Unexpected surprises and four very special carnal adventures lie in wait for four sets of lovers on Valentine's day. These four short novels will make you laugh, cry, smolder, and send you running for a cold shower. In the first novel, "Bachelorette" by Em Petrova, a spirited woman is deserted by her fiance on the very day her wedding was to take place, but five delectable Frenchmen have a plan to comfort her out of her Valentine's Day blues - and bridal garments. In the second novel, "Only When I Lose Myself" by Michael Mandrake, Adrian is in need of someone to be his special Valentine and discovers that in janitor, Matthew Gianopolis, a janitor with superior intelligence but poor social skills, he has found it. In the third, "My Valentine Prince" by Ike Rose, a blue-collar college educated hunk who fought class prejudices to raise up the corporate ladder must choose which of two men is to be his Prince Charming: his rich ex-boss boyfriend, or the sailor who gave up his career to love him forever. In the fourth, "Cupid’s Arrow" by Daisy Harris, the god Cupid swears off love, but when a girl he shoots doesn't swoon as expected, he learns that to woo her he'll have to break his rule and fall in love with her himself.
Monday, January 31, 2011
If you like your erotica hot and wild but also romantic and touching - in lots of good ways - then look no further than this brand new anthology edited by our own Sascha Illyvich and featuring master storytellers Em Petrova, Michael Mandrake, Ike Rose, and Daisy Harris: My Sexy Valentine: Four Sensual Encounters On The World's Most Romantic Holiday
We at Sizzler are very pleased to bring new a wonderful new BDSM book by the truly exceptional writer, Reese Gabriel: The Taking Of Keeley
Did He Want to Save Her or Enslave Her? When Keeley Davis agrees to help her boyfriend pay off his gambling debts to the mob, she has no idea it is her shapely young body they want. Kidnapped to the sleazy world of porn movies, she eventually finds herself in the hands of a sadistic Mexican drug lord and pimp known as El Lobo--The Wolf. El Lobo makes a gift of the former blonde beauty queen to her fellow American, a hit man named Harlan Graves. Harlan knows he needs to do the right thing, but can he resist using the girl as the submissive sex slave she has become? Meanwhile, The Wolf's kinky wife Sofia has some plans of her own for Harlan. Can the gringo make it alive out of The Wolf's den, with or without the girl? It is a race against time, a race against desire for The Taking of Keeley. Find out why Reese Gabriel is a Five Star Amazon author of erotica, and why readers say things like, "Hot and steamy S and M ... takes you to another world." Reese Gabriel's books "grip you with believable, sexy characters. To the last page, the plot keeps you guessing and the sex is hot, too. The S and M aspects are just right. A surprisingly great read from an up and coming author."
Sizzler is extremely pleased to be able to bring new a brand new erotic masterpiece by our resident master of BDSM: C. K. Ralston. If you pick up her new book, Train Me!, you will not be disappointed!
She may have resisted, but she knew she needed it!
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sizzler, always working to bring you the best in erotica for every orientation and inclination, is extremely happy to be able to announce the publication of a wonderful new book by the master of erotic power-exchange and BDSM, Powerone: Slaves Of The Desert Masters.
Captured by men that sought a few dollars to survive, an archeological family is sold to slave traders, a mother and daughter separated from the father by their captors. The mother loved to tease the foreign men with her voluptuous body, but she never reckoned having to submit to their perverted lust. The daughter, just coming of age, learned early of the older men that desired her young body and wanted to train her in the art of pleasuring a man. Sold to a wealthy Emir, they are forced to make hard choices, the men demanding and punishment severe for those to fail to submit. Will they escape their captors or are they destined to be Slaves of The Desert Masters forever?
Sizzler is extremely excited to be able to announce the release of a wonderful new erotic mystery by our best-selling master of not only erotica but engaging mysteries as well, Jack Burns: Everybody Loved The Librarian - An Erotic Mystery
Police Chief Kyle Holmes had long ago given up making misdemeanor arrests at the local strip club and he barely investigated them. But when a librarian moonlighting as a stripper was murdered, he knew it was time to start investigating. His investigation would lead him into bed with a number of irresistable women, open the door to some of the town's deepest buried secrets, and make him the target of a killer whose identity he never suspected. A sensual suspense novel from the erotic imagination of Rex Gordon.
