.

Unfortunately, the furries’ largest convention, Anthrocon, has come and gone for this year. But if you are in “fursuit” of a furcon, there are others still to come. Just hop or crawl on over to the CoolFurries website for the low down. Even easier, just click here.

 

 

 

 

 

Finding Your Tribe–A Guest Post From Jessica Scott

Note from Kiersten: In keeping with my unofficial military theme these past weeks, I invited military romance writer Jessica Scott to guest post at Lady Smut today. I first became aware of Jessica when she was serving in Iraq and Sarah Wendell from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books put together a book drive to send romance novels over to Jessica in an effort to ease the strain of war. Since then, Jessica has become a personal pal and a huge inspiration. I admire her greatly for her service, her writing, her many academics accomplishments (she currently teaches at West Point Academy while pursuing a PhD), and her emotional books that take a frank and often decidedly unromantic view of soldiers returning from war–and all they may bring back with them. I’m delighted to have Lady Smut host her perceptive reflection on the Romance Writers of America (RWA) conference and the concept of “tribe”–a watchword I heard a LOT at the conference–today.

Welcome Jessica!

At RWA this year, I noticed a pretty big shift in the conference. Well, there were several, but a couple really stood out to me.

Jessica Scott

We made room at the table. The Romance Writers of America has been struggling to find its voice when it comes to welcoming all members–authors of color have been remarking for years that there have been deep, systemic problems at the conference. But recently, the RWA board has started listening. This year, there weren’t just panels on diversity–diverse authors were mainstream, even featured at both the Keynote luncheon and the Librarian Day luncheon. Authors like Beverly Jenkins who started her speech by discussing slave narratives that had informed her writing. It was an amazing, powerful speech and what’s better is that she didn’t change anything because her audience was largely white women. Sherry Thomas talked about her journey from China to America and how she learned English through reading romance novels. But more, she spoke about her struggles with postpartum depression–a struggle many of us went through in shame and secrecy because what could possibly be so wrong with us that welcoming our child into the world wasn’t the joyous commercial break we saw on TV?

These authors spoke about the things that connect us. In our case, it was our collective love of romance. Each of us came to our place in the romance world through different means. I started writing when I was in officer candidate school, when I was away from my kids for the first time. I kept writing through my deployment in Iraq and through what were arguably the roughest years of my life as I transitioned back to being a mom after only being a soldier.

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I distinctly remember an author posting a blog years ago when I was first starting out about how a woman wrote to her about the impact her books have had on her life. See, she was going through genital reconstruction after have been subjected to female genital mutilation. And this author’s books made her realize that there was hope, that maybe she could find pleasure one day.

Each of our romance journeys are different. Each of us comes to the table from a different place. But the thing about RWA this year that made me tear up several times was that we demonstrated there was room at the table for all of our stories. Writing and publishing is not a zero sum game. Sure, there are finite number of readers out there, but that’s not what I get out of the RWA national conference.

I get to reach out and connect with part of my tribe. I get to reconnect with women who get what it’s like to try and write when you’ve got kids in the house. I get to connect with fellow readers and gush about books we’re supposed to be ashamed of but aren’t. Because these are our stories. They come from a place within us that is very personal to each and every one of us. Our stories connect us with readers–men and women–out in the world.

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That’s what was so important about the RWA national conference this year. We opened the hidden door and talked about our struggles. We acknowledged that depression is real and it’s dark and it’s scary–but that you are not alone. We made room at the table for diverse voices and learned that ours are not muted because we add to them, rather that we are all lifted up when our voices are combined.

I left RWA this year feeling re-energized in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. I needed this reconnection with my tribe. To sit around with other moms who were enjoying time away from mom duty and laugh about the crazy things our kids did. To be around other writers who were struggling. To be the voice in someone else’s head when they need someone to drown out their own because their own is toxic at the moment.

I hope the changes we saw at this  RWA conference stick. I want us to continue to lift each other up. To stop pretending that life is the five minutes of perfection we see on Facebook and to connect with the real people out there in the world. To reconnect with our tribe. Who lifts us up.

Jessica Scott is the USA Today bestselling author of novels set in the heart of America’s Army. She is an active duty army officer, a veteran of the Iraq war, is the mother of two daughters, three cats and three dogs, and wife to a retired NCO. She and her family are currently wherever the army has sent her. She has written for the New York Times At War blog, War on the Rocks, PBS Point of View Women and War and has been featured in Esquire Magazine as an American of the Year in 2012. She has published 11 novels and novellas about soldiers returning from war and has hit the USA Today Bestseller list twice. She has compiled two nonfiction projects about her time in Iraq and the return home. She has recently completed a Master’s degree in sociology from Duke, a Master’s degree in Telecom Management from University of Maryland University College, and a BA in Cultural Studies from State University of New York. She is currently pursuing a PhD in sociology. Learn more at http://www.jessicascott.net

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 13: “That’s right. Just like that.”

Rachelle remained silent, opening her mouth again, readying herself to suck his dick. Hayden lowered his hips and gradually slid his cock in. She closed her mouth around his shaft and sucked, pulling him deeper and deeper in. Once he was in as far as he could go, she curved her tongue around his shaft, swirling it around him with careful attention.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

His encouragement made her suck harder, and he let himself go, forgetting about the thing watching him and feeling nothing except the strong pull of Rachelle’s mouth as she sucked and licked his rock-hard dick. The simmering current surging through his body got hotter, heating his muscles, centering his attention on his own needs. The intensity was frightening, the urge to brutally fuck her mouth nearly overwhelming. To fight the all-consuming lust, he bent down and licked Rachelle’s pussy. Her folds were soft and so, so wet. Her clit was stiff and easy to find. He flicked his tongue across it and her thighs tensed. She lifted her hips, asking for more. Hayden responded to her need, sliding his tongue in deeper, caressing her clit gently, over and over again. She matched his rhythm, licking and sucking his cock, using her mouth to consume his shaft.

He delved deeper, and again she responded, using her mouth to tell him she wanted more. Each time he stroked, she did, and their motions became one.

The bliss was short lived. His awareness of Mattie came back, slipping into the back of his mind then seeping into his consciousness. His awareness of her flowed through him like a heavy fog, filling his veins with thick dread. He fought it, trying to concentrate on the slick folds of Rachelle’s pussy, gliding his tongue over her sensitive skin, but the heavy pulse of his blood slowed his senses. He could no longer feel the glide of Rachelle’s tongue on his cock or the wet heat of her mouth on his skin.

Hayden looked up and she was there, staring at him, consuming him with her greed and demanding he to give in to her. He did. With his next breath, his senses tripled. He could see the flecks in Mattie’s eyes. Somehow, impossibly, he smelled her icy scent, felt her breath inside him. The sensations from the flick of Rachelle’s tongue and the slick heat of her mouth returned. Keeping his gaze connected with Mattie’s, he thrust deeply into Rachelle’s throat. His motions turned careless, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she took still more of him, letting him fuck her mouth with harsh jerks.

