Liz Everly's Blog, page 6

Heroines Locked in the Erotic Gothic Universe of David Lynch

by Chloe Robbins

The gothic and the erotic go hand-in-skeletal-hand. When people think of gothic romance, first thoughts often run to authors like Edgar Allan Poe and Victoria Holt, but the genre is much larger than these titans. In fact, one of today’s most famous gothics often isn’t discussed as a gothic at all. Musician, writer, film and television maker, David Lynch’s work is chock full of delicious gothic eroticism and romance. In Lynch’s stories, gorgeous heroines are constantly thrust into the romantic, moneyed darkness of someone else’s realm—a hotel, a spaceship, a movie set—forced to navigate literal secret passages even as they explore their own internal ones. “Gothic” as a style is characterized by the grim, the extravagant, the grotesque, the violent, the darkly romantic, the mysterious—a style that drenches Lynch’s work.

In Baltimore, the erotic twists and edges of this style are also celebrated in Lynch’s work through an annual David Lynch Fest. At this festival, a diverse line-up musicians and burlesque performers come together to strip, sing, and dance to various interpretations of Lynch’s creepiest, sexiest stories. As a Baltimorean—and a lover of all things gothic-erotic—I want to share some of this annual celebration with you by highlighting just a few of Lynch’s sexiest, most powerful, and most gothic heroines. (Disclaimer: some spoilers lie beyond.)

Twin Peaks

Who can forget Audrey Horn from Twin Peaks? Even the ultimate cinnamon roll hero, Special Agent Dale Cooper, couldn’t help but fall under her thrall for a time.

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Twin Peaks is constantly indulging in and poking fun at the romance genre and especially its gothic tropes. From the idea of “tainted innocence” (read: young girls coming into their sexual identity under dangerous circumstances) to doppelgangers to murderous/lecherous family members to ghosts. Audrey Horn epitomizes so many of these gothic tropes, but perhaps most obviously that of the “tainted innocent”: a high schooler who feigns experience and jadedness yet yearns for fairy-tale love (e.g. her relationship with Agent Cooper); the ghostly pale skin; the dark hair; the blatant sexuality (e.g. her decision to break into Agent Cooper’s hotel room and wait for him, naked, in bed); and the shadowy fortress owned by her pervy father (aka The Great Northern Hotel), which is, of course, riddled with secret passages and peepholes. Audrey Horn is one of many romantic gothic heroines in Twin Peaks, coming into her sense of self as well as her sexuality in the wake of a classmate’s brutal murder, discovering the countless ghosts, trapdoors, and Black (and White) Lodges within her town and within herself.

 

Mullholland Drive

Mullholland Drive is a delicious example of Lynch’s unique brand of Hollywood Gothic, and the main characters—the lovers, Betty and Rita—are dripping with eroticism.

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In the very beginning, Betty’s “innocent” dream of becoming a Hollywood star is juxtaposed with Rita fleeing a mysterious car crash, as if fate had slammed them into each other—a pair of shooting stars, shot straight into each other’s hearts. Set in Hollywood, lush gothic threads run all throughout this film: the winding hallways of the mysterious Aunt Ruth’s house, the haunted theater where Betty and Rita hear the ghostly rendition of “Llorando,” the sexually-charged search for identity that both Betty and Rita tumble into together, the shadowy film sets where Betty discovers darker and darker tunnels within herself, on and on and on. This film is all about the haunted house of the mind built within the desirous, hungry package of the body.

 

Dune

I know most David Lynch fans would rather his film adaptation of Dune be left unmentioned, but there’s no denying the gothic-erotic influences running riot through this space opera, and just because it’s not a great film doesn’t mean there aren’t moments and characters that aren’t sexy as hell.

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As Tor.com is quick to point out in their break-down of why the film doesn’t work, this movie is aesthetically dark. Every cathedral-esque spaceship, castle, and cavern is packed with shadows, all but begging for some Phantom of the Opera-style candelabras. And while this maybe isn’t the best way to build up a vast scifi universe, it’s a great way to make the entire film feel as though it took place inside Vincent Price’s sexy little grin. Filled with scheming royals and estranged family members, with grotesque villains and flashing daggers, it’s no wonder that even Lady Jessica, a side-character and the mother of our hero, is turned into an erotic figure in this setting. I say “even” Lady Jessica because, in some ways, it’s positively radical that Lynch would take a middle-aged mother character and give her so much sex appeal, her own journey through this tale being one of tortured love for her murdered husband as she carries their secret baby (another classic gothic trope) to term.