Sizzler is pleased and proud to bring you a wonderful new novel by our celebrated master of romantic erotica, Mathis B. Rogers: The House on Willow Creek Lane
He bent down to kiss me on the cheek. He slipped his strong right arm around me and pulled me against his massive, hairy chest and kissed me on the lips. Breaking the kiss, but unable to step away from him, not that I really wanted to because his warm, hairy chest felt so good against mine. Wes let his warm, strong hand run down my back and he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband on my swim trunks and gently squeezed my left buttock as he kissed me again. He was, indeed, making me horny, now.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Sizzler is very happy to be able to bring you this fantastic new erotic treat: Hard Ridden - The Taking Of Sweet Kay Dee by the always-amazing erotic master-writer Merril Morgan.
An Erotic Bondage Western Novel! The Story of O meets Deadwood when four reckless buffalo hunters kidnap beautiful Kay Dee. Soon, they are on her like wolves on a motherless buffalo calf. But, the indignities they inflict on her don't break Kay Dee's spirit. Yet, far worse awaits her. For these rapists aren't content to just ravish her and run. Instead, they see a way to profit from the encounter. They know the Montana Territory's most ruthless brothel would pounce at a chance to buy her. So, the hunters set out to train Kay Dee to please men well. But their supposedly well-trained innocent has a surprise or two for them. If no handsome romantic, gun-totting hero shows up to rescue her, she will do it herself. Kay Dee may be down, but she's not out. Instead, she is waiting for her first chance at escape, and revenge! And since the fates help those who help themselves, how far away could that handsome hero be?
Sizzler is excited to be able to bring you a brilliant new erotic novel by Danielle Engle: Dark Seduction. Pick this wonderfully-written new book and you will not be disappointed!
Romantic Suspense as Rape Victim Seeks Revenge! The renowned L.A. fashion designer Meredith Winters doesn't know it, but she is soon to be tangled in a web of romance, revenge and danger. But, an invitation to attend an award dinner in her hometown and accept a prestigious fashion industry award, it leads to love and a harrowing confrontation with her haunting past. As a young woman, Meredith was raped on prom night by a group of young men who have grown up to be prominent citizens--including James Wilson, Jr. (Jamie), son of the former mayor, who is now the city's new mayor and the man designated to present her with the award. Back home, Meredith begins to fall in love with Jay Eliot, and their feelings for each other lead to passionate affair. She also renews a bitter conflict with her father, a former police detective who she felt betrayed her by not going after the mayor's son after the rape. When, Jamie's father begins to suspect Meredith wants revenge against his son, the former mayor calls on old underworld contacts to put out a contract on her. But he doesn't count on his own son's reformation, and when Jamie learns his father's plans for, Jamie hires someone of his own to protect her. As the secrets unravel, on one harrowing night, Meredith is kidnapped and faces deadly ménage, while Jamie is forced to face the truth about his father. It is a night that will change the pair, as well as the town that gave them birth--forever. Dark Seduction is a masterpiece of romantic suspense interweaved with sex and danger.
Sizzler is extremely pleased to be able to bring you a brand new BDSM erotic masterpiece by our celebrated and best-selling master of steamy fiction, David Jewell: BDSM: Behavioral Deviance, Sensory Maturation
Another stunning novel of dominant males and female submissives.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Here's a chance to get a teasing taste of M.Christian's collection, Rude Mechanicals: the very-great Gay/Lesbian Fiction Excerpt blog just posted an excerpt from "Speaking Parts," the book's closing novella.
"Speaking Parts" is one of two novellas plus four expicit short stories of sex and technosex included in the collection Rude Mechanical: Technorotica by M. Christian. Two lovers, one with a camera-shutter eye, come together in a scorching, obsessive, edgy relationship that will take them both to the limits of sexuality and beyond.