Every nerve ending in his body fired. His cock twitched and his balls tightened. Hayden felt it all, every tiny motion of Rachelle’s tongue, the slight graze of her teeth, the fleshy curves of the inside of her mouth, and even the whisper of her breath brushing across the fine hairs circling the base of his cock. The sensations pooled together, creating a wave of hot electricity that ran through his body, electrifying his muscles and heating his blood. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, let alone imagined.

Mattie owned him. But God help him, right then he didn’t care. He would’ve done anything to keep the wicked sensation alive and breathing inside him—an all-consuming life force of its own. He dropped his head to taste Rachelle’s pussy, sucked her plump flesh into his mouth then speared her clit with his tongue. Each lick brought a new wave of unbelievable, impossible pleasure, and Rachelle’s response told him she felt the same ferocious electricity and all-consuming unnatural bliss. Hayden lifted his head.

As he locked gazes with the creature, Rachelle sucked his cock, swirling her tongue around his stiff shaft. Mattie knew each spin of Rachelle’s tongue. Knew how desperately the girl beneath him was sucking, doing her best to satisfy him. She nodded and lowered her palm from the window.

He dropped his head, again placing his open mouth across Rachelle’s hot, wet pussy and sucking gently, pulling her nether lips into his mouth. His mouth came alive with her sweetness, and she responded by angling her head back to slide his rod deeper down the back of her throat. She took all of him, her lips brushing the skin at the base of his shaft. The sensation was as awesome as it was undeniable, unbelievable. Hayden gave himself up to the pleasure and pumped his hips, lifting his dick out of her mouth then thrusting it back in.

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day–are you feeling goooood? Hope so! We’ve got lots of fun shenanigans here to pick up your Saturday morning if not.  Read on, and savor:

From Madeline:

15% of millennials aren’t getting any.

From our own Rachel Kramer Bussel: Millennial Sex Panic: Why are we so worried that millennials might not be getting any?

Is it because 1 in 10 have distressing sexual problems? (I blame all those viagra commercials.)

Straddling is taken to a whole new sexy level – if you’re stuck in rush hour.

From Word Wenches: Good Girls Don’t Wear Knickers.

Publishers listen up! New trend in contemporary romance: older broads.

Your weight means nothing when it comes to how you really look— sez SUPER skinny woman.

You need a strap on — for your phone.  A strap on thigh holster, that is.

One lady shares how “I Got A Tattoo On My Big Fat Arm” #bodyacceptance

From Elizabeth SaFleur:

For those age-play baby carriage needs.

From Elizabeth Shore:

Why the sounds of sex are so mind-blowing amazing.

Doing it “froggy style” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Ribbit.

You had to see this coming, right? Pokémon sex toys. Pokémoan, anyone?

5 things you should know about sex and menopause.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How To Do It All: A Dangerous Proposition

by Madeline Iva

Can you do it all? Should you even try? Linda Formichelli thinks you *can* do it all, and she’s written a book that shows you how.

I asked her for a copy of How to Do It All: The Revolutionary Plan to Create a Full, Meaningful Life - While Only Occasionally Wanting to Poke Your Eyes Out With a Sharpie[image error]HOW TO DO IT ALL and dived in.  Like many of my friends–like many of you out there –I am a creative and curious person.  Put those two traits together and you have a recipe for trouble.

I’ve always been excited by the idea of having a flourishing career.  I’d dreamed of a gorgeous garden, a beautiful artsy home, with wonderful friends as well.  And I’ve wanted to travel to amazing places. The general angst I carry around with me is Why can’t my life be more like a Woody Allen movie? You know: intellectual, cultured, and gloriously bohemian.  Formichelli seems to share that angst, and with kids in tow, she wants it to be educational and fun, too.

And yet…and yet…

How to Do It All: The Revolutionary Plan to Create a Full, Meaningful Life - While Only Occasionally Wanting to Poke Your Eyes Out With a Sharpie[image error]In the past I’ve embraced a ‘Do It All’ ethos.  I’ve plunged into gardening and home, and done community arts volunteer work.  I experienced a joyous connection to the community at the time, and was full of contentment.  However, looking back these moments have tended to occur when, for whatever reason, I’ve felt most timid about my career and perhaps I was compensating by diving into a thousand and one interests instead of facing my own angsty professional demons.

When we made the big decision that I would stop teaching and write full time a few years ago–a risky financial venture for us–it put the onus on me to be more work minded.  So in fact, I’ve been deliberately trying NOT to do it all for several years. Formichelli’s book dangled before me like forbidden fruit.

I started reading her book the afternoon that I got it, and because it felt so wrong to tempt myself,  I read it out loud to my husband on the way to Lowe’s.  We’ve been trying to rehabilitate our bathroom full of peeling moldy paint (Ugh!).  During this time (June) I was trying to finish edits on a book of my own, and we were discussing whether or not I should accompany my husband on an upcoming three week vacation. Could I finish up my book before he was due to leave?

Finish the book, finish the bathroom, go on the vacation. Maybe I don’t want to do it all, but I certainly want to have it all–or at least have elves come and do it for me while I sleep.  Alas, I remain as elf deprived as the next woman.

The one thing we didn’t want was a repeat of last year.  Last year I had to go to the doctor because I had revisions due on my book, I hadn’t finished them yet, and we were supposed to leave in four days for a two week vacation, but I was waking up every morning at about 4am with really bad heart palpitations.

One the Friday before we left, the heart palpitations started up at 4am and wouldn’t stop.  Three days of wearing a heart monitor ensued.  When I got back from my vacation, I found out that I was just fine.  However, my nurse practitioner recommended pulling back on the stress just a wee bit.

Formichelli is for a bit of stress.  A bit of stress can be good for you! The subtitle of her book is:

The Revolutionary Plan to Create a Full, Meaningful Life – While Only Occasionally Wanting to Poke Your Eyes Out With a Sharpie

I’m not against it, in theory.  Neither do I want to wind up with a heart condition because of the cortisol continuously flooding into my bloodstream.

Last year it’s not like I was chugging cigarettes or coffee.  I was trying to jog daily, eat a healthy diet, got enough sleep–but the revisions had to get done and given our family dynamics, I was pretty sure that while we traveled they would sit and fester.  I was right.  Not only did all book progress halt, but five weeks after I got back, I still hadn’t finished those pesky revisions.

Linda Formichelli wants to help you create a full, enjoyable life. She’s got a philosophy, a plan, and worksheets included at the back of the book.  She talks about THE 12 DESIRES — and my eyeballs went right to #2 — Travel.  As life is creeping by, I don’t feel that I’ve gotten in enough travel.  It just never seems to fit, both because travel is costly and time consuming.  Not only that, but for me at least, it disrupts my work routine even after I’m back.

