Saturday, June 30, 2012

Painted Doll By M.Christian - An Excerpt


In celebration of the re-release of M. Christian's cyberpunk BDSM erotica novel, Painted Doll, here's an except ...


Chapter 2

... Qui Dan Road to the High Street, a stumble of crisp British in a city of fish sauce and MSG. The change didn’t alter her steps, modify her movements.

Beautiful? Oh, yes: without doubt, without a question. The splendor of a rose, the loveliness of an orchid. The kimono is flawless, as is the china white of her immaculately applied artificial complexion. As she walks, hearts stop then race. As she walks, heads twist, eyes widen. As she walks, breaths are hissed in, sighed out.

Beautiful? Oh, yes: without doubt, without a question. But she is a knife-edged rose, a razor sharp orchid. Her stride is mechanically perfect, as is her perfectly vertical posture. Their hearts might race, their heads may twist, their eyes certainly widen, their breaths absolutely hiss in and hiss out, but as she steps nearer they instead step back. As she walks, they avert their eyes. As she walks, they pull themselves in.

The woman walking down the High Street feels them watching her, their glances furtive tickles, their quick stares barely felt hooks out of the corners of her always forward facing eyes. Passing a bookseller – tight fans of rough tan paper with lurid Cantonese chops on their glistening plastic covers hung in sagging arcs of cord – a reflection was revealed to her, a caught sight of what they were seeing.

But not what they were thinking. But she knew, nevertheless: each of them lost in illusions and fantasies as carefully crafted as her rouge, as flawlessly presented as the mae migoro and ushiro migoro of her kimono, as immaculately assembled as her performance:

She’s a dragon, some might think: the cruelty of a reptile, the flawlessness of a myth. You may approach her, with bravery beyond that of any battlefield, speaking with a stammer and a twitch, and if you were fortunate beyond your worth she’d slow, pause, turn with prudently measured grace, deeming your presence not completely disgusting. With that look, at that glance, would be a flickering forked tongue of cruel invitation, a scintillating promise of peaked breasts topped with fist-tight nipples, a belly steel plate flat and firm, a behind curving out in twin clenches of muscular intensity, thighs sculpted by rigid posture, and between them a scented valley of ruby silk.

But first, a miniscule task. But first, an all but insignificant request: to firmly stand guard for her honor and dignity; to fetch a inestimable gem, an incalculable jewel, or just a unexceptional sticky-sweet pastry; to perform for her a melody of praise, or a stammering litany of desperate worth; or a quick athletic demonstration of physical merit; or become for her an avenging knight, a battle to defend her honor against some heinous offense.

A minuscule task. An insignificant request. Accepted without doubt or hesitation, the reward a slow curl at the corner of her cold stone face, a bow of gratitude, and a bright flash of serpentine green eyes. Totally entranced by her, completely captured by her, the dragon would then reveal the metaphorical points of venomous teeth, sinking the illusion of her love deep into the shaft of your encouraged penis by showing you the true face of her cruelty.

The prize was yours but the tasks were actually anything but miniscule, not at all insignificant: firmly stand guard for her honor and dignity – for a year; fetch a inestimable gem, an incalculable jewel, or just a unexceptional sticky-sweet pastry – from a thousand miles away; perform for her a melody of praise, or a stammering litany of desperate worth – perfectly, without the tiniest flaw; a quick athletic demonstration of physical merit – unattainable by even the greatest athlete; or become for her an avenging knight, a battle to defend her honor against some heinous offense – in combat against a killing machine.

And so the dragon passes by, a smile on her cold-blooded face. No one approaches her, no one is willing to come near. And so they live, by letting her just walk by.

She’s a doll, some might think: a porcelain figure, an ivory representation. Beneath the silks and satins would be a body as perfect as only a master artisan could create. Breasts both delicate and womanly, nipples as delicate as rosebuds, a belly with an ideal swell, hands with the grace of ten Noh performers, calves a perfect taper, thighs an entrancing form, back a clean surface of alabaster, neck a musical curve, feet delicate and precious, a behind highlighted with sacral dimples, and a female cleft that was a pale oyster and a tiny pink pearl.

Like a doll, she would belong to whoever buys her. Cash, credit, merchandise – the right amount and the woman would instead walk behind, following her owner towards palace or hovel, both with the same unmoving mask of her face.

Palace or hovel, she would walk in the door, standing still and quiet with an item’s posture. Maybe she’d look better in the living room window, where the afternoon would bathe her in golden light? Or perhaps she’d be better exhibited in the bedroom, where her kimono could be removed like one from a real woman.

Yes, the bedroom. That was where she would be best displayed. Moving past, it was clear in their eyes, the allure of her perfect submission. A thing. An object. A piece of feminine sculpture. Unable to disagree, unable to refuse, bendable in all kinds of imaginative ways. From behind, cock sliding between her cool ivory cheeks. Face to face, marble breasts for unimpeded kiss, licks, and sucks. On top, her tight thighs spread apart and welcoming upward thrusts. Anything you wanted, anytime you wanted.