Rude Mechanicals: Technorotica
Publisher: PageTurner (November 28, 2009)
Excerpt from "Speaking Parts:"
Pell remembered seeing Arc’s eye—it was the first thing she’d noticed.
Tourmaline and onyx. Silver and gold. A masterpiece watch set in a crystal sphere, the iris a mandala of glowing gold. Her blinks were a camera shutter’s, as imagined by the archetypal Victorian engineer but built by surgical perfection not found anywhere in Pell’s knowledge. The woman’s left eye was jeweled and precise, clicking softly as the woman looked around the gallery, as if the engineers who’d removed her original wet, gray-lensed ball had orchestrated a kind of music to go with their marvelous creation: a background tempo of perfect watch movements to accompany whatever she saw through their marvelous and finely crafted sight. Click, click, click.
An eye like that should have been in a museum, not mounted in a socket of simple human skin and bone, Pell had thought. It should have been in some other gallery, some better gallery, allowed only to look out at, to see other magnificent creations of skilled hands. Jare’s splashes of reds and blues, his shallow paintings were an insult to the real artistry of the woman’s eye.
That’s what Pell thought, at first, seeing Arc – but only seeing Arc’s perfect, mechanical eye.
Pell didn’t like to remember first seeing her that way – through the technology in her face. But it felt, to her, like it had its own kind of ironic perfection to deny it. So Pell lived with the biting truth that she didn’t, at first, see Arc – for her eye.
But later, right after she got momentarily lost in the beauty of Arc’s implant, the woman looked at Pell with her real eye, the gray, penetrating right one – and Pell forgot about the tourmaline, onyx, silver and gold machine.
She had finally seen Arc, herself – the woman, and not the simple, mechanical part. Next to her, the eye was cheap junk: a collection of metal, old rocks, and wires.
* * * *
She wasn’t Arc at first. She began as just the woman with the perfectly created eye. Then she was the beautiful woman. Then she was the woman where she didn’t belong. Seeing her eye, then seeing her, Pell lastly saw her as oil, the kind of oil you’d see pooling in the street, that had somehow managed to make its way into a glass of wine. Agreed, it was cheap red wine – something out of a box and not even a bottle, but, still – she was oil. She didn’t belong and that was obvious, despite the cheapness of the gallery. She could tell, cataloging her bashed and scuffed boots, noting her threadbare jeans, her torn T-shirt, that amid clean jeans and washed (and too black) turtlenecks, she was a discordant tone among the harmonious poseurs in Jare’s tiny South of Market studio.
The woman was aware of her discrepancy. She wandered the tiny gallery with a very large plastic tumbler of vin very ordinare, stopping only once in a while to look at one of Jare’s paintings.
Holding her wine tight enough to gently fracture the cheap plastic with cloudy stress lines, Pell watched her, stared at the tall – all legs and angles, broad and strong – woman with the artificial eye. She tried not to watch her too closely or too intently, sure that if she let slip her fascination she’d scare her off – or worse, bring on an indifferent examination of Pell. Through a sad ballet of a slightly curved lip and a stare that was nothing more than a glance of the eyes, the woman would see Pell but wouldn’t – and that would be an icy needle in Pell’s heart.
Pell had already taken too many risks that night. She already felt like she’d stepped off the edge and had yet to hit the hard reality of the ground. Traps and tigers, beasts and pitfalls for the unwary loomed all around Pell. She moved through her days with a careful caution, delicately testing the ice in front of her, wary of almost-invisible, murky lines of fault. She knew they were there, she’d felt the sudden falling of knowing she’d stepped too far, moved too quickly, over something that had proven, by intent or accident, not to be there. Pell didn’t push on the surface, didn’t put all her weight, or herself, on anything.
But then everything changed. She’d seen Arc and her eye.
The plastic cup chimed once, then collapsed in on itself. Turning first into a squashed oval, the glass cracked, splintered, then folded, the white seams of stress turning into sharp fissures of breakage. The red, freed of its cheap plastic prison, tumbled, cascaded out and down onto her.