 

Wild at Heart

And speaking of tortured love… Lynch takes the idea of a road-trip movie to a whole new level with the lovers, Lula and Sailor, who flee a band of assassins that Lula’s mother Marietta has hired to kill Sailor. The film’s gothic elements may shine darkest in the grotesque violence of Marietta’s desire to strip her daughter of all sexual power and freedom, but they can also be seen in the shape of Marietta’s slow-emerging madness that only Lula and Sailor seem to fully understand: the literal Wicked Witch of the West.

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Lula’s character is another example of the “tainted innocent”: she’s charged with sexuality and power, especially (and ironically) due to her mother’s violent desire to see these powers contained, even as she is also a bit childish and naïve. Haunted, a runaway, abused as a child (and as an adult), adrift in a sea of violence, Lula fights to take what she wants out of life and retains a fairly healthy sexual identity through it all. A classic gothic heroine.

 

Blue Velvet

I’ll never forget seeing a Blue Velvet-inspired burlesque performance wherein a dancer wearing gasmasks over her face and breasts slowly revealed more and more gasmasks that she’d managed to hide on (and in) her body. For many, Blue Velvet is nothing but disturbing. But as disturbing as certain elements are—the violence, the constant taunting shadows, the gasmasks—there’s no denying the eroticism of a young hero exploring a stranger’s house in search of clues only to duck into a closet and end up spying on her.

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The secret passage is a beloved plot device in gothic tales because it so often finds a heroine in a dangerous situation and gives her fresh power, fresh control, while also acknowledging that she herself is riddled with secrets and hidden depths. In Blue Velvet, we see this dynamic inverted with our young hero finding momentary safety within the heroine’s closet, watching her undress and drape herself in blue velvet, only to be discovered and dragged into the light. Our heroine in this story doesn’t need to lurk in the dark to find her power…or to allude to her hidden depths. She grabs a knife and forces him out of the closet herself, demanding that now he will undress for her.

The truth is, the gothic is often disturbing. It is often dark and uncomfortable and taboo. This is also why it’s so undeniably sexy. The forbidden. The dangerous. The fantasy. What’s important is making sure that the fantasy is handled by an artist who understands the live wire they’ve just taken hold of, someone who understands how these tropes and devices have been used in the past to cause harm and knows how to circumvent, challenge, and subvert these harmful possibilities. For danger to be sexy, there must also be great trust—perhaps not between the characters, but between artist and audience.

Chloe Robbins is a writer and editor living in Baltimore with her delicious husband and various taxidermied creatures. She’s currently at work on her paranormal romance novel, A Stony Heart, and has short fiction forthcoming with Circlet Press’s Dressed in Black anthology, inspired by the works of Edgar Allan Poe.

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Sexy Sunday Snippet: Winning Casey by January Bain

Happy Sexy Snippet Sunday! This week we have a hot bit from Book One of January’s Brass Ring Sorority series,

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Blurb:

Headstrong archeologist Casey spends her life exploring the world for hidden treasure and ancient artifacts. A free spirit, her dedication to her calling means she’s often in conflict with the more narrow-minded higher-ups at the university where she’s employed as an associate professor. Timetables, rules, protocols—they all go out of the window when Casey’s on the hunt.

The inscrutable Professor Truman Harrison falls for Casey at first sight, literally, tumbling into a pit at her feet on first meeting. Now, if he as Casey’s new, detested department head can just talk her into helping him search for the legendary treasure buried in the Money Pit of Oak Island, Nova Scotia, maybe he can also get her to fall into his bed. But first he needs to prove to her he’s not just another tunnel-visioned box-ticking management ‘suit’.

But the romance of this scorching-hot couple proves to have all the twists, turns, false starts and trick corners of a multicursal labyrinth. Luckily, both Casey and Truman have no small skill and a little bit of practice in navigating those…

Excerpt:

“Do you have a boyfriend, Casey? I was wondering, as I can’t imagine his wanting you to be wandering all over the countryside without his protection. I know I’d have some objections if it were my woman going off with a strange man looking for ancient treasure.”