Desire was a rippling wave behind her, a heat distortion in the warm city air. It was obvious in their eyes that there, in her, was a world without ‘no,’ a land without complaint, a woman without a soul.

Then they stopped, that wave of erections and licked dry lips chilled with a slap of frigid revelation. Stepping back with the rest of the crowd, these men retreated from the precise rhythm of her steps, with whimpering fear in their wide eyes, their shaking heads.

Ivory arms, marble legs, alabaster body: inflexible, unfeeling, stiff, unbending, unyielding, and -- worst of all -- cold. With her you’d never hear ‘no,’ never be refused, never be denied, but you’d also never hear the beat of her heart, the music of her voice, the chimes of her laughter, the moans and screams of her pleasure. You’d perform with her your deepest, darkest, most subterranean – and all she would do would be to look at you with inscrutably glass eyes.

She’s a tiger, some might think: a beast with the stripes of a traditional Japanese dress. Hidden beneath her Asian camouflage was a woman’s body, exercised into an extension of her erotic drive. Where other women had euphemisms and poetic alliterations, she had simple, direct, and powerful words to describe herself. Where other women had bosoms, she had tits of ideal jiggle and sway, covered in thrilling smooth skin. Where other women had nipples, she had a pair of dark brown direct connections to her clit. Where other women had posteriors, she had two plush muscular globes that clenched and released with the beating heat of her clit. Where other women had sexes, she had a demanding, insistent cunt.

To see and handle these differences would be more fortune than seduction. You did not take the tiger to dinner and slip hot words between dessert and coffee. You did not lay flowers at the feet of this hot blooded woman within the cool disguise of a geisha. You did not whisper poetry into the shell-like ear of this elegantly robed bitch.

There was no way to make her do anything, no way to slyly allure or simply trick her into a private room, no way to seduce her. The only thing anyone could do was to stand within the range of that sweeping predatory glance and hope that her eyes would positively estimate your worth as a device for her pleasure. Then, and only then, would her red-painted lips open ever-so, more than a whisper but less than full voice, and speak the one word you’d prayed to hear: “Come.”

Behind her, pulled along by her insatiable need, you would follow. It wouldn’t be a long journey, for her cunt has a very short attention span. Cheap hotel on the next street, expensive one even closer by, or just the nearest fetid and slimy alley – whatever was within range.

Patience was for ladies. Hesitation was for women. Tigers – even ones hidden within silks and satins – had no need for foreplay, patience, or hesitation. They wanted, so they took.

And if you were lucky, she would take you. Hands down to your cock, a squeezing judgment for size and firmness. Lips to yours, a tongue penetrating your mouth, am attacking kiss wanting nothing of you but to be kindling to her roaring heat.

On her knees, she would take you. But only because that was what she wanted. Your come was not expected or important. A flesh device to penetrate an orifice, you would be used until she was bored and ready to move onto other penetrations of other orifices.

Or perhaps she’d require something else. Falling back, satin fabric pulled roughly aside, she might bare an insistent slickness, the gleaming lips and fast-beating clit, and demand your service. Failure to accept or in performance too terrible to contemplate.

At the end, your cock would be needed: hard, strong, and fast -- nothing else important to her. Burning hot, insanely wet, you’d enter and execute the task she’d ordered, working until her screams tore at your ears and her nails scratched along your back.

Then that would be it. Humiliating? Being reduced to only a device for someone’s pleasure usually is. But the blistering heat of her, the ferocious need of her cunt would put – and keep – a smile on your sweaty face.

But – and again men standing step back, retreat in shivering dread when she walks back – one does not ever tame a tiger, even after it is fed. Who knows what she might hunger for after? Meat, blood, flesh, dignity, any number of horrible violations – any of them within her grasp, and you too exhausted to resist.

Tigers are wild things, after all: enjoyable to watch in zoos, penned behind restraining bars, but far too bloodthirsty in bed.

She’s a machine, some might think: isn’t it wonderful what they’re doing with shape memory alloys, mnemetic plastics, optical fibers, and conductive polymers? Absolutely wonderful things coming out of Japan, India, the Wilding, and the young turks of the École Polytechnique, these days. Look up and there are dragonfliers pausing for location fixes before darting off at near-invisible speeds, packages clutched under their iridescent fuselages. Look down and there are myriad scurrying mechanisms trailing polished tracks of perfumed cleanliness through the city’s persistent grime. Look around and there are cinematics lazily scrolling across a lady’s fluttering fan, posters for the newest Malasian blockbuster cycling through tantalizing glimpses of furious martial arts and stiffly chaste duets, the hushed commuting fuel-cell and ethanol traffic, and the softly creaking carbon fibers of a prosthetic hand on a crumble-faced veteran of the Chinese genocide as he lays down a mah-jongg tile.

