Monday, July 29, 2013

TREASURED INFERNO [The Penhollow Chronicles, Book III] by Christi Riverton

Christi Riverton is a must-read author of really magical fiction - and with, Treasured Inferno, the third volume in her acclaimed Penhollow Chronicles she demonstrates how good she can be!

Ruby Penhollow's life is finally falling into place as she prepares for her upcoming wedding and the birth of her child. Why, then, would she leave the safety of her family in the middle of the night and walk straight into the waiting arms of the very ones hunting her?

Bound by the inadvertent magic binding his soul to Ruby's, Cason Greenwood finds himself helpless to protect her. Will he be able to save her and the child she is carrying without killing them all first? And even if he can save them, what will happen after the birth of the child that may very well be the equivalent of Satan's spawn?



Out Now: PERMISSION: A Tale of Female Domination by M. J. Rennie

M. J. Rennie is a truly remarkable writer of really wonderful erotic and BDSM stories and Permission is one of his very, very best ... specially revised with new content ... will amaze you in all kinds of ways!

Expanded, revised edition of this modern romance between a submissive man and a dominant woman! 

Since its paperback success, Permission has become a recommended title on such adult literary web sites as The Erotic Book Society, Planet Eros, Fiction on the Fringe, Femdom Links, The BDSM Bookshelf, and many others.

M. J. Rennie's classic sensual romance, Permission, examines the unconventional relationship between dynamic, dominant Darlene and her eager, submissive husband. From the start, ripe, mature, lovely Darlene shows her young husband how to bring his malleable mind and handsome body into strict conformance with her rigorous physical and emotional standards. Because he worships her so completely, Darlene's husband is willing to make himself the obedient instrument of her pleasure, even surrendering his own until she gives him permission – permission which may or may not be granted.

Is it possible for a husband to keep his dominant wife happy for the rest of their lives together? Can he find ways to please such a passionate, demanding, and remarkable wife as Darlene – or is their marriage too good to last? This delightfully sophisticated love story is written with a graceful, elegant style that raises its explicit adult scenes to literary heights.

Out Now: THE COLLECTOR: A Novel of Romantic Bondage by Melissa Harlow

Melissa Harlow is a flat-out brilliant author or erotic - and BDSM - romance author, and The Collector, her newest book, is a true testament to her skill: it's hot and smart and romantic ... and more!

First, Dalton rescued her. Then he kept her captive. Then she fell in love with him.
She had been taken prisoner, tied and ravished before they met. Dalton was a man whose job was to collect debts ... by any means necessary. During a routine collection from a high-spending welsher, he was offered Ava as bribe to buy time to pay the debt.
Ava was relieved that the man could never hurt her again. Her relief would have been tragically misplaced if Dalton had followed through with his plan to turn her over to his boss to be sold off for cold, hard cash. But something about Ava softened Dalton. Instead, he killed the man who kidnapped and used her, and tried to show her that men could be trusted.
Ava doesn’t realize just how much danger she’s getting herself into when she falls in love with him, for Dalton has strange appetites lurking under the surface of his loving demeanor – a love of women in bondage being one of them. Has Ava somehow made the mistake of trusting the wrong man again? Is Dalton really going to be her savior or is he just the ruthless debt collector he was trained to be?

Out Now: THE SLAVE QUEEN by Powerone

There is simply no one better at writing hotter-than-hades BDSM fiction that Powerone - and Amazon agrees as they say he's one of their - and our - best-selling authors ... and this, his newest book, will show just how good he is!  Check out The Slave Queen and you won't be disappointed!