“What! I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much!” And just when he wasn’t looking quite so annoying he came out with that old line.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“No,” she admitted, the alcohol freeing her tongue. “My track record on that score is dismal. Never seems to go past one or two dates. Most guys just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Truman sat so close heat radiated from his warm flesh. She shivered.

“The last guy I went out with liked ketchup on his burned steak for heaven’s sake! Who does that to a forty-dollar steak?” The alcohol loosened her tongue further. “And then there was the guy, an accountant, talked about his retirement plans on the first date,” she said with a snort. “And his married brother with their two perfect children. Showed me photos on his facebook page and everything. He just wanted a wife and one point seven children.” She took another sip of the liquor to stop herself from going any further. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear about my dating woes.”

“No, it’s quite fascinating, really.”

“My bullshit meter says differently,” she said with a snort.

“I understand about commitment issues.”

“Why, have you been burned professor?” Hardly the question one should ask their boss, but he’d started it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He had someone specific in mind, obviously.

“Care to talk about it?”

“No, done enough of that already,” he said, a twinge of bitterness exposed.

“Therapy is overrated,” she said. “My personal philosophy is ‘suck it up buttercup’ and get on with things.”

It was his turn to snort. “Yeah, well maybe next time.” He got to his feet. “I’d better make us some coffee, darlin’. I’m starting to feel a little too good.” He froze. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I hear something large moving in the bush directly across from us. I’ll bet that Byrne is up to something,” he said grimly as he got to his feet. “You stay here. I’ll check.”

“Like hell!” she said scrambling off the chair. She had more training than him on defensive moves, she’d bet her bottom dollar on it.

He gave her a quick look.

“I’ll head to the right. You take the left,” she whispered before he could speak. As quietly and fast as possible she maneuvered around rocks and debris taking a wide berth into the stand of trees, all senses on high alert. Truman headed in the opposite direction, moving like a shadow. Not bad. For a suit.

Bright red eyes glowed fiery in the darkness. She froze, a twig crackled under her shoe making her wince. Every sense on high alert. The eyes were approximately a meter above the ground, the right height for a very large dog or giant wolf.

The head moved slowly as it caught her scent. The piercing eyes bore into hers. Fuck. What was it?

She trained to ward off humans—but this–this was something else entirely. Her breath quickened. Raspy. Too fast. She longed for full body padding. A gun. Bear spray. Any weapon.

Calm down.

She racked her brain. It could only be one thing. The Devil Dog.

Legendary guardian of buried treasure. Byrne had to be playing at creating one to frighten them off. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. Someone in a costume most likely. She took a step closer. Her eyes remained riveted on the spot. Prayed she was right. Because if she was wrong…

The dark shape moved closer. She stood her ground. Swallowed. Hard. Was it going to attack? Her alcohol befuddled mind froze. Time froze.

Then in a flash it turned and began moving toward the shore, away from them. She heard Truman following as she rushed forward, not worrying about being heard now that whatever it was knew they were onto it.

They reached the beach. Casey whirled around.

Gone. Nowhere to be seen.

“What the fuck!” she exclaimed.

“My sediments exactly,” Truman said coming up to her. With only a sliver of moon the beach navigating the beach was difficult, filled with lurking potholes and large objects. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shone it on the ground, looking for prints in the sand. Nothing conclusive.

“Hologram?” she asked, musing aloud. Let out a deep breath. “Laser eyes? Little person in a costume?” Now safe, she could let out the stress.

He gave a bark of laughter at the last one. “Not sure, it moved silently. I wouldn’t put it past him though to come up with some crazy way of doing it. He wants us gone. He’s made that abundantly clear.”

~~~~~

Get your copy of Winning Casey direct from the publisher or Amazon. Book Two, Chasing Lacey, is being released June 19th.

~~~~~

If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with two furry babies trying to prove who does a better job of guarding the doorway. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously remarked to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.

If you wish to connect in the virtual world she is easily found on Facebook, twitter and writes a weekly blog about her journey on Blogger. Oh, and she loves to talk books…

 

 

 

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Sexy Saturday Round Up

[image error]Who needs some distraction my fellow sex-kittens?  (I do! I do!) We’ve got some gems for you to check out.  So grab that cup o’ tea and settle back to enjoy yourself with another episode of Sexy Saturday Round Up.