Look at her and you might see a device as carefully machined as a German car, a Swiss watch, a Japanese entertainment center, Indian software, or an African running shoe: breasts as ideal and resilient as silicone, skin of perfectly cured plastic, muscles as precise and strong as actuators, a genital-pleasuring interface between her thighs, a mouth with the same technology.

It was a safe bet that without her protective kimono covering, the pseudo-body of hers was as superlative as a supermodel, as sensuous as a Playmate of whatever month, as adept as an amalgamation of every courtesan who’d ever lived, as refined and machined as her manufacturers could make her.

Movement like the architecture in fine software, presence as authoritative as graceful as a jet fighter, skin as smooth as the polish on a fresh-from-the-factory-floor Ferrari, she passed by – and with her passing the tracking of lust and greed in the eyes of the male crowd, and sour envy on the faces of everyone else.

Here was the best of both of a man’s world: the twin allures of a clever device together with a well-articulated woman – or, to be more specific, as those men revealed so obviously, ‘coupled’ together, a mating between flesh and sex and advanced technology and power. Purchasing this – or simply leasing with an option to do the same – and putting it in the garage or the bedroom, would mean not just a product but also a woman of every dream, not just a sex partner but also a sophisticated piece of fine engineering.

But that wasn’t all. Look at them watching her move by. Lust was there, both for machine as well as woman, but there was also the dawning realization that there could be even more there: things that squeezed, buzzed, vibrated, hummed, heated, cooled, swirled, oscillated, tingled, and more, more, more so much more.

But then they pulled away, out of her way, out of her traffic, their fantasies dropping behind to be passed by the rushing acceleration of a nightmare, the barreling truck of a terrifying understanding.

Engineering, went their minds as they retreated, is fine and good, stimulating and thrilling. Sex, they thought as they ran away from her, is fantastic and wonderful. But to fuck a machine, to be intimate with gears and cogs, synthetics and electricity, hydraulics and radiators, could be good, but also could be like thrusting into a meshing, tearing, burning, shocking, scalding, blistering industrial accident.

Friday, June 29, 2012

The Frankenstein Penis (from The Love That Never Dies)



As you may have heard, an anthology M.Christian edited was just released: The Love That Never Dies: Erotic Encounters With The Undead - featuring some truly remarkable stories of ... well, as our description says:
Thousands of books have been written about love and sex between humans and werewolves, vampires, aliens, shapeshifters, ghosts, and other supernatural creatures. But, what about the real, honest, and alluringly bizarre world of the undead.  Not just zombies - though a few are stumbling through this anthology - not just the once-alive - but also the differently-living?  In these pages you'll discover things shambling out of tombs, existing on whole new plains of existence, and more.  In the hands, and minds, of these deeply talented and wonderful writers nothing will be quite what it appears. Buckle yourself in and get ready for a ride will of unexpected twists and turns, where your libido and desires may go in one direction while your brain - screaming all the time "No no no no no no!" - goes the opposite.  Including stories from erotic writing celebrities like Laura Antoniou, Nobilis Reed, Jay Lawrence, Billierosie, PM White, Ralph Greco, Jr. - and science fiction/horror stars such as Jean Marie Stine, Ernest Hogan and Chris Devito! 
Speaking of Ernest Hogan - a well-known science fiction author - recently put up a very fun post about his submission, "The Frankenstein Penis" on his blog.  Here's a tease:
Just when you thought is was safe to read again, it's baaaaaaaack! 
I'm talking about my most infamous story, The Frankenstein Penis, once again available for sale in the anthology Love That Never Dies: Erotic Encounters With the Undeadeditied by M. Christian. It's an ebook, and a paperback is in the works! 
This is probably a good time for me explain why I wrote such a bizarre story. Fortunately, I've done it before here at Mondo Ernesto. The saga ofthe story can be found in And the Great Penis Rip-Off Goes On, and I discuss the two student films – and have links to them so you can watch them online – in The Frankenstein Penis: The Movie(s), and More.
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Thursday, June 28, 2012

NEW VIDEO TEASER FOR POWERONE'S ALL THE PRESIDENT'S SLAVES





An enthralling novel of a man whose lust for power extended from the Oval Office to the boudior.

See our new video teaser for number one bestselling bondage novelist Powerone's newest spellbinder.



Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Did You Know? (Ep 002) Weird Facts - #2 - Mima Mounds


As a very special celebration of the release of M. Christian's book Welcome to WeirdsvilleRenaissance E Books/PageTurner Editions are pleased to present the second in a five part series Did You Know? written by our publisher Jean Marie Stine and produced by by our resident magnificent media master, and great guy, Bill Mills.