Apparently, last year Formichelli had an epiphany.  She listed all the stuff that she’d done that year and it was a crazy amazing amount.  How had she pulled this off? It seems that money and other barriers had not prevented her from making her and her family’s life packed full of travel, fun, and adventure, along with some great back-patting successes. Her immediate reaction was to share with you all how this is possible.

And as I read on, I started giving my husband the side-eye.  Cause he kinda reminds me of Formichelli.  Not what you’d call a frenetic guy, nevertheless, man, he gets a lot done. He teaches, does research, publishes, travels to conferences in foreign lands, teaches bread baking classes at a cooking school, stays very fit, plays flamenco guitar, is the president of his professional association, mows the lawn, and we split all the housework — cooking, cleaning, etc 50-50.  On top of it all, he’s pretty mellow.  Right now he’s also re-plastering, scraping, and painting our bathroom–including installing a fan/vent so it won’t get to icky with mold in the future.

We don’t have kids–so there’s that.  But I think Formichelli would look at him and say: See? That’s what I’m talking about!

On the ride home from Lowe’s, we discussed Formichelli’s philosophy vis-a-vis his life.  He says that when he did triathalon training (he did an iron man 7 years ago and won a few medals) there was little time for anything but teaching and doing that–and it was hard work.  When he quit triathalon training, it opened up all kinds of room for other stuff.  Formichelli talks about the joys of quitting in one of her chapters.  I would like to note that this is also about the time when we stopped watching a lot of TV.  Formichelli’s main tip for carving out more time in your life is to forsake TV and social media. (At this point, I try to limit myself to an hour a day.)

When my husband got a running injury and couldn’t run 90 miles a week as he trained for the 24 hour ultra-marathon he was signed up for (I know, I know. He still went, walked 33 miles mostly to support a friend–who won the race!), that opened up even more room.  So he picked up guitar playing again–something he’d dropped for many years.  The point is, his activities and interests are not necessarily constant.  There’s a flow, a dynamic movement –just as Formichelli talks about.

My husband is very balanced.  He loves the Aristotle saying, “All things in moderation–except love.”

Me? I’ve always been more of an extremely lopsided person.  Well, on the trip home from the store, I decided I wasn’t going on that vacation.  Not only did I not finish my book before the vacation, my hubs went and come back already before I finally finished the book earlier this week. (Key words: I FINISHED–YAY!)  

I’m SO GLAD I didn’t go! No heart palpitations for me this time.  I also found scraping paint is a really therapeutic task when you’re stuck and need to take a writing break.

I’m definitely at a ‘leaning in’ point of my career, and so other than trying to jog, and water what garden there is that hasn’t shriveled up and died, there’s very little I do outside of writing and career related stuff.  How to Do It All: The Revolutionary Plan to Create a Full, Meaningful Life - While Only Occasionally Wanting to Poke Your Eyes Out With a Sharpie[image error]HOW TO DO IT ALL might not be for me.

On the other hand…it’s not like I sit alone in a room all day.  I love my career.  I meet with other writer buddies at cafes and we sit around writing, lifting up our heads to chat occasionally. There’s this blog and the lovely ladies who form the body of it–I love our connection.  I meet with other writers monthly — once in the day, and once at night.  My publisher has a great online community and I love my social media buddies in the wider romance world.  I feel like I’m thriving, though technically, 99% of what I do can be called ‘work’, and I’m not having dinner parties, not painting the rest of the house that deliberately needs it, etc.

In the end, my husband and I share a fundamental mindset with Linda.  We don’t want to look back on our lives and say “I watched a lot of TV.” (Though to be honest, sometimes TV binges happens.)

A recent article in the BBC said that time seems to fly as we grow older–why? Because new experiences tend to stick with us more, and as we age there are less of those.  Important experiences stay with us too–adventures, triumphs, failures–but we have less of those as we get older.  Not me!  And not Formichelli. We’re effectively slowing down time on this earth, though for me right now ‘Doing it all’ means doing my career.  Once this book comes out, I’ll plan some travel.  And I’ll make sure I don’t have a book due right before I go. ; >How to Do It All: The Revolutionary Plan to Create a Full, Meaningful Life - While Only Occasionally Wanting to Poke Your Eyes Out With a Sharpie[image error]

Psychological Torture You Pay For. Say Hello To The Blackout Experiments.

By Elizabeth Shore

In a country where it’s said anything can be had for a price, I haven’t given much thought to parting with my cold hard cash in order to be psychologically tortured. To have people scream at me, gag me, call me filthy names, force me to take off my clothes and run blindfolded through a dark room while being told what a hellish loser I am. But there are, it turns out, people who are indeed willing to not only voluntarily go through the experience but to pay money to do so. Introducing The Blackout Experiments.

I learned about this in a documentary film a saw recently entitled, appropriate enough, The Blackout Experiments. The film follows a group of participants – “survivors,” they label themselves – while they speak of their experiences with Blackout and talk about what makes them become borderline obsessed/addicted to it. And yes, one man’s therapist wife, whose speciality is treating addicts, told her husband he was indeed as hooked on Blackout as an alcoholic is to booze.  Yet Blackout, according to those who indulge, is not so much a harmful addiction as it is a cathartic experience to confront and overcome one’s deepest psychological fears. A true transformational process. As one participant in the film stated, “Blackout has the ability to change you if you let it. You learn what you’re capable of.”

As we get to see what goes on in the haunted house that is Blackout, a pattern emerges. Every participant is really there to confront his or her fears, and what exactly those fears are sets the stage for the Blackout experience. Participants want something truly powerful, something they’ve never experienced before. The film’s primary subject, Russell, stated, “I think deep down I want something intense enough that pushes me to the point where I want out but that I choose not to.” After a pause he adds, “That almost sounds like I want to overcome something.” And that, in fact, is what he does want, or at least what “survivors” say is the entire point. They want to overcome their fears.

But is this really what it takes for that to happen? Is there no way to conquer those demons other than being repeatedly degraded and humiliated by strangers? It seems from the film that many would say there isn’t. They’re like phoenixes emerging from the ashes, survivors of the fire and better because of it.

Naturally, the whole thing had my Lady Smut mind delving into sexual parallels. There are those who claim humiliation is the surest path to arousal. Being called a filthy whore, told to lick someone’s boots or clean whips with their tongue. The S&M part of BDSM once – although no longer – considered pathological, has similar psychological outcomes for participants as those who  go through a Blackout experience. S&M participants have reported lessened states of anxiety after engaging in sadomasochistic sex, and researchers say there’s science behind this related to how the body restricts blood flow to certain areas of the brain during S&M sex. The result, for some participants, is a feeling of “oneness,” and an actual altered state of consciousness.