The Slave Queen is story of royalty in bondage, an erotic tale set in the 11th century where magic is an everyday occurrence, where the nobility’s sexual perversities have no bounds, and where women are playthings who must submit to the sexual pleasures of men.
On the day of the Royal Wedding, the future Queen Juliana is placed under a spell of illusion by an evil Sorcerer and, instead of marrying the King, she is taken captive. The Sorcerer drags her deep into the Dark Forest in hopes of settling an old score with the King and getting his revenge. Desperate, the King has Merek, a rogue, set out to rescue Juliana. Can he rescue her before the King's enemy takes her innocence – or worse, forces her to pleasure all his men? And if Merek rescues her, will the King's threat of beheading be sufficient motivation for him to keep his own hands off of her, or will her regal beauty overwhelm his restraint?
And then there's a possibility none of them can foresee – that Juliana will find she enjoys captivity and submission, that she's excited beyond imagination by the sensation of rope tightly binding her body. If she is rescued, will she be able to live the life of a queen with an unimaginative king for a lover? Or will she seek out the deep dungeons of the castle to satisfy her new lusts?
First, there was torment in the Amazon Hot New Releases pick, The King’s Dungeon. Now, Powerone, the bestselling novelist of bondage, brings you another tale of submission and subjugation behind the scenes of history in The Slave Queen.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

August Monthly Win an Erotic Paperback Drawing


We are giving away a paperback every month this year to celebrate the opening of Sizzler Editions brand new site.

It's simple to enter the drawing.

1) Visit the Sizzler Editions site .

2) Find a book cover you like.

3) Return to this blog entry.

4) In the Comments box below, tell us the title of the book and what you liked about it and why you liked it.

We will put the names of all participants in a randomizer and some lucky person  will be picked to receive free their choice from our growing list of erotic paperbacks.

Maybe you will be August's winner.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Excerpts from STRAYS and Other Stories by A.F. Waddell

Here's a lovely treat: a series of short excerpts from A.F. Waddell's wonderful (if we do say so ourselves) collection, STRAYS and Other Stories.



An extraordinary and pungent collection of sensual tales! Strays encompasses vivid erotic storytelling, characterizing both the infamous and the everyday. From California to New Orleans and throughout the environs of the American Southwest, Strays sizzles the scenery.
#


Marilyn


He watched her walk down the hall; he closely followed. Her short robe was loose, open. Light filtered from the end of the hall, between skin and silk, outlining her arms, shoulders, waist, buttocks. She wore tiny beige stilettos. Her calves curved and bulged. Her thighs tensed. Her buttocks moved in outward thrust.

Her panties and bras were scattered on the ceramic tile bedroom floor: black lacy things, red silky pieces, plain white cottons. Clothing was draped over the backs of chairs. Dirty dishes sat on her desk and night stands. Books and magazines were haphazardly stacked. This definitely wasn't D.C. or Hyannisport.

"Marilyn, darling, what happened, did your housekeeper quit?"

"No. Silly. But sometimes I lock her out of my bedroom. Don't worry. The sheets are clean."

Splayed on the bed, Marilyn's legs, stiletto heels, were askew. Her robe opened over bare breasts. She was full and soft, he thought, unlike some semi-anorexic society wives. He wasn't boffing bones, he was sliding softness. The lifted hems of her robe showcased her cunt; she'd lightened the hair: blonde-yellow covered pink. How very colorful, he thought, looks like an Easter chick today -- maybe it'll dispense little candy eggs. He removed his suit jacket and pants and used a chair as a valet. She leaned forward from the bed, took hold of his tie and pulled him close, bending her legs and pushing the tips of her stilettos into the front of his thighs. She tried to pull his mouth to hers.

"Marilyn ... let me finish undressing."

By his silk tie leash she pulled him lower, to her breasts. His hands danced their perimeters and cupped them. They're all nice, he thought, from the fit-in-a-champagne-glass size, to apple to grapefruit to melon size. The other types he didn't know about, or didn't want to know about, or didn't remember from his being nursed. His mouth fastened onto one breast, ensconcing nipple prongs; his hand cupped the other. Why do breasts smell and taste so good? he wondered. I could stay here for a while, he thought, as Marilyn's hand centered the top of his head and downwardly pushed.

"Marilyn ..."

"Jack ..."



#



Bodies of Water 



I sat at my desk. Moist air drifted through the window behind me; the sun imposed through open blinds, its light enhancing the wood grain of my desk. I didn't use coasters. I had a bad 'zine habit. Stacks of paper lay about. My drawers were disorganized, the small paper clips mixed with the large. The pens and pencils co-mingled.