Pell had worn something she knew wouldn’t fit with the rest of the crowd. The official color of San Francisco, she knew, would fill the place with charcoal and soot, midnight and ebony. White, she’d decided, would pull some of their eyes to her, make her stand out – absence of color being alone in a room full of people dressed in all colors, combined.
"Looks good on you."
The shock of the wine on her white blouse tumbled through Pell as an avalanche of warmth flowed to her face. The decision to wear white that night had come from a different part of herself, a part that had surprised her. Now she was furiously chastising that tiny voice, that fashion terrorist who had chosen the blouse over other, blacker ones.
And so Pell responded, "Not as good as you would" to the tall, leggy, broad shouldered girl with the artificial eye. Which was beautiful, but not as beautiful as the rest of her.
* * * *
Pell’s reason for being at the gallery was Jare. Although she could never wrap her perceptions around the gaunt boy’s paintings, she still came when he asked. Jare, Pell, Fallon, Rasp and Jest. They weren’t close – but then foxhole buddies aren’t always. They weren’t in combat, but they could be. All it would take would be one computer talking to another – no stable job history, thus conscription.
All it took were two computers, passing pieces of information back and forth. Till that happened, they hid and watched the possibility of a real foxhole death in a hot, sweaty part of Central America fly by.
Foxhole buddies. It was Jare’s term – some fleck of trivia that’d hung around him. They didn’t have an official name for their tiny society of slowly (and in some cases not too slowly) starving artists, but Pell was sure that Jare would smile at his trivial term being immortalized among a band of too-mortal kids.
That was Jare. While the rest of them tried to focus on pulling their paintings (Pell, Jare, and Rasp), music (Jest), and sculpture (Fallon) as high as they could, there was something else about Jare – something, like his paintings, that refused to be understood. His techniques were simple enough, broad strokes of brilliant color on soot-black canvas, but his reasons were more convoluted.
Or maybe, Pell had thought earlier that evening (before turning a white blouse red and seeing the woman with the artificial eye for the first time) both man and his work were simple: broad, bold statements designed to do nothing but catch attention. He was like his paintings, a grab for any kind of attention – an explanation too simple to be easily seen.
In the tiny bathroom, Pell tried to get the wine out of her blouse. Contradictory old wives’ tails: first she tried cold, then hot water. The sink ran pink and so, soon, did her blouse.
The woman with the eye stood outside the door, a surprisingly subtle smile on her large mouth. Every once and a while she’d say something, as if throwing a bantering line to the shy girl inside to keep her from drowning in embarrassment.
"Who’s he foolin? I can do better crap than this with a brush up my ass.”
"You should see this chick’s dress. Looks like her momma’s – and momma didn’t know how to dress, either.”
"Too many earrings, faggot. What year do you think this is?
"Hey, girl. Get out here with that shirt. It’s better looking than this fucking stuff on the walls."
Cold water on her hands, wine spiraling down the sink. Distantly, Pell was aware that her nipples were hard and tight – and not from the chill water. Down deep and inside, she was wet. It was a basic kind of primal moisture, one that comes even in the burning heat of humiliation. Finally, the blouse was less red than before. Planning to run to where she’d dropped her old leather coat to hide the stigmata of her clumsiness, her excitement in two hard brown points, she opened the door.
The tall woman smiled down at her, hot and strong. In one quick sweep of her eyes, Pell drank her tall length, strong shoulders, columnar legs. She was trapped, held fast between the hot eyes she knew must have been staring at her, pinning her straight to her embarrassment, and the presence of the woman.
Her eye, the eye, clicked a quick chime of precision – as if expanding its limits to encompass the totality of Pell. Pell did not mind her intense examination. It added, with a rush of feelings, to the quaking in her belly, the weakness in her knees.
"Gotta splash. Wait right here,” Arc said.
Of course she waited.
After a few hammering heartbeats, the door opened and she came out – butchly tucking her T-shirt back into her jeans – and Pell was again at the focus of her meticulously designed sight.