That all sounds groovy, but I’m not jumping on that Blackout bandwagon. One guy in the film, who was the experience’s only detractor, said he’d gone through Blackout a number of times until it reached a point where he felt it had morphed from helping him overcome fears into what he called actual abuse. He claimed he’d been slapped and had feces stuffed in his mouth, and that session had gone far beyond the point where it helped him. Yet like a druggie who experiences a terrorizing hallucination, even those who said they thought Blackout might have at one point or another “gone too far” still came back for more. It wasn’t until the end of the film in which we saw the guys who run Blackout actually make the participants kick the habit and swear off the experience forever. One guy said it was if it had been decided that they’d “graduated” from Blackout and there was no longer anything from it that they could learn through more sessions. But the participants were hard-pressed to want to give it up. One woman said she felt like it was a rejection.

Speaking of those guys who run the sessions, their names are Kristjan Thor and Josh Randall. They only spoke for a few minutes at the end of the film, but what they said was interesting. Josh stated that the point of Blackout was to give something to the participants that was “undismissible (sic).” If we push ourselves to the limit, he says, it allows us to learn certain truths about ourselves. That’s why people pay money to be tortured.  An interesting side note: the two guys state that the concept was born out of wanting to make a wildly new haunted house experience, something no one had ever experienced. But the concept grew, eventually becoming something far beyond its haunted house immersive theater beginnings into a deeply meaningful experience for a lot of tortured souls.

If anything, it’s certainly it’s a conversation starter. Are you ready to take the Blackout plunge? Let us know your thoughts in the comments, and be sure to follow us at Lady Smut. We promise it won’t be torture.

 

 

 

Exclusive Excerpt: WILD ON THE ROCKS

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

Hello Lady Smutters! Happy Monday and Happy First of the Month of August, the best month of the year! And that’s not only because it’s my birth month…okay, yes, it’s solely because it’s my birth month. I’m good with that.

Currently, I’m in deadline hell finishing up the first draft on SEALed WITH A TWIST (coming in October!), which, unfortunately, leaves little time for blog writing. Some fantastic fellow writers will be guest posting in my place this August while I get my writing ducks in a row. Quack, quack.

Since I’m loathe to leave you empty handed, keep reading for an exclusive excerpt from my debut romantic suspense novel WILD ON THE ROCKS, one never before posted outside of publication. I hope you enjoy this taste of Jasper and Quinn. Thanks for being phenomenal readers. And remember to follow Lady Smut to stay on top of all the smexiness.

 

Alcohol gives you infinite patience for stupidity.

—Sammy Davis, Jr.

Quinn pulled into the parking spot in front of the Hibiscus Court Apartments, closed the SUV’s moon roof, and set the brake. She shut the car down, reached for the door latch and then stopped.

Nope, not even enough energy left for something as small as pulling the door handle.

Her head dropped to rest on top of the steering wheel. God, she’d forgotten how much it took out of her to work such a long day. Once business for In the Mix had taken off, her usual gigs became blocks of structured time and targeted hours, maybe four or five max for a large event. That didn’t account for planning and research and booking, all of which consumed time, but all done with her ass in a chair, not hours on her feet in heeled boots. Not since San Diego had she put in a full shift with overtime, which was what the 12 hours she’d spent working the Thornquist rehearsal dinner and after party felt, and that didn’t include her early start to meet with the wedding planners that morning.

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Damn, but those rich politicos could pound ’em back.

But it wasn’t only the work that’d left her drained tonight. She was full up on emotional overload thanks to one stubborn Navy SEAL.

Jasper bloody McQueen had knocked her straight off her axis but good.

She’d been too busy to keep track of the security guys and their rotations on the off chance Jasper was reassigned to the bar. She did catch glimpses of Jasper’s friend Twist throughout the rest of the event. Around midnight, shouts and raucous screams from the pool area had sent nearly everyone running for the patio. Quinn mopped up the spills they’d left behind and kept an eye on the drinks to be sure none of the lingerers doctored any, but she heard enough to figure someone had gone in. A guess that got confirmed when a dripping wet Twist carried in an equally soaked and seriously smashed party girl who was screaming with glee and clinging to Twist almost as tightly as her now transparent cocktail dress clung to her breasts.

Given the shit-eating grin that spread across Twist’s face as he dripped his way through the bar with the woman in his arms, he didn’t much mind.

Later, after she’d finished closing down the bar, Quinn had counted her blessings on avoiding another confrontation and scurried out of the resort. Despite his promise, Jasper had remained a no show. All that did was ensure he dominated her thoughts all night.

And she had not one clue what to do about it.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. What she wanted was to find out where he was staying, slip into his bed, and follow up on that kiss he hit her with. Sure, she’d probably get a gun to her head for the effort—sneaking up on a SEAL was a baaaaaad idea any day of the week. And that was before she figured in the foreknowledge that Jasper slept with his weapon close to hand, much less the level of anger he clearly bore for her. But the kind of sex she’d had with Jasper back in the day was worth more than a little risk for a repeat.

Quinn huffed out a breath that fogged up her window. Truthfully, appealing as it always was, even the idea of climbing Jasper like a tree was too exhausting to move beyond thought.

He could do all the work.

Mmm. Jasper definitely redefined the benefits of lying back and taking it. Good things happened when he did all the work. Amazing things.

Spectacular things.

She rolled her head sideways and stared out the fogged-over window.

That was the exhaustion talking. And the year-long loneliness. And, yeah, the fear. Fear she’d managed to compartmentalize and ignore while she was working and with Jasper to occupy her neuroses. If she were honest with herself—and she always tried to be—she’d admit what she really wanted was to crawl into Jasper, pull him around her like a shield, and let all the crap aimed her way land on his formidable shoulders.

But that was weakness that left you vulnerable, and she’d been vulnerable enough for two lifetimes. She wasn’t a woman who relied on others to solve her problems. She’d walked away from everyone she’d ever known in order to claim her independence. She’d be damned to surrender it now, not even to Jasper, who she’d once loved beyond reason. No, she’d handle her own crises as she had since the day she’d left the commune—and for a long time before then too.

For a place that’d professed to be all about unity and sharing and togetherness, in reality, her parent’s home was a place where everyone followed one man’s dictates. And if you went up against him, well, then you were truly on you own.

Which was just fine by Quinn.

Pushing aside troubling memories, Quinn lifted her head to glance out the windshield and up. What possessed her to take a third-floor rental? Now she had to muster the strength to get up three flights of stairs. What were the chances anyone was still awake to notice if she crawled her way up the steps instead? More importantly, did she care?

She did not. “But there is something to be said for dignity,” she mumbled as she bumped open the car door. Bracing, she climbed out, dragging her bag over the console from the passenger seat. She caught her breath when pain shot up her weary legs before resolutely setting her boots toward the open stairwell that was only mildly shaded by an emaciated palm tree.

The full moon was tinted red. “Hunter’s moon,” she whispered, shuffling toward the stairwell with her neck craned back to take it in. Exhausted as she was, she forced herself to take a walk along the water’s edge after closing down the bar in an effort to phase out some clutter from her mind. It hadn’t worked, but given her life expectancy at the moment, it seemed wise not to pass on such luxuries as a moonlight walk on the beach. Even if she took that walk alone.