I was back. N'awlins seemed another planet after life in La La Land. Southern California had little weather to speak of. The forecasters got big bucks anyway. It had little humidity; N'awlins had lots. The men there were prettier than me. They got big bucks too. Me, I was a cop.

My apartment was off Decatur, near the river. I was between a liquor store and a voodoo supply. I could conveniently shop the odd assortment of wines at Jimmy's or drop in at Rita's for herbs, gris gris and candles. Local real estate could be a mishmash of residential and commercial, eye candy and eyesore. Buildings seemed slightly askew, threatening implosion, cartoon-like: from the inside, seemingly spacious -- from the outside, smallish, individual frontage mere slits in the block. N'awlins was sinking. The delta was eroding. The buffer zone was going. The big storm was coming.

I skipped the wine-shopping and dropped in next door at Rita's. On the right, a long glass and wooden display case served as a sales counter; behind it were display shelves and drawers. The left side of the shop boasted low wooden ceiling beams. Rita's shop smelled delicious and so did she: slightly smoky-sweet and heavily herbal, and somehow reminiscent of cooking in cast iron over an open wood fire. My apartment was often perfumed with the various essences that emitted from her place, odor molecules changing with the light, temperature, and time of day or night. Aroma therapy proved no joke. The building wasn't exactly soundproof either.

"Erica! How's it going?" Rita called from behind the counter. She wore a semi-transparent cotton gauze print dress in shades of cocoa, cream and pink. Long curly hair waved around her milk chocolate-coloured face, neck and shoulders. Her wide cheekbones curved under healthily gleaming eyes. Her smile revealed a slight gap between her front teeth, which sometimes emitted discrete whistling sounds. "Tell me something good."

"Let me think about that one."


#

Cashmeres Must Die



Stuart Metzler sat in his 1959 Pontiac Chieftain on his Maple St. driveway. Mmmm . . . that new car smell. One day they'll bottle and sell it, he thought. He pulled a small memo pad and pen from a suit pocket and made a note.'New car smell -- replicate and market!' He took in the car's interior. 'Dashboard needs more knobs! Bigger!' he jotted. As a Strategy Formulation consultant, he had diverse information and ideas but felt occasionally envious as he watched clients succeed in their projects. He experienced random, uncontrollable urges to lie, and enjoyed gauging reaction. Stuart anticipated the day's work, and wondered what his secretary Vicky would be wearing.

Donna Metzler stood in her bedroom staring into a lingerie drawer. In a jumble were the panties: the one hundred percent white cotton high waist, the pastel nylon, the killer girdles, the Days-Of-The-Week undies. She consulted a calendar: Tuesday! She sometimes wore Sunday's undies during the week. Cotton felt best, softly clinging in her curves and nooks and crannies. Nylon felt strange. Girdles could be a bitch, but on occasion they helped achieve the ever popular iron belly effect. Brassieres with evil-eyed tips looked up at her: silk, cotton, nylon; under wire, torpedo, push up. “The breasts! The breasts must be controlled! Control the breasts! BW ha ha ha ha HA!” She imagined a mad designer at Playtex.

Donna finished dressing in a pink and white checked cotton blouse with a peter pan collar, black Capezio pants, and flats. She grabbed her keys, purse and sunglasses, and was out the door. She commandeered her Chevy Bel Air and drove the Springfield streets. The homes and lawns seemed quiet and perfect. A little too quiet. A little too perfect. She imagined chaos and pain behind closed doors: little pastel houses, like gawdy wedding cakes, poison under layers of frou frou and frosting. The whites were dingy. The souffles were flat. The decanters were tapped. The one-eyed god droned, selling soap, lies and subliminalism . . . Snap out of it! Donna told herself.

She pulled into the Texaco station on North Main. Donna smiled as Tony appeared at her driver side door. He broadly grinned. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes and teeth project sparkles of light? His uniform was always suspiciously spotless. His chronic perkiness was a turn-on. Men in service were a turn-on.

“Check your fluids, Mrs. Metzler?”

“Please, Tony.”