They’ve got a fast car: Saudi women fight smear campaigns to get behind the wheel.

Saudis legalize driving for women–but some of the activists who won this right are now barred from driving themselves.

Q: What is everyone going to be wearing this summer?

A: milk maid outfits.

A bizarre fashion trend NYC this summer and ManRepeller has GOT to talk about it.

Dietland – is the hot hot hot story about The Now we need.

Hi I’m your local pedophile running for office.

The Alt Right Jewish Porn Conspiracy — explained for you.

Cool transformation of Jamie Raines from female to male.

Here’s Vox explaining the Lando Pansexual Controversy including some fan fic context around the latest star wars movie.

Kitty Marion — Actress & Suffragette Terrorist.

Wet Lettuce Vs. Bad Ass Chicks –a Brit politely rants about the limitation of Femininity in Genre Fiction

What is ‘fridging’? And why are women SFF fans sick and tired of it?

Stacy Abrams is rocking our world — first black female governor AND ROMANCE NOVELIST!!!!!!!!!

RuPaul’s show challenges gay identity

 

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This is my bag. What’s yours?

The first purse I remember is my grandmother’s painted basket. It was made of brown[image error] “straps” and painted with colorful buildings. I’d stare at the bright buildings and wonder who lived in them. What were their lives about? A single penny was glued to the fliptop lid. I thought it was completely wonderful and filled with grownup lady secrets. All these years, I still don’t know everything that was kept inside it. Here are the things I’m certain were inside: filterless Camels, a lighter, and reading glasses.  My grandmother wore kitten heels, twin sets that she knitted herself and I wanted to be just like her.

The first purse I owned was a gift. It was yellow plastic, covered with flowers, and had a long shoulder strap. I have no idea what I kept inside it, but I do remember feeling like a grownup lady with it hanging from my shoulder.

[image error]The first purse I bought was a brown leather Coach bag. It was heavy and plain but I loved it. This was back before discount malls, so it was seriously expensive. I bought it at department store using money I’d earned driving a Good Humor ice cream truck.  Inside I kept my Girl Scout date book, bright pink lipstick, and occasionally, the plastic army guys I used to line up on sidewalks and restaurant tables.

I own several bags now. A big everyday one, a basket I carry in the summer, a jeweled [image error]red one I get out for special occasions–those are only a few. Every time I switch bags, I look at what I keep with me, think about what’s important to me. What do these smalls things say about my life?

Whatever you call it, a purse, handbag, pocketbook, it can be an expression of you and your life. Maybe it holds your secrets, maybe it holds twelve lipsticks or none.  Give us a shout in the comments, tell us about your bag and what’s inside.

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Isabelle Drake’s new release is Make Me Blush, an steamy beachread anthology. Get your copy on Kindle and other outlets.

 

 

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The End of an Era. Or Not.

by Elizabeth SaFleur

Over one thousand romance lovers, both authors and readers, took over the Peppermill Reno Resort Hotel in Reno, Nevada last week for the RT Booklovers Convention. Okay, we sorta took over. The place is huge. We were there for less than 24 hours when the news was announced the RT Con would no longer be held. Instead, Jo Carol Jones and her band of mighty volunteers will pick up the baton (they did all the work anyway) and launch the newly-designed Booklovers Convention to be held May 15-19 2019 in New Orleans! YES. More on that below, as well as huge news about it. Keep reading!

For anyone who’s ever been to RT either as a reader or author can attest, the Con is fun, exhausting, and enlightening. I’m sooo tired and laundry will get done — someday. Currently, my suitcase is splayed open waiting for such a miracle. In the meantime, here are some scenes from the 2018 RT Booklovers Convention, the  Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Spoiler Alert: It’s mostly good.

Attendance was waaaay down, but that only meant bars, restaurants and sessions were easy to get into, and those pesky, normally-long lines were neither pesky nor long. The Giant Book Fair which is always held on Saturday of the Con showed just how many fewer people attended. Even Sylvia Day didn’t have lines out the wazoo like usual. That meant if you wanted to see an author, you got to. So, put that in the plus column!

The parties were great fun, like J. Kenner’s Happy Hour, which had an open bar, a prize of a gazillion books and bottles of wine, and every person that showed up walked away with a tote full of books.