Even if the moon was blood red.

It bled out into the dark sprawl of the night’s sky. If Quinn were of a more fanciful bent, she might’ve taken it as a bloody warning of things to come.

If bloody things were to come, she supposed Hibiscus Court Apartments were as likely as place to find them as any. True to his word, Clancy had handed her a phone number yesterday, and Quinn found her way into a vacancy. It wasn’t as convenient to the resort as the Fourway in the center of town, but she preferred it that way. Less questions to dodge and no nosy relative of that harridan, Charity, to put her on the gossip rack.

Despite the many demands on her time and attention and the importance of the Thornquist wedding to her burgeoning business, Willow had insisted on helping Quinn get settled in at Hibiscus Court. She’d tag-teamed her partners, too, so that there were few moments when Quinn was left to herself and thus (or so Quinn figured Willow to have silently reasoned) have the chance to rethink her offer to bail out the Barefoot Brides partners from their mixologist quandary. Willow needn’t have worried. Quinn wasn’t about to repay her kindness by mucking things up for them at the last minute.

Though if the Russian mob showed up, all bets were off.

Quinn had met Willow’s partners, Gussie and Ariel, when she’d swung by their office for a very early morning meeting. She’d been instantly struck by the bond between the three women who ran Barefoot Brides Destination Weddings. And that was before each lady had taken time throughout the myriad last-minute crises leading up to the rehearsal dinner to help get Quinn settled into temporary life on Mimosa Key and set up with whatever she needed to work her magic at the bar for the festivities. A day before, the shock of Jasper’s arrival would’ve sent her running for her SUV and fleeing for the next Key.

She knew from experience that he wouldn’t come after her.

But the ladies had made her feel unusually welcomed and wanted. She couldn’t betray that by leaving them in another lurch. There’d be plenty of chances for her to go after the wedding. She’d have to keep clear of him in the meantime, no matter her urges.

Quinn climbed the first flight of stairs and rounded the second-floor landing for the next one up. Jasper had probably been set up in one those gorgeous villas she’d caught glimpse of along the beach. No sketchy apartment complex for the defender of the American way.

What had Twist meant by “enforced leave”?

She’d only partly been joking when she’d told Jasper he looked like a poster boy. She was certain there was no more committed a soldier than him in the entire armed forces.

He’d set his team even above his wife in priority. That might seem admirable to an outsider, but as the woman who came in second place, Quinn could tell whoever asked it was a sucktastic place to wind up.

If he’d been put on enforced leave, something terrible must have happened.

It would kill Jasper not to be in the Navy anymore. His whole identity was wrapped up in being a SEAL. What could possibly have happened to jeopardize that?

Quinn took firm hold of her troublesome curiosity. Not her problem anymore, not Jasper’s career, not his trouble, and for certain, not Jasper himself.

Strange though how he’d been haunting her since she’d squeezed into that dress in Atlantic City, popping up in her thoughts while she sparred with Charity until she’d found herself using her married name. A big mistake, she now realized, one that gave advantage to Jasper, something he’d been quick to catch on to, as usual. Jasper made a living out of capitalizing on the smallest opportunities. There was power in a name and she’d given him that power by taking back his and along with it, a claim he’d made clear he was more than happy to reassert. A claim that brought with it the responsibility to get Quinn out of this mess.

I can get myself outta this mess.

Yeah, probably.

Maybe.

But the truth was having Jasper involved would make her life a helluva lot easier.

And he was there now, mere miles away, as though she’d conjured him like some badass genie. Jasper McQueen at her service. Orgasms are here, here, here, here, and here.

God, it was tempting. He was so tempting.

She hit the second landing and paused to catch a breath before starting up the final flight.

Why did he have to kiss her? She’d been holding her own, holding him off, until he’d laid hands and mouth on her. She huffed out another breath. Lord love a duck, but she loved Jasper’s mouth. The man knew what he was doing, it had to be said. She loved the taste of it, always had and she’d bet always would, and leapt at the chance to have it again.

She’d certainly leapt on him. She shook her head with self-admonishment. Couldn’t do that again. Give Jasper the smallest foothold, and he’d take the whole mountain. It was how he’d been trained. It was how he’d been bred. And Quinn knew her long sexual dry spell gave him one hell of a foothold.

Topping the last flight, she headed to her apartment at the end of the walkway.

He’d been so pissed at her tonight. She’d seen him angry before but never like that, and never at her. Yeah, okay, so maybe he had cause, but she did too. It wasn’t like he hadn’t given her more than enough reason to go. His deployments left her on her own all the time. If she was going to be alone, then she wanted to do it on the road, moving onward, heading toward a new gig, a new place, a new adventure, not locked up in a condo and a steady job. Even now, the thought of it made her skin crawl. She’d felt as trapped in that condo as she had at the commune and hopeless without Jasper there to remind her why she’d given so much of herself up to be with him. Learning he hadn’t updated the Navy to the fact that he’d been married had been the last blow. She’d trapped herself in staid civilian life for his benefit, and he couldn’t even be bothered to update his marital status!

It didn’t strike her until much later how out-of-character this was for a man like Jasper, a man for whom dotting Is and crossing Ts was a matter of pride and honor. Jasper got things right or people died, and that kind of pressure stretch into his off-duty life as well when he’d head out at a moment’s notice if one of his teammates needed him.

She only wished she mattered to him half as much as the Navy and his men did.

Quinn keyed open the door and let herself into the small apartment she’d call home for the next few days. With a rec from Clancy and his implied promise that she’d passed his security check, the manager hadn’t pressed Quinn for more than her ID and a cash deposit. That hit had hurt her weakening finances. She’d have to find some way to access her bank account or pray the wedding tips were better than anticipated, especially if she had to bail on Barefoot Bay right after the wedding.

Hibiscus Court did its best to live up to its name in the décor, if the saturation of flowers theme was anything to go on. Quinn’s apartment featured hot house plants. Like the overstuffed armchair, the couch sported a pattern of blooming jasmine with a print on the wall behind it of an African violet in full bloom.

Show off.

Quinn didn’t consider herself a flowery kind of woman, but she wouldn’t deny being drawn to some of the more colorful blooms. The deep purple of African violets made them one of her favorites, so the print cinched her decision.

She locked the deadbolt behind her—the first major selling point for the rental, by the way—and moved through the living area without turning on the overhead. Not like the apartment was so big she needed light to navigate it, and overheads tended to give her headaches anyway. She’d left on the light over the oven, and its soft illumination was enough that she could skirt the cheap coffee table and armchair to get to the short hallway leading to the bed and bathroom.