"You live anywhere close? I’m tired of this shit. You?"
"Down the block. Just on the corner," Pell said, trying hard not to smile too much.
The woman downed the small sample of red in her glass and, looking for a place to put it down, and not finding any, just dropped it with a sharp plastic clatter on the floor. "Show me. It can’t be worse than here. Too many fucking artists."
Sunday, January 16, 2011
In this special interview M. Christian discusses his collection of technorotica, Rude Mechanicals, his book How To Write and Sell Erotica, and a series of forthcoming anthologies for Sizzler Editions on such subjects as Sex in San Francisco and The Love that Never Dies: Erotic Encounters with Zombies and Others.
M. Christian is one of the acknowledged masters of erotica, and his work is constantly selected for inclusion in yearly "best of" anthologies including Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, and Best Fetish Erotica. His stories have been collected in Dirty Words, Licks & Promises, Filthy, and Coming Together Presents M.Christian. M. Christian has also edited a distinguished line of anthologies on his own and with collaborators like Maxim Jakubowski and Carol Queen. His novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Brushes, and Painted Doll were published to critical acclaim.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Here's another treat, compliments of the Gay And Lesbian Excerpt Blog: A teasing taste from Times Square Cutie by Mykola Dementiuk
In the novella Times Square Cutie by Mykola Dementiuk, 'bad boy’ Billy is a cutie – and he loves it. Women and men want him – and he wants them. In fact, Billy's gender is a bit fluid too. He's a boy when he's with his lover Rebecca; and a girl when crossdressed in the arms of a hunky man. Truth is Billy's so hot – he's to die for. And before tonight is over, several will. A chance meeting with Rebecca leads to not-so-bright Billy agreeing to help her steal money from her rich older lover. Discovering his dead body, the two make away with his money. Possession of all that money makes Billy horny and he begins to make love to Rebecca. But as they finish, two of Billy's less savory male friends come by and soon Billy and Rebecca switch partners, each going off with one of the men. When Billy's two friends discover his ill-gotten loot, it leads to a moment of horrific violence. And only one will walk away to tell the tale.
I knew that wasn’t the thing to say but it got me very excited too. Had a guy who once called me names, like no good whore and filthy cock sucking cunt and boy! the cumming wasn’t that, it was an explosion of bliss! Besides the dirty names he called me I felt more erotic and dirty also, like I was a whore and no good cunt. The few times I had the opportunity of having sex with a girl my mouth went off like it had its own life, a filthy life that girls didn’t like at all. Tough, I certainly did!
Then I heard laughter and Hector’s snide remark.
“Hey, mira!” he said. “Nice ass…”
I froze, pissed off and hating that I was caught with my pants down, especially by someone like Hector. It didn’t matter that Rebecca’s ass was in the air too.
“What the fuck?” I said, still surprised.
But Hector’s Spanish friend put his hand on Rebecca’s ass and he was getting a good feel. She froze as I did.
Unbelievable that this was Times Square, only a block from 42nd street and about 9 o’clock in the evening. There was a small conversation in Spanish that I didn’t understand, but kind of agreement had been reached. The Spanish guy was pushing Rebecca, face down, onto a car bracing her dress up. Somehow she had stepped out of her panties and the guy bent down over her, ready to enter. I was bent like Rebecca, but like hell would I let Hector fuck me in the ass, faggot or no faggot!
I made a move but Hector was there, waving a knife in my face and pointing it in my neck.
“C’mon, you fucking puta miera,” he cursed and laughed. “You used to like this, you little white puta.”
Again I felt his weight on me and one hand grasping at my chest. Then suddenly his penis drilled into my ass, like it had looking for its mark and now settled at home and at peace. I felt very ashamed and worthless, but suddenly I felt him spasm and clutch my waist.
“Mother fucker!” he screamed. “Maricone!”
He made a few more thrusts at me and crudely pulled out. Boy, was he fast, the sick faggot!