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LadySmutter Isabella Drake, Rose C. Carole, Kris Michaels and I held a fun confessional game party where prizes included real crystal tiars. And what do you know? I have no pictures, but then again, what happens at RT, stays at RT especially when it involves confessing your deepest, darkest secrets.

And I got to squish covers models again. Eat your hearts out.

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No one wants RT to go away — and, like I wrote above, it’s not really. Rather the Con is being reinvented. Go here to learn the exact plan and be sure to sign up for the newsletter so you won’t miss out on all the shenanigans, because, guess what???? J. R. Ward, the Warden herself, is signing at this event. I. Kid. You. Not. Guess who else? Charlaine Harris. Ya know, the author of the Sookie Stackhouse series, a.k.a. TRUE BLOOD. They join Sylvia Day, Christine Feehan, Jill Shalvis, Lexi Blake, Sylvia Day, Khloe Wren, Karen Rose, Melody Anne, Rebecca Zanetti, Jennifer Armentrout, and RaeAnne Thayne to name a few authors. It’s going to be EPIC. Follow the Booklovers Convention on Facebook here.

See you there?

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary romance that dares to “go there.” Expect alpha males (and females), seductive encounters, and love. Learn more about her steamy and sexy stories by following her on Amazon and Bookbub.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sexy Saturday Round Up

[image error]What a week it’s been! Some of us are at RT in Reno, NV.  Some of us are at home wishing we were at RT.  And today we’re online at #LadySmut playing games and giving away ebooks.  Join us!

From Madeline:

We’re very exciting that Donald Glover is playing Lando Calrissian – but also that Lando is portrayed as a pansexual! 

What hat will YOU be wearing at the royal wedding?

Eric Schneiderman is giving BDSM a bad name

Lady Smut to DJ Khaled: You gotta give to get, bro

At THE WING, Women demand a single sex co-working space.

By Elizabeth Shore

They’re pointless, useless, and suck up time, but sometimes we all need dumb tweets to make us laugh out loud.

Did you think Miss Congeniality was gay? Well, as it turns out…

What to know about hyposexuality.

Royal wedding gossip! All the dirt is right here.

Remembering a great writer. R.I.P. Tom Wolfe.

Who eats pounds and pounds of candy per person every year? You’ll never guess.

The weird, nutty Yanny vs Laurel explained.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Master Me … If You Dare (Untouchable Excerpt)