In his office Stuart pulled a magazine from his desk drawer. Secretaries boasted photographs of smiling women answering telephones, typing, serving coffee, bending over to pick up dropped pencils and more. A young woman sat behind an open-front desk in a grassy field. Her hair draped her face and heavy-lidded eyes as she chewed a No. 2 pencil and dreamily stared. She wore a sweater and skirt, but no stockings. Her legs were parted. She wore white cotton underpants, the whitest imaginable white, which contrasted with her freckled tanned thighs. Debbie is a secretary who dreams of an acting career. In her spare time she volunteers at her local Senior Center, and as a Big Sister.

Vicky Miller sat outside Stuart's office at her desk in a small reception area. She wore a twin sweater set, form-fitting skirt, nylon stockings and heels. Her desk neatly displayed a front strike Remington typewriter, telephone, and intercom. She opened a desk drawer: it boasted nail files, polish, small cosmetic bag, perfume, hairbrush, extra pair of nylons, almost everything a young woman might need to look and feel her best.

Stuart buzzed. “Miss Miller, please come into my office.”

“Be right there, Mr. Metzler.” Vicky grabbed a steno pad and pencil, and entered the sacred chamber of dark, rich woods, shades of forest-green, wall trophies, and Men in Suits.

“Miss Miller, may I ask, what is that sweater you're wearing?”

“Why, it's cashmere. It's very soft. Feel?”

“But of course. Cashmere . . .” He hesitantly reached and slowly ran his hand over Vicky's left sweater sleeve. “It's amazingly soft.”

“It's heavenly. But I've often wondered. What does a cashmere look like? They don't have to kill them, do they?”

“Vicky, I'm sorry. Cashmeres must die.”


#

Whitewood



She lay on her back on the bed wearing a camisole and panties. The ceiling fan whirred. The wall unit had given up the ghost. The humidity was a bitch. It sapped her strength and mentally fogged her. In its moisture it was perhaps akin to drowning: allegedly not so bad if one stopped struggling. She gave in to it.

She lifted her arms as he slipped her camisole over her head and lay it aside. He slipped her panties down and off. She turned and lay on her stomach as he undressed.

He marveled at vaginas. They were beautiful in a strange sort of way, reminiscent of deep mouthy sea creatures and small slippery consumptive creatures from science fiction films. In some ways there seemed to be more variation in them, than penises. A vagina could be a delicate cleft or an askew slash, or several sizes and shapes in between. Its lips might be a mere slit, tiny and tight, gathered inward; larger and slightly splayed with scalloped edges; larger still, with distended stretched lips. They had a melting candy/ice cream quality. An artful finger or tongue or penis could set free their flow. Tasting and testing, he felt smothered yet driven. Drugged. As he tongued her his taste buds processed sweet/sour/salty. Pyridine, squalene, urea, acetic acid, lactic acid, propionic, isovaleric, isobutyric, propanoic, and butanoic acids, oviductal fluids, sebum, perspiration, alcohols, glycols, ketones, and aldehydes.

Bethany's heels dug into the mattress; she rocked her hips and propelled herself towards the headboard. She held his head and pulled Alan's hair. She pulled him up and seized his cock. Cocks could be interesting in a general kind of way: multi-colored, hued from white to pink to yellow to tan to ebony and in between; multi-sized, from diminutive to jumbo to colossal; multi-textured, from soft to firm to hard; multi-shaped, from strait to curvy to bent. They seemed one-eyed teary spurting monsters, looking for caves to rave and rage and bang in, before going back out into the open world of exploration.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Out Now: METHARMEA’S JOURNEY by Nobilis Reed

Now this is an ultra-special treat: Nobilis Reed has proved him self time and again to be not just a master of erotica but a brilliant writer as well - so Renaissance E Books/Sizzler editions is extremely pleased to be able to announce the release of his new book, METHARMEA’S JOURNEY

She journeyed deep into the underground world of her own time and found it: Hell, Heaven, and Purgatory – all in one!
Metharmea discovers a secret world where the human body can be transformed. Will she choose to change? And how? And what is she willing to pay?
The human form is a work of art. Over the centuries it's been depicted on canvas, in stone, and in a near-infinite array of other media. The body itself has been decorated and embellished, yet the basic anatomy has remained the same. But what if it's no longer fantasy or artwork any more? When science is able to transform human flesh into a true, living fantasy body, who will undergo the transformation and at what price?
An erotic science fiction novel that pushes the boundaries of modern storytelling.