She eyed the bathroom, but was too tired to do the whole remove-makeup-and-wash-face thing. Her pores would have to take one for the team. Quinn stumbled into the bedroom, tossing her bag blindly to land next to the nightstand on the near side of the queen-sized bed and was seconds from dropping onto the mattress when a low voice came at her through the dark.

“Did you really expect to escape so easily?”

Instant terror rushed through Quinn, eradicating her exhaustion with a tremendous surge of flight or fight.

They found her.

She flung herself back from the bed, tripping over her own feet as she groped blindly for the door in the dark. She could feel a large body pursue her through the small room. A vibe of menace crawled along her skin. She screamed, high and shrill, when his hand gripped her arm so tight, she thought it’d come off right then and there.

Her knee thrust up, but he expertly dodged and yanked her back to the bed with a wordless growl. “Leave! Go!” she yelled, hoping, praying, someone in the sleepy, quiet apartment complex would hear and call the cops, call anyone for fuck’s everlasting sake, before this guy killed her or knocked her out and stashed her in a trunk for the long trip back to Jersey for worse.

He tossed her on the bed with ease, a move that would’ve made her marvel if she wasn’t so afraid, and promptly climbed on top of her. Immediately, she bucked, so pumped up on adrenaline, she managed to bounce them both up in the bed.

“Stop it,” he ordered as they struggled, gruff and seemingly unruffled by her efforts, efforts that were quickly draining her of strength.

“Get off!” she screamed into his shadowed face. He pinned her hands to either side of her head. She felt his hips shift between her legs and new shoots of panic sprung up inside her gut.

Oh God, oh God, she couldn’t shift him. She wasn’t strong enough to get free.

She wasn’t strong enough for this.

“Please don’t kill me,” she pleaded, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I didn’t see anything, I swear. I won’t say a word. Please, please don’t hurt me.”

The full weight of him pressed into her as his hands moved to cradle her head. “Quinn, it’s all right. It’s me. You’re safe.”

“Please don’t kill me,” she begged again.

A strangled sound of frustration escaped his throat. “I’m not gonna kill you, honey. Take a breath. You’re okay. I’m gonna make it all okay.”

Slowly, the familiarity of his form and voice finally penetrated her fear. “Jasper?” she breathed.

“Yeah, babe. I’m here.”

Jasper was here.

Thank God, Jasper was here.

The rush of relief was nearly as debilitating as the terror that’d preceded it. Which had to be why she grabbed his wrists in an unholy vise and blurted out, “They’re going to kill me, Jasp.”

He eased up slightly and leaned his forehead against hers so that, even in the dark, she could see the intense gleam of conviction in his eyes. “Nobody’s going to hurt you, sweetheart. I promise.”

His words settled deep within her, spurring her arms to circle his shoulders as she burrowed her face in his throat. He shifted them on their sides, slid a leg between her thighs, linking them together, and pulled her into him as Quinn trembled with full body shivers.

She was taking this. She needed this. She could pull up her bitch pants and lace up her shit-stomping boots later. Right now, she was hiding out in Jasper’s strong and more than capable arms.

God, she loved his arms.

She could barely believe he was here.

Hang on. Jasper was here.

She reared back and smacked his shoulder. “Are you crazy?!”

His resigned exhale feathered her hair. “Knew that was too good to last.”

“What in the world made you think it was a good idea to break into my apartment and lie in wait for me?! Wait, scratch that. What in the holy hell are you doing here?!”

His hold on her tightened, something she hadn’t thought possible. “I told you we weren’t finished.”

She smacked him again. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Quinn…”

“Don’t you ‘Quinn’ me in that tone of voice, Jasper McQueen! I am not one of your soldiers. I do not jump when you say so and ask how high on the way up.”

“We’re sailors, not soldiers. And no, you jump into my arms the second I touch you.”

“I do not.”

“You practically burrowed under me.”

She snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t have to when you do shit like that.”

“Cocky.”

Quinn gasped when he grinded his rock hard thigh between her legs.

“Yeah, but you like me that way.” Wry amusement tinted his voice.

“I can’t believe you’re getting off on this.” She pushed to get free, and when that didn’t budge him, reached back to pry his hands off. He snatched hers up and gave them a squeeze.

“Baby, I got you squirming under me, no training in the world is gonna keep me soft.”

“I thought you were here to kill me!”

His jaw hardened. Any hint of amusement was gone when he replied, “Yeah, let’s talk about that.”

Like that was going to happen. “Not on your life,” she vowed.

“It’s your life I’m worried about. And don’t bother bullshitting me. You’re as worried as I am, and I know this because you told me.”

Dammit, that was true. She’d been so relieved it was Jasper in her room and not Thug One or Thug Two (or someone worse), she’d nearly told him everything.

Score one for subconscious self-preservation.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“You gave that to me,” Jasper reminded her unnecessarily, ignoring her demand. “And I don’t care if you were scared outta your mind when you did. Finally, you’re telling me some truth, and now you’re going to give me the rest of it.”

That raised her hackles again. “Why? Because you say so?”

“Yes!” he roared, ratcheting from zero to sixty in a scorching hot minute. “I have some fucking significant experience with this shit, Quinn. Maybe, for a change, you could follow my goddamn lead!”

“I’ve followed enough for one lifetime and have been doing fine without you since I stopped doing that.” That was more of a lie than she’d like to admit, but she sure as hell wasn’t adding that to her list of confessions.

“Sure. You did so fine without me, how come, a second ago, you were begging me not to kill you?”

Crap, he had her there too. “We’ve been through this already. It’s none of your business.”

“Yeah, we’ve been through this already, but you don’t seem to be getting a clue.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

He shook her by the shoulders and didn’t bother to be gentle about it. “Who are you so afraid of, Quinn?”

The moment her eyeballs settled back in their sockets, Quinn reared up into his face and carefully enunciated, “It’s none. Of. Your. Business.”

“God damn it,” he growled and then his mouth was on hers, and her tongue was against his, and she sank back into his heat and the flavor that was only ever Jasper. Her fingers dug into his shirt where it pulled across his back. The leather straps of his holster dragged against the tops of her breasts. She whimpered as her nipples raised up against the friction.

Quinn lifted her outside leg and hooked it over his hip. She dug her heel into the small of his back and used it as leverage to push up and get even closer, so close, his eyelashes brushed her nose when he lifted up and repositioned his mouth to take hers again, rough and deep and wet and, God, it was Jasper, and she couldn’t get enough, she would never get enough of him.

His fingers plunged into her hair to drag her head back as though he couldn’t stop their kiss under his own power. “Fine,” he said in a gravelly voice that shot vibrations through her sex. “Keep your secrets. I only came here to fuck you.”

And like that, all her desire for him went poof, as though she’d been doused in cold water. Jasper never spoke to her that way—he never spoke to anyone that way, at least not when she’d been around to hear. Shock locked up her frame. “Wha—?” she barely managed. “What did you say to me?”

“You heard me.” He bent to kiss her again; she shoved a blocking hand between their mouths.