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by Elizabeth SaFleur

Not all power in D.C. is wielded by politicians. Wealthy Washington, D.C. corporate attorney and seasoned Dominant, Carson Drake is the master of the romantic pre-emptive strike—until he runs into his PR consultant, London, in a BDSM club where she tests every assumption he’s ever had about love.

~~~Excerpt~~~

Every candle in Carson’s room was lit, over two dozen pillars similar to the ones he’d used in a demonstration he’d given at Club Accendos months ago. The young girls giggled and screamed as their partners dripped hot wax on their bellies and breasts. No one got burned or hurt. The sensation play simply brought out their innate melodrama. He’d been bored to tears. Right now nothing interested him more.

After laying London down on the table, he took a moment to admire the wisps of caramel and chocolate strands by her cheeks, her ponytail dripping over the edge of the table.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No.” She shifted and the plastic crinkled underneath the sheet. “I’m fine.”

Carson freed his belt from her waist. A loud clank when it hit the floor made her startle.

He picked up a bottle of oil and snapped open the top. After filling his palm with the lubricant, he spread it over London’s stomach. He moved to her breasts, kneading and then pinching her raspberry nipples. Her back arched into his hands, and her hands grew white from fisting the sheets by her side.

After attending to her arms and hands, he poured more oil over her pussy. He made sure every hair was coated in the emollient. He wasn’t in the business of giving bikini waxes. Soon her thighs, calves and feet wore an oily sheen illuminated by the candles. She glowed like a marble sculpture—if it wasn’t for her constant wiggling.

“Relax.” He massaged her feet, pulling on each toe and massaging her arch. Finally her hands unclenched their hold on the sheet and splayed open.

He tipped a few teaspoons of melted wax from one of the candles into his hand. “Tell me if this burns.” He spread the warmth over her greased belly.

She inhaled sharply and her hands darted up and then settled back down.

“London?”

“Not burning . . .” He could tell she squeezed her eyes tighter under the blindfold.

The wax grew tacky under his palm. More gasps came from her throat as he dribbled a large drop from the candle onto her arm. Her hands jumped from the sheet only to float back down.

“Shh, feel it.” He grasped her wrist and angled it away from her body. “Palms up. Don’t move.” He picked up two pillar candles, one in each hand. “No matter what, London.”

Carson tipped both candles over her wrist. Her fingers danced as the drippings made contact and she gasped. “Oh!” A wax line formed, the edges pooling on the sheet.

“You are being cuffed to the table with wax. If you break these restraints, I’ll find something stronger.”

She curled her fingers as if she tested the bond.

“Confirm.”

“I-I won’t break them.”

He streamed more wax until she wore a thin manacle on her wrist. The bond barely covered her skin. If she was the submissive he believed, she’d feel it like an iron chain.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said.

She sent her other arm out, away from her body as if ready for the same treatment. Her acceptance of his handling made his groin tighten in anticipation.

He secured the other wrist with a waxy shackle. But her legs would require more than candle drippings. In addition to the soy candles, he’d warmed his largest block of paraffin in a crock pot. If his mother knew what he did with her Christmas gift, she’d lose her final hope of him ever being domesticated.

He dipped a ladle into the wax bath and continued until her ankles wore similar restraints to her wrists. Now cuffed by wax chains, spread wide, he stepped back to admire London’s captivity. A small smile played on her lips, finally relaxed. Finally giving into the inevitable.

Carson picked up a small paintbrush and dipped it into the pot. He painted a thin layer of wax over one nipple. She arched and sighed under the sensation. He then took one of the larger candles, and holding it high, let a long stream flow over her breast. She cried out and flinched. One hand broke through its cuff.

Her forehead furrowed. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Of course not.” He chuckled. “That’s the point.”

She returned his laughter, but quickly swallowed it back. “Carson? I won’t do it again.”

He touched her arm. “Of course you won’t.”

After he secured her wrist with more wax, her fingers quivered. Tension in her belly returned, perhaps fighting to lift herself toward him? Her pussy glistened, and not from oil, but from growing arousal. London enjoyed being handled, he thought. He mentally added the sentiment to London’s List.

She balled her fists. The thin shackles didn’t crack. He spilled more melted candle onto her waiting body. A seal formed over her breast from drizzling wax, spiral-fashion.

“This is the only white you should wear.”

He turned to the paraffin wax bath and scooped out a full dipper of the mix. With one long stream, he drew small circles around her other breast. A coiled cap formed over her flesh. She squirmed under the liquid heat, soft moans escaping her lips. More candle drippings formed waxy rivers and tributaries over her belly and her hips. Her skin reddened around the waxy parts from the stimulation and heat.

He traded candles. He’d empty one of its liquid while allowing the others to burn down more, creating their own small pools of melted warmth. Large sections cooled to semi-hardness. Unable to stay motionless any longer, her back arched with each new stream that met her skin. Wax separated and cracked, except for the thin shackles securing her wrists. She balled her fists, as if willing them to stay intact.

By the time he’d moved to her legs, she took in big gulps of air. A light sheen had formed over her upper lip and forehead. He ran one long line of warm melted candlewax down one thigh to her knee.

When he crossed her low belly with a large spill of wax, she squealed. Her hands threatened to dart upward. Her manacles barely held. But she stopped herself from completely freeing her wrists and ankles.

His belly clenched. London, the woman who fought his every move in meetings, argued every word from his mouth, now fought to honor his control. The shields London had erected to deny her desires had begun to fall away.

Now we begin.

~~~~~

AMAZON   AUDIBLE   B&N   Apple   Kobo

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Sexy Sunday Snippet: Her Sir by Megan Slayer

It’s Sunday and that means we’re here with a sexy Sunday snippet. This week we have a yummy bit from Megan Slayer’s Her Sir.

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Blurb:

There’s only one man for Andi—her Sir.

Andi McCarron knew the moment she met Sir’s gaze, he’d change her life forever. Despite other Doms wanting her as their sub, she only submits to him because he knows how to make her skin tingle. The pain delivered from his crop makes her spirit sing. She needs Sir but she wants more—except he’s not interested in taking the relationship outside of the club. What’s a girl to do when the man of her dreams, the one wielding the crop, won’t leave the club?