Out Now: A TANGO TRINITY by J. Paulette Forshey

"Steamy and then some" - is how you'll have to describe this brand new erotic romance by J. Paulette Forshey.  If you like love as well as sex then A TANGO TRINITY is the one for you!

When opposites attract, a fiery romance ignites the world of dance!
Petra Traraso, a petite, dark-haired Russian, was a rising competitive American Tango dancer. She and her partner, Vladamire Markrava, were tearing up the opposition at the World Tango contest – until Vladamire's jealous girlfriend, Anna, had Petra attacked moments before stepping onto the stage. Petra's dreams, confidence, and body were shattered.
Josh Sarchet, a Quarter horse rancher, had two left feet, but he could appreciate the ballroom dancing class from the wings. Watching a dancer practice in the banquet room of his favorite eatery became one of his favorite pastimes. Then the attraction began to burn. When Petra is injured, he takes her home to his ranch to let her heal, body and soul.
Neyen Delgado loved dance but became disillusioned by the backstabbing and petty politics in the professional Argentine dance world. He relocated to a small Ohio town to teach eager students and perhaps reclaim his passion for the art.
Petra wants to hide from life; Josh wants Petra to live life again, and he knows Neyen is the connection for all three of them to become whole.

A Q&A With David Salcido, Author Of Dimensions of Desire

David Salcido is a brilliant author, whose Dimensions of Desire Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions is extremely proud to have published.  We sat down with Dave and asked him about his book, writing, and other fun stuff:

 
Dimensions of Desire combines science fiction and fantasy to create contemporary side trips through the veil of possibility where the strange and erotic lurk in both familiar and unfamiliar places.

Here you will encounter a different kind of vampire who sucks more than blood; a celebrated demon slayer who wakes to find himself trapped within the voluptuous body of his gorgon girlfriend; a living sex toy whose only desire is to become a real boy; a seductive evil that preys on the average in exchange for the exceptional and a fledgling hunter seduced by the urban elves he is sworn to destroy. Sprinkled liberally throughout are stories of superheroes on the make, zombies in love, Christmas elves with kinky proclivities and marauding aliens who can be anything you want them to be, so long as you want them to be blue. All these personalities and more trip the veil fantastic, revealing colorful histories, unique viewpoints and dark carnal desires that will astonish, arouse and provoke.
#

Why do you write the type of book you are best known for?

Well, I don’t know that I’m “best known” for anything in particular, but I HAVE had a lot of stories published within the erotica field. The easy answer? I like sex and was always told that I should write about the things I know. The longer answer is that I am a fan of speculative fiction, particularly that written by the likes of H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, O. Henry, Rod Serling, Harlan Ellison and Neil Gaiman. I have always been taken by stories that, on the outset, appear to be set in the world we occupy, but are then given a sideways twist into unfamiliar territory. Conversely, those authors who are able to take mythological/legendary characters and “humanize” them by placing them in a modern context have always rated high with me. All of these concepts and ideas have sort of been blended together in the mix-master that is my brain and VIOLA! A recipe for prose that has served me well over the years.

Where do you get your ideas?

They come from all sorts of unexpected places. Sometimes I’ll be reading a particularly interesting article, in a magazine I pick up while waiting for my car to be serviced, and my brain is off and running. Other times, I’ll have a conversation with somebody, or be present when something particularly odd or off-kilter happens and that will prompt an idea. Sometimes an image will do it. Most of my ideas, however, come from dreams; both the sleeping and waking variety. I think the examples I started with tend to percolate in my brainpan until I have the time to “drift” and that’s when it generally happens. I have a VERY fertile imagination and “what if” is one of my Id’s favorite games. Generally, I’m just along for the ride. Afterwards, I get to chronicle what I’ve experienced. It’s a bit like adapting a movie into written form.