"A wonderful compendium of interesting subjects and fascinating topics. Will keep you reading just to found out what's going to be covered next. Highly recommended for all lovers of weird & wonderful this side of the Universe." -Avi Abrams, Dark Roasted Blend.  
Peek under the rugs, open more than a few drawers, peek in the back shelves and you'll find that ... well, Lord Byron himself said it best: "Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction." Lakes that explode, parasites that can literally change your mind, The New Motor, a noble Word War 1 German pirate, the odd nature of ducks, the War Magician, the City of Fire, men and their too big guns, a few misplaces nuclear weapons, an iceberg aircraft carrier, the sad death of Big Mary, the all-consuming hunger of the Bucklands, the giggling genius of Brian G. Hughes, the Kashasha laughter epidemic.... Ponder that in a world that holds things like kudzu, ophiocordyceps unilateralis, The Antikythera Device, The Yellow Kid, Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka, Alfred Jarry, Joseph Pujol, and suicide-bombing ants ... who knows what other kinds of wonders as well as horrors may be out there?
Welcome to Weirdsville 
M. Christian
$9.99
PageTurner Editions
183 Pages
Available where all ebooks are found 

Monday, June 25, 2012

Out Now: Memoirs Of A Sex Slave - The Confessions Of A Submissive Woman By Billierosie

Billierosie's first collection, Fetish Worship, was a BDSM wild ride but this, her brand new novel, she shows that she can be even better.  You are sure to enjoy Memoirs Of A Sex Slave - The Confessions Of A Submissive Woman




Billierosie rocked the BDSM world with her collection, FETISH WORSHIP, and she proves just how good she can be - if not better, in her new novel: MEMOIRS OF A SEX SLAVE: THE CONFESSIONS OF A SUBMISSIVE WOMAN.  As the author says. The author says, "I know people who have had their lives changed for the better, when they finally embraced their fetish."  And with this, her wonderful new novel, she shows not just that understanding but how great a writer she is!

Out Now: Spoils Of War By D.W. Collins

Here's a special treat for fans of erotic fantasy - a brand new sexual wonderland by D.W. Collins: Spoils Of War



An erotic fantasy like no other: SPOILS OF WAR SHOWS not just that D. W. Collins is a great writer but that he has the power to reach the inner depths of BDSM excitement! 
The stunningly beautiful, Rebecca, Princess of Kor watched in horror as her father, Nabor, was cut down in battle by the troops of the ruthless King Amos of Zoopor.  The beautiful, fair skinned redhead was captured by Tristan, Amos’s faithful captain.  The captive princess was forced to march naked into Zoopor where she was made to watch the women of Kor sold at auction.  He presented her as a gift for King Amos.   
Amos obeyed an old scripture.  He had the princess stripped and segregated in his harem.  When Rebecca’s month of naked segregation was complete, Amos made her his wife.  He put her and his favorite, Asenath into direct sexual competition the very next night. 
Rebecca is plunged into the world of palace intrigue.  When she unexpectedly holds Amos’s life in her hands she faces a dangerous decision that could lead to her undoing. Author, D.W. Collins gets the story off to a fast pace that never lets up.

Out Now: Legwork - Where Pleasure Comes With The Territory By Lynn Lake

We always pride ourselves here at Sizzler Editions in bring you, the discenting erotica fan, the best we can - and this brand new book by Lynn Lake is all-but guaranteed to satisfy you in all kinds of ways: Legwork - Where Pleasure Comes With The Territory




Here's a real treat for fans of erotic short stories: a brand new book by a magnificent new author.  You are sure to enjoy the erotic adventures adventures of a female furniture sales rep as she visits and deals wth various suppliers and customers. In these lusty tales she gets involved - and then some - with everything from lesbianism to orgies to spanking to foot worship to phone sex, all in the interests of a job well-done, of course.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

BDSM Reviews Likes Red Nails in the Sunset: Sex Tales for the Different by James Williams

Congratulations are very due to James Williams and his Red Nails in the Sunset: Sex Tales for the Different - a five star review from BDSM Reviews!


”If you have perhaps assumed that only women writers have anything new or interesting to say about sexuality, I suggest that you question that prejudice, and give this book a chance.” From the intro by Pat Califia. I heartily agree. 
This extraordinary book collects James Williams’ short work into one volume and presents the reader with short stories, essays, and poetry. All but a handful are erotic. 
Some works, some authors, seem to speak to the reader directly, offer them an inroad to their own subconscious, a tour of places that we may have walled off or kept hidden. These would rely on and explore subjective truth. Others work on a different level, by evoking that which is not like us, that which is strange, misunderstood, rejected, or hidden, and elevating it to the level of something that we can understand. These works, these authors, explore objective truth. These stories do both very well.
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Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Did You Know? Weird Facts #1: The Hellfire Club

As a very special celebration of the release of M. Christian's book Welcome to Weirdsville, Renaissance E Books/PageTurner Editions are pleased to present the first in a five part series Did You Know? written by our publisher Jean Marie Stine and produced by by our resident magnificent media master, and great guy, Bill Mills.