“You are out of your mind if you think you can say that and expect me to keep on keeping on. How dare you!”

His grip on her hair bordered on uncomfortable. “I dare, Quinn. I’ll dare anything until you tell me what I want to know. If that means I have to fuck it outta you—” He shrugged. “I’ve done far worse to get intel.”

She didn’t want to think about what that “worse” might entail. “You are such a son of a bitch,” she hissed. “Get off me!”

Instead he rolled them so he was on top again, which Quinn felt was a clear enough, if unacceptable, answer. “Don’t bother pretending I’m alone in this. A year apart hasn’t done jack to weaken what’s between us. If anything, it’s made it stronger.

“You might not want me here, and you might not want to admit you need my help,” and here his hand dipped from her back to slide over her hardened nipple. “But you sure as hell want me in your body, and baby, you don’t have to ask twice.”

“I didn’t ask at all! You jumped me when I walked in the door!”

“I waited for you! Again! Jesus, so fucking stupid, I waited for you, again. Once McBain cut us loose for the night, I headed back to Junonia to talk to you, just talk, Quinn, because I can’t stand that I haven’t known where you’ve been for a whole fucking year. And then, suddenly, you’re here the same goddamn weekend I am, and scared to death someone is coming to kill you and you still—won’t—fucking—talk to me!”

He lurched off her and was at the door before she caught up. The instinct to go after him was too strong to question, even after what he’d said and done. He couldn’t leave, not like this. Not after what she’d seen in his face.

Quinn wrapped her arms around his waist, knowing there was no way she could hold him back if he was set on going, only sure that there was something very, very important here that she would lose forever if he walked out that door.

She wouldn’t be able to bear that. Not again.

He jerked once in her hold, his hands coming to hers to set them aside.

“Jasper,” she whispered.

His head slumped forward, chin to chest, but at least he’d stopped moving.

“The bar was dark when I got there,” he continued as though he’d never stopped. “And you were gone a-fucking-gain. So I interrupted McBain gettin’ it on with his wife, and once he was done deciding whether or not to kill me for it, he explained who I was to his wife. She told me you’d shacked up here at Hibiscus Court.” His hands tightened on hers, silently communicating how he felt about her new digs. “I hotwired one of the resort’s cars and shot over here, and when your car wasn’t in the lot, I broke in to wait for you. Again.”

Quinn rested her forehead in the groove between his shoulder blades. “You did all that so you could fuck me?”

“Jesus, Quinn, no.” He spun around, so quick, always so swift and able, that now her forehead rested on his cut pec. His arms slid back around her waist, and she couldn’t stop the soul deep sigh that escaped her lips. They’d always fit together like this, as if the detailed grooves and hard planes of his body were made expressly to accommodate the soft curves and lush valleys of hers, and she’d been so empty without him all year.

“I did it all to find you.” He titled her head up and kissed her with a painful tenderness. “I’ve missed you, babe,” he admitted, mouth hovering over hers, so close she could taste the words. His lips coasted up and over the curve of her cheek to buss her temple. “More than you could ever know.”

Her heart shattered and its pieces crackled in her voice when she murmured, “Honey,” and gripped the sides of his neck to pull him back down to her. “I missed you too.”

Writer, singer editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten Hallie Krum avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. She writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. Her debut romantic suspense novel   Wild on the Rocks  is now available. Visit her website at  www.kierstenkrum.com  and find her regularly over sharing on various social media via @kierstenkrum.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 12: “You have to earn it.”

A gust of wind howled past the window, rattling the pane. Hayden looked. Outside, in the night, white flakes circled and spun. He shifted, twisting to see farther. Even though he couldn’t see her, not even the white flash of her cold fingers, he knew she was there. He knew because he felt her inside him.

Hayden turned back to the bed. The bursts of snow were so dense that the light from the street reflected off the flakes, casting shadows across Rachelle’s body. The slick lips of her pussy glimmered in the pale sheen. He caressed her stomach then put one palm on each thigh and made circles with his thumbs. It was a small touch, but she responded, dropping her knees lower. She wanted to say something, the question lingered in her gaze, but she didn’t speak.

“Good girl,” he said. “I’m glad you’re following the rules.”

The curve of her mouth softened and her lips parted as she lifted her head to look at his rock-hard cock.

Hayden thrust his hips forward and let the tip of his dick brush across her wet pussy. “I know what you need, but you’re only going to get it when I’m ready to give it to you.” He rocked again, hard enough so his cock pushed between her slick lips. She squirmed and tugged on the ties holding her arms. “And you have to earn it.”

He tilted his head toward the end of the bed. “Straighten yourself out.” She followed his request instantly, sliding herself as best she could so that her body was long and flat. Once she was as straight as she could get, Hayden swung around so that he was facing the window and his back was to the headboard. He rose up and scooted back. As he worked himself over Rachelle’s bound breasts, his cock brushed against one of her tight mounds. His balls rubbed across the stockings. Inch by inch he worked his way back. Once his ball sac was just above Rachelle’s open mouth, he settled himself.

He stiffened, pausing to feel the caress of her breath across his tight skin. Each whisper of air came faster and harder than the one before. Hayden spread his arms as wide as he could and took hold of the headboard. He wanted to look at the ceiling, to avoid the call of the thing in the snow, but he couldn’t.

This time when he looked outside, she was there, staring back at him through the single pane of glass. The weight of her gaze pressed across his entire body. His muscles tensed. He gripped the wood tighter, feeling the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex. The tension worked its way lower, each inch of his body turning hot and hard beneath the thick weight of her gaze.

She wanted a show.

“Lick me,” he said to Rachelle. There was huskiness in his voice that not even he recognized.

She started to take his balls into her mouth. He lifted up. “No. Lick me.”

He lowered. She complied, stretching her tongue up as far as it would go.

Hayden kept his gaze forward, refusing to admit to himself that he was afraid.

Beneath him, Rachelle continued licking his balls, her tongue working across his skin with steady and firm strokes. “That’s right. Just like that.”

Outside, Mattie moved closer to the glass, her face near enough that Hayden could see more than the cold hunger in her eyes. He saw things he never expected. Longing. Vulnerability.

While Rachelle continued licking all she could reach, Hayden’s gaze stayed connected with the thing on the ledge. Mattie lifted her hand and laid her palm across the glass. She leaned forward, almost pressing her nose to the pane. A shiver of pity flashed through Hayden.

Beneath him, Rachelle moaned, and Hayden pulled his gaze away from the creature outside to the woman below. To make Rachelle safe, he had to push harder to get her to see, to feel, the threat of danger.

“That’s enough licking,” he said.

She stopped the motion of her mouth, but her body shifted, the strain of lust pulling her body taut. Ready.

Hayden avoided looking outside by turning his gaze to the ceiling. A lattice pattern made by the shadows of the street lamps glided across the surface, hanging above the bed like a cage.