“Maricone!” he spat out at me, said a few more curses in Spanish followed, as his friend was getting finished with Rebecca. I felt bad and stupid and didn’t want to look at her. All I wanted was to get out of there but I knew like hell would they let me leave. Here I was, two years from wearing a dress, with fake tits and phony walk but still getting it in the ass. I thought that had changed; how little I knew. Oh God! I felt like an idiot.
“You have a nice tight asshole,” said Hector, “just like a virgin cunt!” He laughed, and I wanted to kill him.
I glanced at Rebecca, just slightly, like I was too nervous to look at her but it was nothing to her. She was just pulling her panties up and straightening her skirt and I’m sure that it was no big thing, just an ass fucking. So why did I feel like this? Years ago I took it up the ass and in the mouth --my greatest experience was getting fucked in the ass and the mouth while a third was sucking me like crazy; I still get hard from thinking of that. But this was different this was rape, brutal rape, a knife to my throat and a cock up my ass. That was the difference, I wasn’t in charge and I didn’t like it!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Here's is a extra-special treat: the story "The Hero Trap" by the amazing David Salcido, from his brand-new (and kick-ass) erotica collection Dimensions of Desire.
The Hero Trap
(with respectful apologies to Larry Niven)
(with respectful apologies to Larry Niven)
It's over, Chlamydia!" The avenger said, the powerful muscles of his immense chest flexing as he raised his fist victoriously. "Did you honestly think you would get away with such a nefarious plan?"
The woman's tinkling laughter came as no surprise. Villains always laughed in their hour of doom. Her answer, however, puzzled him. "What makes you think I haven't?"
The levitating man of iron will narrowed his eyes, his heroic chin jutting out in set determination. "You've failed, bitch. I've dismantled all of your evil STD bombs and rounded up all of your hench-hookers. The city of Megalopolis is safe once more."
Again the laughter, this time low and sinister. "You fool," she said. "You've fallen right into my trap."
"Trap?" The muscles of his thick neck rolled and tumbled under the skin as he darted glances around the room, infrared eyes taking in every detail before coming back to rest on the heaving breasts of the villainous vixen standing imperiously before him. He pulled his eyes away with a heroic force of will and attempted a dismissive smile. "The only one who has been trapped here, is you. You'll never escape my grasp."
"Mmmmmm," Chlamydia purred. "And what makes you think I'd want to?" Running the middle finger of her right hand languorously from the hollow of her throat down between her gravity defying breasts, she again drew his gaze and continued to hold it as her fingers found the zipper of her spandex jumpsuit and began pulling it down. She completed the operation and stepped clear of her costume in one fluid motion to stand naked before him. The look on his handsome face was a mixture of horror and, yes, she could see it in his eyes, lust.
For the first time since his emergence from her acid moat, the superheroic man of sinew became aware of his own nakedness. Like a lumbering ballet performed by a burly marine, he twisted in mid-air to bring one treetrunk thigh up in the hopes of concealing his exposed, and heroically expanding, private parts.
"You didn't think it at all odd that I would go to all the trouble of building this complex inside a historic landmark, fully knowing that you would go out of your way to make sure that not a single brick was harmed?" Chlamydia asked, her voice taking on a husky insinuation, "Then, despite knowing that your otherworldly flesh was completely impervious to any element known to man, fill the chambers under the complex with a highly corrosive acid so that you would have to swim through them to get to me?"
His eyes narrowed once more. "Uh... no."
She laughed. "Just because your flesh is impervious, doesn't mean your costume is."
The man of might reddened, his heavily muscled arms reacting instinctively as one enormous hand came to rest on the opposite shoulder while the other dropped down between his powerful legs. "You fiend!"
"Oh, c'mon superstud. You want it. You know you do. Have you ever seen a pair of tits like these?"
"Don't call me that!" He answered indignantly, trying desperately to keep his gaze leveled on her face. "My name is..."