Dean Meyer craves his sweet sub, Andi. She fills his dreams and fantasies, but she wants a relationship. He’s not sure she can handle both his demons and secrets. Still, he can’t deny the attraction to her. When fate throws them together, he has to make a choice—give his sub what she needs or let her go for good.

Excerpt:

“You control everything,” she blurted. Her cheeks reddened, and she bowed her head.

“Sorry. But you do.”

“Actually, you do. When we play, you’re the one in control. You say stop or slow, and I follow. I push you, but you tell me when you’re done. I’ll encourage you to stretch your boundaries, but only because I want to make you fly.” He pushed the cooling coffee to the side. “If you say no, then I respect your decision.”

“You expect me to kneel.” She flattened her palms on the table. “Like that last time.”

“I wanted to show off my beautiful woman. If you’d have said no before we left the private area, I would’ve stayed out of the main room.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I expect a partner. You were my best partner.” He hadn’t taught her very well if she thought she was second rate. When they played again—and they would be—he’d show her what he meant.

“You have one. A partner. I saw the demonstration,” she said. “You replaced me.”

“Slow down.” He hadn’t known she was at the club when he’d done the demonstration or he would’ve plucked her from the audience. “Which demo?”

“There’s more than one?”

“I don’t have a permanent sub, so I’m expected to do demonstrations for visitors, for the videos … for people who want to play the voyeur. That’s part of my job at the club.” Not his favorite part and he couldn’t wait to pass the torch to someone else, but he’d tell her that later. She managed to aggravate him like no other. He wanted to stretch her ass across his lap and spank the sass out of her. Then he wanted to kiss her until she collapsed. He wasn’t one to settle down, but she made him think twice. In her own way, she’d broken him.

“I thought we had something.” She turned her cup around. “Now I understand I was just another client.”

“I never said that. Never thought it,” he said. She’d been special from the start. He loved the way she felt in his arms, the way she moaned during a scene, the flicker in her eyes just before she came…

“Then why replace me? Why not tell me how you felt?” she asked. “Or have you come to this realization now that we’re not at the club?”

“First, I didn’t replace you. I don’t have any one sub I play with. The girls in the video are one and done. No sex, just demonstration and go. I haven’t found anyone who can fill your place. I’ve had a couple offers, but they aren’t you.” They shouldn’t be having this conversation in public, but she needed reassurance. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

©2018 Megan Slayer, All Rights Reserved

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Her Sir is out now. Get your copy from Evernight Publishing,  Amazon, or hit the Universal link for other e-oulets.

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Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. Find out more about Megan (and Wendi) and check out her Blog or Facebook Fan Page.

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Sexy Snippet: Servant of the Undead…A Cage, Chains, and a Zombie Sex Cult

If you’ve been with Lady Smut for a while, you’ll remember Servant of the Undead. I posted it on the weekends, as a serial. Guess what? Now it’s out in ebook & print and even bigger and badder with a new ending. And–I’ll be at RT next week at the signing on Saturday.

Not attending RT in Reno? No worries. Lady Smut is here to take care of you. We’ll be playing around on Twitter, follow LadySmut1 now and get ready to start using #LadySmut.

Can’t wait until next week to get your #moremattie fix? Buy links are below.

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Blurb:

Having sex with an ice-covered, smudgy-eyed woman in tattered fishnets and a barely-there mini-skirt is Hayden Thomas’ first mistake. His second: thinking he’s in control of what happens next.

The city of Boston is held hostage by a snow storm and rumors are spreading about zombies roaming the streets, looking for human flesh. Hayden Thomas, tabloid newspaper writer, is out to get something fresh about zombies for his editor. At the Boston Public Library, Hayden uncovers some old research that suggests that some zombie tribes survive by having constant sex instead of eating human flesh.

Mattie, a zombie out looking for information on a rival tribe, finds Hayden and uses him for sex. After using him, she discovers his research. She wants to find out how to reverse herself and become one of the living again, so she decides to keep Hayden as her sexual servant so she can use him for information as well as sex.