"A wonderful compendium of interesting subjects and fascinating topics. Will keep you reading just to found out what's going to be covered next. Highly recommended for all lovers of weird & wonderful this side of the Universe." -Avi Abrams, Dark Roasted Blend.  
Peek under the rugs, open more than a few drawers, peek in the back shelves and you'll find that ... well, Lord Byron himself said it best: "Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction." Lakes that explode, parasites that can literally change your mind, The New Motor, a noble Word War 1 German pirate, the odd nature of ducks, the War Magician, the City of Fire, men and their too big guns, a few misplaces nuclear weapons, an iceberg aircraft carrier, the sad death of Big Mary, the all-consuming hunger of the Bucklands, the giggling genius of Brian G. Hughes, the Kashasha laughter epidemic.... Ponder that in a world that holds things like kudzu, ophiocordyceps unilateralis, The Antikythera Device, The Yellow Kid, Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka, Alfred Jarry, Joseph Pujol, and suicide-bombing ants ... who knows what other kinds of wonders as well as horrors may be out there?
Welcome to Weirdsville 
M. Christian
$9.99
PageTurner Editions
183 Pages
Available where all ebooks are found  

Out Now: Julia's House By A. J. Arnost

Here's a real treat for fans of hot BDSM erotica: A. J. Arnost's Julia's House 


A masterful tale of BDSM and romance by one of our top authors!

Out Now: His New Slave By David Jewell

There is simply no one better at writing wonderfully wild erotica than our own resident master of the genre, David Jewell - and you'll see how good he can be with his new book: His New Slave


Knowing Alexis has repressed submissive urges, Tony Jablinski, a self-made millionaire, lured her to his cabin in northern Minnesota . There she makes a transition into a thrilling new life of bondage and submission.  Meanwhile, Tony's wife Collette is searching for the perfect male submissive. She selects Carlos and puts him through his paces. Soon Tony and Collette introduce Alexis and Carlos, who they push into new frontiers of unimagined sexual pleasure as slaves. Master Tony and Mistress Collette invite a couple, Ian and Erika Whitehouse, to fly in from Alaska.  They are the reason they found and trained Alexis and Carlos.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Video Promo for Margie Church & K. B. Cutter's forthcoming novel "Razor"

Bill Mills of Mills Audio/Video Productions made this short video promo for Church and Cutter's July Sizzler Editions ebook. We think you might enjoy seeing it.


[6/14/2012 11:15:55 AM] Bill Mills:

YOU KNOW YOU’RE A WRITER…

Guest post from author Emma Paul


Many people have asked me about being a writer. What is it about me that allow my thoughts to flow so creatively on paper-err keyboard?

That’s a good question, because I simply don’t understand why people would find it such a unique talent. Writing simply is a part of who I am.
I actually don’t understand how friends and family seem to be unable to do what I do. Or at least they claim not to be able to. Maybe I just take it for granted that I can put together a story with such easy and creativity. 

After pondering this for a while, I came to the realization that creative people, those that think outside the box like myself, have certain characteristics that set them apart from the average person.

Since I am a writer, let,s see what sets us apart from Joe and Susie Smith.
I love Jeff Foxworthy and one of my favorite skits he does is the “you know you’re a redneck…” act. I decided to borrow from Mr. Foxworthy, (thanks JF) and make my own list of…

You Know You’re a Writer When-
Your house is always a mess. Yep I have found that my house is never neat. It’s not that I don’t clean it. It’s just that I’d rather be writing, and every time I start to clean, I have to walk past the laptop and that scene I need to finish…

You Know You’re a Writer When-

Your ten year old has to call you to remind you that she had a half day and you were supposed to pick her up two-hours ago. BTW she’s calling from the Police Station, cuz that’s where the principal dropped her off. Ouch!

You Know You’re a Writer When-

You wake up in the middle of the night to jot down the cool, often freaky dream you just had because, you know it will make a great story.

You Know You’re  a Writer When-
You’re characters start talking to you in you’re head and you listen. Sometimes you’re husband catches you reenacting a scene with said character…(i.e.) my husband is convinced we have ghosts.

You Know You’re a Writer When-

No one truly understands your sense of humor.
You never see the glass as half empty.
Life to you is just another story to be told.
You see people as unique individuals.
You embrace the oddballs and are bored with the “straight-laced”.
You believe that love is an emotion to be shared between people regardless of sex, creed or race.

And Finally…

You Know You’re a Writer When-

You write to live and live to write!