"I know what your name is. It's not your name that I'm interested in. It's that slab of super meat you're trying so vainly to keep hidden from me." Chlamydia smiled, kneading her swollen breasts with her left hand while the other hand slipped and probed wetly between her sensuously defined legs. "I've often wondered, are you as good in other departments as you are at saving this pathetic city from evil? You've certainly got the muscle for it, judging from what I've seen in its relaxed state."
The hero's blush deepened. He was quickly losing the battle to keep his super-manhood unfurled and already he could feel his strength ebbing as the much-needed blood rushed away from his body to fill the titanic prow between his legs. No, he thought, I must not give in! I am better than this! I am the protector of truth, justice and the corporate way! I am... sinking fast... Nervously he began scouting for a spot to land his heroic bulk as the now fully erect supercock acted like an anchor, dragging him down from the safety of the sky.
Smiling in anticipation, Chlamydia lay back on the huge triple wide king-size bed to await his arrival on the only safe landing spot in the entire chamber. With a mighty thump the man of sinew came to rest on the platform at the foot of her bed, his enormous cock jutting out like a mighty redwood threatening to topple him with its prodigious weight.
Chlamydia's eyes widened. "Oh, baby!" she said. "Come to momma!"
"I will not do this!" the hero said, straining against the weight pulling him forward.
"Oh, c'mon Supes," Chlamydia purred, using the fingers of both hands to spread the lips of her drooling love hole. "All this foreplay has made me so horny I can hardly stand it. Just do what you have to do..."
Gritting his teeth, the veins throbbing on his broad forehead, the sinews of his neck standing out like cables on a suspension bridge, the mighty avenger tried vainly to rein back on the raging stallion between his legs. Pulling with both hands, all he managed to do was roll back the foreskin of his steed to expose its magnificent purple head. Chlamydia took the opportunity to spring into action. Rolling forward, she grasped the bucking mammoth in both hands and engulfed the head in her hot mouth. Stars exploded behind the hero's eyes and he felt the last vestige of strength leaving him. His knees buckled and he toppled sideways to land on the bed, Chlamydia swinging up into the air and back down between his titanic thighs, never losing the rhythm of her bobbing head.
"No," the man of mush whined, "You can't!"
Chlamydia raised her head, precum glistening on her lips like sugar glaze. "Oh, I can," she said. "And I WILL!" Raising herself up, the villainous bitch straddled the hero's narrow waist, grasping his steely rod in her hands and aiming it toward her eagerly awaiting nest of vice and virtue. Then, as the hero wailed pathetically, she lowered herself onto it, plunging it's ramrod stiffness deep into the velvety confines of her fortress, stretching the walls beyond their means until she felt she would explode from the pressure.
"I've waited a long time for this!" Chlamydia crowed, reveling in the combined sensation of pleasure and pain and riding the heroic muscle like the experienced slut she was. Pumping harder and harder, she ran her hands shamelessly over the superbly ripped abdomen and mountainous pecs of the mighty hero, laughing at his feeble attempts to stop her and twisting his baseball-sized nipples mercilessly until he groaned with unrestrained pleasure.
"Stop... please..." he moaned. "You... don't... know... what... you're... doing..."
"I know exactly what I'm doing!" Chlamydia proclaimed triumphantly, feeling the waves of sensation building within her. It was going to be a heroic orgasm, she thought, an orgasm befitting the woman who had finally tamed this warrior of justice known throughout the galaxy for his upstanding virtue and moral fibre. "I have won!"
"Nooooooooooo..." the hero cried as the tingling in his grapefruit-sized balls began to overwhelm him. He was going to cum! Chlamydia felt the throbbing of his massive organ as his orgasm began and the sensation was enough to push her over the edge herself. She screamed as the first wave of her own orgasm overtook her, smashing through her pleasure centers like a mighty vaseline-coated fist. Another was on its way, promising to be even more magnificent than the last and she began to laugh, throwing her head back in triumphant abandon.
She never knew what hit her after that, as the muscular organ deep within her spat out the first of its mighty loads, ripping through her body like a heat-seeking missile. By the time the man of might had gotten control of the bucking steel girder between his legs, and the last of the spasms had passed, Chlamydia had been reduced to little more than gooey paste on the ceiling of the chamber directly over the bed.