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Excerpt:

Hayden ground his teeth, trying to crush the sensation in his jaw, but couldn’t pull his gaze away from Mattie’s glistening, exposed body. Tiny icicles clung to the tangles of her hair and flakes of snow dotted her thighs, bare above the edge of the tights. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his mind from acknowledging the blood flowing to his cock. “The guy I work for thinks they’re a great tie-in to the zombie stuff—my piece, the comic convention and the opening of Zombie Rites. And all that stuff about zombies—”

“Roaming the streets?” she cut in, grinning as she dropped her hand to smack snow off her limp skirt. Once she got the clumps off, she ran her fingers across the hem, inching it up her bare thighs.

Holy fuck, he was starting to remember what it felt like to be inside her. Driving into her tight core, pounding until he couldn’t think straight.

Hayden glanced at the apartment. Rachelle was not peering out the window, watching for him. Thank God. He shifted back. Most girls would probably get pretty pissed at a guy who took a video of himself grinding his dick into her, but this girl seemed anything but pissed. Hayden found himself watching the flicker of her stubby black fingernails as she inched up the hem of her skirt. He knew she wasn’t wearing panties. Five inches was all it would take and her bare pussy—

He took a sharp step forward, ready to shove her out of the way if necessary. She grabbed his arm and jerked him close enough for her nipples to brush against him.

“My girlfriend is waiting for me,” he said, pointing to the third story of the brownstone.

Mattie tossed back her mass of hair, exposing a small black device tucked into her ear. “I know. ‘Don’t make me wait.’ Isn’t that what she said?” A cruel smile tugged on the corner of her full mouth as she took in his expression. “You don’t understand yet, do you? Let me explain. You belong to me now. Until I’m done with you, that is.” She forced one of her legs between his thighs and lifted until her knee pressed into his solid cock. “I’m liking you more and more, so we may be together a while.”

Hayden jerked his arms free and reached for her pale throat. The skin beneath his palms was wet, slick, smooth. And cold, lifeless.

“Go up there and fuck your girlfriend,” she said, then shoved him away and moved toward the wall of the row house. She propped her booted foot on the cornerstone and lifted herself. She slithered up; her hands clutching the frost-covered bricks, then paused about ten feet from the ground. “And make it hot. Because I’ll be watching.” And with that, she crept up to the third-floor window and nestled under the eave.

Get your copy straight from the publisher Riverdale Ave Press Books, Amazon or other ebook outlets.

And get ready to play around with LadySmut next week!

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Isabelle Drake has just finished the spring semester and is currently at a loss as to what to do with herself. This disorientation is expected to last 36 hours. After that time she will get back to writing. Her other new release is Make Me Blush, an steamy beachread anthology. Get your copy on Kindle and other outlets.

The post Sexy Snippet: Servant of the Undead…A Cage, Chains, and a Zombie Sex Cult appeared first on Lady Smut.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

[image error]By Elizabeth Shore

There once was an author named Faleena

Who said, “Hey writers, I’ll ream ya!”

She took the word “cocky”

And tried hard to block thee

But writers told Faleena, we’ll see ya

If you haven’t been following this story, you should. #cockygate has the romance world up in arms, not just as romance writers but as writers. Period. As author L.M. Brown put it: Suppose… A sci-fi writer TM’s “space” and “alien” A fantasy writer TM’s “sword” and “magic” A mystery writer TMs “murder” and “mystery” You see where I’m going with this? This is NOT branding and it impacts ALL writers.

And so it does. We’ll stay tuned to see where this goes. In the meantime, Sexies, there are other things to read. Such as:

Get your nooner on!  How to perfect this wickedly decadent diversion.

5 ways to tell he’s falling for you.

What exactly is in that sex toy, anyway?

Don’t let this happen to you! Masturation horror stories.

Breaking up is hard to do – even with your smartphone.

Linguini lovers rejoice! New study says pasta isn’t bad for you after all.

A social app made for socializing. Wait, what?

It’s the most wonderful gay time of year – the Eurovision song contest.

From Madeline:

What’s it like for female people of color with a job in the media?

Popular places for sex–outside the bedroom

Got black hotties? Check ’em out. (Fanning myself.)

There are too many men in the world.  China and India are feeling the impact. We knew it would come to this.

WTF is #cockygate? A quick explanation of the bru-ha-ha that’s rocked the indie publishing world this week.

As techies dig in to this new industry–the sex bot revolution is here. “They’re not nasty dirty men who can’t get a woman.” Really? (Raising eyebrow.)

 

 

 

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