“Take my whole cock in your mouth and suck until I come.”

Immediately, she opened her mouth.

Hayden let go the headboard and dropped down onto all fours so that his hard cock was just above her mouth and his face was above her pussy. “You can start now,” he said harshly as he bent this elbows and lowered himself. “Put your head back. I want to make sure you can take all of me.”

She followed his instruction, positioning her head so that her wide-open mouth was directly below his jutting shaft. He lowered his hips just far enough to dip the tip of his dick into her mouth. He lifted it out. “That’s right.” He slid his tongue between her slick nether lips, then straightened his arms, lifting himself so that he hovered above her. “If you do a good job, I’ll eat your pussy.”

Rachelle started to speak, but he cut her off. “Remember the rules.”

***

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

We’re baaaaaack! Sexy Saturday Round Up has finished it’s summer vaca, and returned to provide you with information, titillation, and provocation.

Hope you’re finding a way to stay cool under the thunderdome heat dome this weekend.  If nothing else, check out this week’s links and take a cold shower afterwards. ; >

From Madeline:

The three steps of self-deception

It’s not what you say—it’s how you say it. An algorythim of vocal tones predicts relationship trouble.

We’ve entered the age of the anti-heroine—Huzzah!

From the BBC: The enduring enigma of female desire.

1000 alumni put the hurt on Phillips Exeter.

The follies of speed swiping on Tinder.

Why are plus-size models shut out of make-up ads?

No, cryogenics cannot cure your wrinkles.

Reader, I tweeted him. Woman tweets bookstore about books, woman finds true love.

Why isn’t Amy Winehouse commonly known as a bulimic and why isn’t her eating disorder recognized as playing a pivotal role in her tragic death?

From Elizabeth SaFleur:

One (whacky) man’s quest to create a million dollar vibrator.

From Elizabeth Shore:

Five misconceptions about pansexuality (and the definition itself, if you don’t know what it is).

Love thyelf. The health benefits of masturbation.

The Bloggess Jenny Lawson tells a story about how singing in her car created peace and harmony with a fellow driver.

Does it work? Who knows. But this website claims it can help you get a raise.

Stop the shaming! How to fight for your right to eat bananas in public.

We’re on Olympics countdown, y’all. Only a few more days until opening ceremony for the big games, but don’t panic. Just use this quick Olympics cheat sheet for everything you need to know.

 

 

 

Watch Porn – It’s Good For You!

By Elizabeth Shore

Okay, so before I begin, let me just throw a little reminder out there. I’m referring to the one that says: don’t shoot the messenger. I’m going to be talking about porn in this post – as you no doubt figured from the title – and that topic can be as divisive as Trump vs Clinton. Dogs vs cats. Chocolate vs potato chips. You get the picture. So remember, if you would, that I’m just your intrepid Lady Smut blogger bringing you the dirt, so please don’t turn it into mud and fling it at me.

With that disclosure out of the way, let’s talk about porn! Today’s specific topic involves the assertion, by a team of researchers involved in a porn study, that acceptance of porn’s use in a relationship can actually help the relationship. Now this, thought I, is interesting. Usually what you read pertains to how much one partner or the other’s viewing of porn is fraught with disastrous relationship consequences. Women in particular feel belittled when they find out the virtual folks at sex.com know their partners as well as bartenders at Cheers know their regulars. If only I were slimmer, they think, or had bigger breasts, were more sexually active, liked anal play, etc etc etc he wouldn’t be looking at porn. If only their alleged shortcomings could be ignored, things would be so much better and their partners wouldn’t be looking at porn. The conclusions a woman may draw about herself upon discovering her partner’s viewing porn can be damning and make her feel as if she’ll never be quite desirable enough. It’s a conclusion, researchers say, that’s miles away from the truth.

Here’s a question, and answer it honestly. Have you and your sexual partner had a completely candid, out-in-the-open, no-holds-barred conversation about your sexual desires? If your partner was taken into a room by himself and required to tell someone everything they know about what you like, what turns you on, what every single one of your sexual fantasies are, would he be able to do it? And in the reverse, would you be able to do so about him? Do you feel confident that you know about all of his sexual fantasies? If the answer to both questions is yes, you’re apparently in a vast minority. According to researcher David Ley, a clinical psychologist and author of Ethical Porn for Dicks: A Man’s Guide to Responsible Viewing Pleasure, there are many reasons why a man doesn’t feel comfortable discussing his sexual fantasies with his partner. He might be ashamed, afraid of being judged, concerned that something he wants will be viewed unfavorably from her. So he keeps silent and turns to porn instead of dealing with a potential uncomfortable conversation.

In his studies, Ley says that what he’s discovered is appealing to men about porn is that the women truly seem to be enjoying the sex. That in itself is an enormous turn-on. The irony, of course, is that as in any movie, it’s an act. Porn actresses are putting on a show just as every actress does in a mainstream film. But the point is that viewers are buying the act. They’re getting from porn what they want from real life, which is for their partners to enjoy. For them to be open enough to accept whatever predilection might exist and be willing to give it a go and enjoy.

Clinical sexologist Claudia Six said in a Psychology Today article that porn by itself isn’t the issue, but secret porn use is actually a symptom of what she calls, “the great sexual silence in many heterosexual relationships.” (nb – whether or not there’s a silence in homosexual relationships – and I gotta believe there must be, at least in some – wasn’t stated in the article so I’m sticking with what they gave me, which dealt with hetero couples). Couples, Six says, are often clueless about their sexual selves. This is where the statement came in that accepted porn viewing between couples in a relationship can actually have positive outcomes. If partners see what the others are into, what turns them on, by seeing what they view in porn, it can bring their sexual expectations together. So says researcher Brian Willoughby, whose findings were reported in the Archives of Sexual Behavior.

Willoughby and his team of researchers state that viewing porn together leads to “greater sexual knowledge, sexual openness, and communication.” It can also lead to a conversation about sexual fantasies and desires that lends itself well to enriching the relationship. As Willoughby rather obviously states, “communication is key.” So, too, is non-judgment. Men who watch porn can very quickly be labeled “sex addicts” by their hurt partners. But a true addiction also brings in the idea of lack of self-control, and that’s not necessarily the case with porn viewing. One partner might decide the other is a “sex addict” based on a couple viewings a week or a month. A couple of drinks a week or a month wouldn’t likely earn the drinker the label of alcoholic, yet because porn viewing leads to emotional hurt, the “addiction” label is more quickly brought into use.

It’s important to note that this whole idea of porn enhancing a couple’s relationship centers around doing away with the need for secret viewing and using porn as a tool to communicate fantasies and desires. If there’s no need to skulk around and watch porn on the sly, the use of it may serve to bring a relationship closer together rather than driving a deep wedge between it. So say the researchers. But what say you? Sound off in the comments below and let us know. And follow us at Lady Smut. We’re definitely good for you.