Emma Paul is the author of three  novels from Sizzler Editions.  See her list of science fiction/fantasy erotic romances here

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

billierosie Likes The Love that Never Dies

This is very, very special: billierosie, who wrote our best-selling Fetish Worship, just penned this review of the new anthology The Love that Never Dies: 
Finally. It’s here, and it is out NOW! “The Love that Never Dies”. The latest anthology of erotica, from the skilful editing of M.Christian. In this unique anthology, M.Christian takes us into the strange world of the undead. He knows what we like, does M.Christian. He knows what turns us on. He knows our dark secrets, dark desires. We yearn for those creatures that we can’t see and we can’t hear, but we have to acknowledge their presence. They taunt us, hurt us, make us bleed out our fear, and they are there, inside us and outside us. 
In “One Drop”, Laura Antoniou’s story, opens the anthology. Joyce and Rina have been lovers for years. They have been playing the same S&M games for what seems like centuries, to Joyce, and Joyce is bored. She feels guilt, that she is bored, but her psyche, is screaming for the sort of Domination that Rina seems incapable of giving. Then “My Lady”, makes an appearance. All it took was one drop of Joyce’s blood and a ravenous, cruel Dominant, fills Joyce with a terrifying, screaming fear. 
It is an excellent choice of story to open an anthology. Laura Antoniou, knows all about pace and rhythm; how to draw the reader in, that creeping up behind you tingle, that makes you stop reading for a second and glance over your shoulder. Did the curtain move just now, or was it just the breeze? Surely I closed the bedroom door? Was that a creaked I heard on the staircase -- third step from the top? The pulse rate increases and like all the best creepy tales, ends up with a startling twist. 
In “The Ghost in the Machine” Karen Taylor, gives a darker side of the Jewish psyche and traditions. The narrator of this beautifully crafted tale is a dybbuk, one of a group of souls hovering between the living and the dead. Being made into a dybbuk is a punishment for living an unworthy life. In life, dybbuks have been evil and malicious; in death, they are punished by a curse to hover as an essence, in an in between existence. Never moving on; it appears that there is no redemption for a dybbuk. A dybbuk can be called from his wretched, wispy existence, when a living being utters a curse upon a another person. It is the dybbuks’ duty to wreak havoc on the life of the recipient of the curse, and effectively fulfilling the curse. The dybbuk clings to the recipient until he is exorcised by a Rabbi.  
It is an intelligent tale, told with wit and intellect, but in such a matter of fact way, that the reader has that shifting uncomfortably; do dybbuks exist? Can someone really put a curse on you -- a curse so powerful, that it can wreak homes, marriages, lives? Yes they can, the piercing comment in the final sentence tells you.

Jay Lawrence’s contribution to the anthology is “Deliverance.” Here, we have one of those writers whose voice speaks the tale to the reader. We are sitting before a blazing fire, we are sleepy, as Jay’s voice tells us the story. “Deliverance” has the rhythm of a fairy tale; a quest story. And of course there is an erotic encounter. The sex scene is powerful enough to blow off the top of your head. Who would have thought that erotica could be compelling enough to be condensed to a few short paragraphs? And then there is the morning after. That awful feeling that you have done something so terrible, that your mind is frantically trying to erase it. Was it Rape? Buggery? Necrophilia? All three? A profound sin has been committed and you daren’t look back.

Sexy, sexy, sexy -- PM White composes prose like a musician composes music. PM White is an Offenbach, rather than a Grieg, leading the reader in so seductively to a safe place. But this place isn’t safe at all, like Orpheus’ trip to the underworld, PM White, slams you with erotica so powerful, that you are chasing your breath. Such is “Memory Man.”  
The moment when Tanya sees the Memory Man, is shocking, pure electricity. How do we know whom, or what is watching us, in our most private moments? Tanya questions her own sanity, when she not only sees the Memory Man, but hears his voice. It is a carefully crafted paragraph, worthy of Edgar Allan Poe, blending the forbidden, with the terrifying. 
The writer draws on our childhood fears; we know that there is something there, in our bedroom, watching us. The adults tells us to sleep, there is nothing there. As children, we know different. 
Tanya is a voyeur; so is the reader. We watch Tanya, as she watches the young, Hispanic couple, fucking each other, by moonlight in the swimming pool. The reader watches Tanya, as in a beautifully worked piece of writing, Tanya divests herself, like a burlesque dancer. We watch her masturbate into a lonely orgasm, with her thick vibrator. Thrust for thrust, Tanya synchronises her wet fucking, with the lovers in the swimming pool. 
Enter, the Memory Man; he is a voyeur too. Cruising, hotels and apartments, looking for folks getting off; either alone, or with multiple partners. The Memory Man’s inspiration is the orgasm. Passion is on his agenda. 
There’s the idea that stuff can happen in a place, usually a creepy house, or a smugglers inn, which is so powerful that somehow that the event replays over time, like an old VHS tape. That isn’t what PM White is talking about at all. His concept is that actual memories of an event, can have a manifestation, that is a thinking, feeling being. The being can’t be seen, or heard, so it is like a ghost, or how we all think of ghosts. But he is there, watching and growing stronger with each memory that he stores.