Closing his eyes to avoid the horror, the ravished hero curled up into a ball on the bed. Such was the curse of an otherworldly creature with strength far beyond that of mortal men. 'Man of titanium, woman of toilet paper,' he thought, then gave into the languid feeling which was overtaking him and snuggled down into the plush bed to sleep it off.
David Salcido is the former publisher of the adult literary arts journal Blue Food and for the past 20 years or so has made his living writing for and editing such notable entertainment magazines as Entertainment Weekly, Playtime, Video Business, Pop Smear, Suspect Thoughts, Spectrum, Voices, Impulse and Red Magazine. As a fiction writer, his credits include Yellow Silk, The Dream People, Wicked Grin, The Journal Of Sister Moon and the anthologies Blood Lust: Erotic Vampire Tales, Redsine Ten and Hard Working Men: Gay Erotic Fiction.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Sizzler is extra-excited to be able to bring you this brightly-erotic book all-but guaranteed to please even the most jaded of erotica fan: Summer Loving by Lydia.
A young woman’s bitter-sweet memories of growing-up in 1960s America, learning about life, love and discipline. She eloquently describes how this sweet, sensual surprise, combined with her own innocence and spiced with a stern discipline previously beyond her experience, came together in her own personal summer of love -- and beyond! Looking back to her sexual awakening, Lydia tells how it was for her in those heady days of the early 1960s when everything seemed possible -- and often was! For anyone enthralled by how the fires of love and lust can be ignited in a young girl by the driving passion of an experienced older dominatrix, this novel is for you.
If you like your BDSM hot and steamy then look no further than Cyn Castle's Motel Slave!
She Discovered Fulfillment in Surrender! When Eva's boyfriend abandons her at a sleazy motel with no money or credit cards, to earn cash and work off the bill Eva has to beg a job from Arnold, the motel's even sleazier manager. Soon Eva discovers Arnold expects her to be more than a maid. He forces her to become his slave, submit to his demands, and silently bear punishment when she earns his displeasure. Soon Eva finds she isn't just expected to be Arnold's slave but the motel's slave. What surprises Eva is that when she compares him to the other men in her life, he is "the best man" she has ever known. In Motel Slave, Cyn Castle paints another frank and uncensored picture of the inner life of the modern young woman.
Sizzler is extremely pleased to be able to bring you a brand new erotic romance by our celebrated erotic star, Heather McVey: French Kiss
Heather Hunt lives with the burden of a an unavoidable car wreck that took her little sister's life. Then Pierre duPardue, a gorgeous stranger with a honey-tipped French accent, turns up on her doorstep. For the first time Heather realizes how long it has been since she has been with a man or even thought about one. Now Heather discovers her need to be held and hold a man, one man, Pierre with the tall, dark, mouth-watering body and the come-to-bed chocolate-brown eyes. But Pierre is a big-time architect, with his own multi-million dollar company and more women already than he knows what to do with. Though he is attracted to Heather, he knows he doesn't have room in his life for another one. But he also recognizes that ever since he first clapped eyes Heather, he's wanted to break through her cold surface defenses, discover the sultry woman he is certain lies within and ultimately tame her. Can he? He's willing to die trying.
Sizzler is pleased and proud to bring you, the discerning erotica reader a brand new book by our celebrated Bo Blue: Jessica's Destiny.
When novice lesbian Jessica meets Lisa, she is eager to learn everything from the other woman she can.
Sizzler is excited to announce the publication of a brand new, and hotter-than-ever, release by our best-selling star J. W. McKenna: Please Don't Spank Me, Headmistress
The board declared the Oxbrook School for Girls "out of control" after the rash of pranks last year, so they installed corporal punishment and hired a beautiful new Headmistress to deliver it! But Abigail, Bonnie, Rene and Claire decided they would not be so easily cowed and vowed to test Miss Willoughby's resolve. They soon learned a startling fact: Bad girls got the cane, but good girls got so much more!