And what a treat -- a tale from the keyboard of M.Christian himself. It has been far too long! I have been starved, I am hungry for his tales. You see, I never know where M.Christian is going. He is an elusive writer and always when I think I have got him sussed, he surprises me! 
In “HORROR VACUI” M.Christian, gives us a protagonist whose whole existence is controlled by fear. A fear of his apartment, a fear of leaving his apartment, a fear of the open space outside, a fear of being unable to fill the empty space, what will happen to the empty space when he leaves it? It is that same crawling, slamming fear that makes me reach for the light switch, as I wake from a bad nightmare. Sweating, hot and cold clammy fear, clinging to my face. The protagonist in this frightening tale, is nihilistic. And that is what he is most fearful of, as his mind unravels. 
It is a tale of love and betrayal and death. A homeless man talks about it, and we don’t yet know what that “it” is. Or the roles that the players, have played. We learn the names of the lovers; Danny and Theresa. How perfect their love was, how they adored each other and then we learn the part that our protagonist played in their destruction.

He goes to a diner. It is just a short walk from his apartment, but it reads like an odyssey. You can feel him losing his grip on reality. The pace speeds up, like a cat frenetic, on amphetamine. His senses are confused. Is he really hearing things? Are the things he glimpses, real, or visions? Tastes, smells -- they shouldn’t be there, but they are. 
It is a tale of teetering on the edge of the precipice of madness. A Roderick Usher madness. The fear of madness. The fear of everything, and the fear of being nothing. A vision that Goya might have painted. The reader may never have been to those places, where everything is disconnected, but like the writer he is, M.Christian lifts the corner of the veil. We see, and we understand. 
“The Love that never dies is published by wonderful Sizzler, and will be available through Amazon very soon. There will also a printed version of the anthology later this year!
[Via Frequently Felt

Monday, June 11, 2012

Out Now: The Love That Never Dies: Erotic Encounters With The Undead By M. Christian

Nothing is better than ... BRAINS .... (ahem) we mean sex with the undead, and this brand new anthology by M. Christian will show you that being a ghost, zombie, or other 'undead' can be just as hot as having a warm, living body: The Love That Never Dies: Erotic Encounters With The Undead




Thousands of books have been written about love and sex between humans and werewolves, vampires, aliens, shapeshifters, ghosts, and other supernatural creatures. But, what about the real, honest, and alluringly bizarre world of the undead.  Not just zombies - though a few are stumbling through this anthology - not just the once-alive - but also the differently-living?  In these pages you'll discover things shambling out of tombs, existing on whole new plains of existence, and more.  In the hands, and minds, of these deeply talented and wonderful writers nothing will be quite what it appears. Buckle yourself in and get ready for a ride will of unexpected twists and turns, where your libido and desires may go in one direction while your brain - screaming all the time "No no no no no no!" - goes the opposite.  Including stories from erotic writing celebrities like Laura Antoniou, Nobilis Reed, Jay Lawrence, Billierosie, PM White, Ralph Greco, Jr. - and science fiction/horror stars such as Jean Marie Stine, Ernest Hogan and Chris Devito! 
Contents: 
One Drop By Laura Antoniou
Robber By Kannan Feng
Monster By
Vamps By Dominic Santi
Winnat's Pass By Billierosie
The Ghost In The Machine By Karen Taylor
Deliverance By Jay Lawrence
Memory Man By PM White
The Wolf Man And The Mule By Linda Watanabe Mcferrin
Between Despair And Ecstasy By Angelia Sparrow
The Man Who Visited Or Poor Brother Ed By Ralph Greco, Jr.
Ghost By Heather Towne
A Rock And A Hard Place By J. T. Seate
Alive She Cried By Chris Devito
Les Bon Temps By C. C. Williams
Only In Your Dreams By A. Leigh Jones
The Frankenstein Penis By Ernest Hogan
A Pearl Of Great Price By Jean Marie Stine
Horro Vacui By M. Christian

Out Now: The Spanking Club By Colin

There is simply no one better at writing fetish erotica than our resident master, Colin - and his new book proves just how wonderful he can be at telling not just a hot story but a great one as well: The Spanking Club





Spanking fans rejoice!   Colin, whose tales of tickling and foot worship have already garnered an enthusiastic following among discerning eroticists, now turns his tender attentions to the perverse pleasures of paddling.  THE SPANKING CLUB is the sexy tale of Lauren, a girl whose tastes in pleasure run to dominant men and a well-warmed bottom.  Her unconventional desires lead her to a most unusual institution, run by a most unusual couple.  Before long she’s convinced her two best girlfriends, Miki and Kimber, to join her on an adventure into the outer reaches of anal discipline.  The gals are dubious at first, but soon they realize they have submissive fantasies of their own…and a good hard spanking is the perfect way to explore them!

Friday, June 8, 2012

Misconceptions of Writing Erotica


By MaryLynn Bast

My first story, One Bite To Passion, is my first adventure into the world of erotica. When Sascha reminded me to write a blog for Sizzler Editions I had no idea what I could contribute being a new author. I decided I needed to do a little research so I could sound somewhat intelligent when blogging about the subject. In my research I found a ton of different websites that tell you “how to” write the perfect erotica. Most of these sites had one thing in common. To become a successful writer of erotica the author has to overcome the barrier of being embarrassed at writing erotica. I had to overcome this barrier myself.

When talking to my friends about writing, several commented that writing erotica was nothing more than pornography. At first I agreed and let it go because I realize in the beginning I was embarrassed to admit I write erotic stories. Now when people make this comment, I educate them on the differences. I point out that pornography is the hardcore get straight to the sex part of the stories that have no real plot other than the characters getting laid by one or multiple partners. There is no real connection between the readers of hardcore pornography other than to satisfy their sexual need, which is okay if that is what they want.

Erotica romance creates a stimulating perception of what is taking place and takes the reader into the life of the characters making them feel as if they “are there.” Sexual tension builds between the characters as the story progresses. A lingering touch, hint of sexual arousal, an intense gaze draws the hero and heroine closer together. The writer reveals the main characters thoughts, feelings and insecurities allowing the reader to know more about him or her as the erotic romance is created. As a writer, we have to create a world that will keep the reader interested in the hero or heroine, to relate or root for the main characters and know that they don’t run from partner to partner, that they are sexually frustrated. Our goal is to get the reader to want the characters to get together.

By being able to explain the differences to my friends, family and the people I meet, I am more open and know a well written erotica makes the readers want to know in the end the characters have overcome the obstacles to be together. The story will make the characters come to life for the readers and feel stimulated throughout, hopefully mentally and physically. 

Don't miss out on this exciting story from a new voice in romantic erotic fiction!  
Grab her title from Amazon

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Out Now: Red Hot Zombie Love By Hank McLeod


Here's kinky proof that the undead want more than ... BRAINS!  In this new book you'll se that being un-alive is no detriment to having a good sex life: Red Hot Zombie Love By Hank McLeod


Could they keep the lustful zombies' hands from their own living flesh? An erotic Night of the Living Dead. Doctor Wayne Packard was a wealthy scientist who lived in a nearly inaccessible section of the Southern California desert and was able to purchase corpses he intended to reanimate through his zombifi-cation experiments. Occasionally, he was even able to acquire a live human being to use as test subject. Dr. Packard learned how to create zombies. But the zombies turned out very horny, and when they copulated with living people, those people were also turned into zombies. Wayne’s scientific triumph was to make zombie-ism a sexually transmitted disease. As a result, Doctor Packard had a zoo of zombies and a pavilion containing creepy-crawly body parts which he kept for his entertainment and that of his friends. But his butler dreamed of conquest and set the zombies free, intending to command them, only to discover that once released, like a pathogen, they could not be controlled. Doctor Packard woke up from his dream of science to discover his own butler planned to murder him and zombies were not meant to be toys. Escaping from his laboratory just ahead of the zombies, Packard finds refuge in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills with his friend Jaime Villegas and girlfriend Khloe.  With a growing number of powerful zombies assaulting more and more living citizens, everyone in Southern California going zombie. Now Packard, Jamie and Khloe must develop a way to avoid the zombie seeking them out with their red hot love, keep the lustful zombies' hands from their own living flesh and somehow escape beyond the circle of the zombie contagion.

Out Now: Her Male Slave: A Tale Of Willing Bondage [Revised] by Sascha Illyvich

Sascha Illyvich is a true erotica master as his new book proves it - and then some: Her Male Slave: A Tale Of Willing Bondage [Revised]

Revised edition with new Introduction of this "powerful look at female domination!" (Sensual Reviews)  If you missed this extraordinary, insightful novel the first time around - get it now! Her Male Slave is a story of corporate seduction, a very dominant woman and a scheming employer. Anastasia Forrester is asked by her boss to use her Dominatrix skills to seduce his competitor, Jerry Norman. Then she is to force Norman sell his company over, or face exposure and blacklisting in the corporate world. It is an easy task for a woman of Anastasia's inclinations until she becomes the cause for Jerry's auto accident. Wealthy Jerry Norman's life is empty and lonely until he ends up in the hospital after the accident, sees Anastasia, and realizes she is a woman he would do anything for. Soon his resolve is put to the test as Anastasia demands Jerry's complete submission, and he finds himself in chains, being strictly trained, her helpless, willing slave. Ann Leveille of Sensual Reviews says "readers who enjoy Female Domination stories and tales of BDSM should find [Illyvich's work] much to their taste. And rated the 'Sensuality Level: Scorching.' This is real erotica, full of pain intermingled with pleasure and all sorts of specialized kink. Love makes the sexual scenes more powerful. Detailed descriptions of bondage, sex … floggings decorate these pages."