How and when do you write?

These days, it’s whenever I get the opportunity, but my favorite time to write is early in the morning, when the dreams are still fresh. I know a lot of writers who can’t seem to get started until later in the day and will write through the night to finish a story or get an idea fleshed out. Me, I prefer to hit it first thing and get it all out, before the myriad interruptions of the day cloud the idea and leech away the color. For me, it’s all about the color and texture of the idea. If it doesn’t interest me, it probably won’t get very far. I find that my ideas are at their most colorful, and thus more interesting, first thing in the morning.

What do you like most about being an author?

Well, the term “author” isn’t really a label I tend to use, so much as it is a basic component of who I am, so the question is a bit like asking what I like most about breathing oxygen. If I really had to think about it, though, I guess I would have to say that I prefer being an author to, say, being a politician, or a televangelist or a serial killer, because the benefits to humanity are far and away more positive and the rewards more substantial. I mean, when was the last time ANYbody got a warm, fuzzy feeling from a politician, a televangelist or a serial killer?

What is your advice to beginning writers.

Write because you love writing and never stop. The minute it becomes about fame or fortune--though neither of those things are necessarily bad if handled correctly--it will become a job. A job is work. Writing should never be work. The human animal has an instinctive aversion to work and will devise any number of ways to get out of it. That automatically defeats the purpose of writing, which is the exploration of passion and the sharing of ideas. So, write. Not like your life depends on it, but because without that outlet you will feel incomplete and unfulfilled. Write like you’re scratching an itch. Romance the idea and write like a lothario  If more people approached writing like they do sex, the literary world would be a much different place, don’t you think?

Is there anything you would like to say to your fans?

I have fans? Um… well… I guess I would like to say… thank you for being a fan. Just, please, don’t stalk me...

What can your readers look forward to from you in the future?

More of the same madness, I suppose. These days I’ve been writing a lot of scripts for short films, which has been a lot of fun. There’s just something about watching my words spilling from the mouths of actors that thrills me. It gives a whole different dimension to the storytelling aspect. It’s not new, really, because I’ve written a few plays that I’ve been privileged to see produced, but it never stops being fascinating. 

On the other hand, I haven’t stopped writing short stories and am still sending them out when I find an anthology that looks interesting. I’ll be honest though, up until recently, I hadn’t really been concentrating on publishing. I stopped doing that about a decade ago. Instead, I was just writing for the love of writing and filing the stories away. It wasn’t until I was contacted by a couple of editor friends about contributing to anthologies they were working on that I went back to look at some of those files and realized I had literally hundreds of completed stories to choose from. 

The anthology, Dimensions Of Desire, came about in much the same way. M.Christian is an old friend of mine who collaborated with me on Blue Food back at the turn of the century. He asked me if I had enough work to put an anthology together and the rest is history. I imagine there will be a lot more of that in the future. In any case, I find the idea of publishing my work a lot less stressful than I did when I was younger and had to wrack my brain to come up with something suitable. This is a much better place to be in, conceptually speaking. I have no complaints and the future looks very promising.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Kindle Give-Away! Sascha Illyvich's Wolf Magic

Here's a chance to pick up Sascha Illyvich's Wolf Magic absolutely FREE for Kindle: as part of a special promotion you can get this gloriously sexy ebook for free from July 20th to July 21st

From the author of the USA Today Recommended novel of lycanthropy and romance, Torn to Pieces, comes this enthralling novella of werewolf and witch. Marco and Selene.He is a sexy, rebellious young werewolf whose anger and violence are legendary. She is a sexy, mature witch into whose care the elders of his pack have given Marco. At once she realizes he is more dangerous and powerful that the other werewolves. To Marco she is the most desirable woman he has ever met, and he knows he will never give up until he possesses her. As she attempts to show him wisdom, he subjects her to his very considerable charms.

Something has to give - and does. As nights of torrid lovemaking and nights of the full moon when he tears himself from her side alternate, neither suspects that they are at the center of a conspiracy by the leaders of Marco's pack, or that they may all be pawns in an ancient prophecy from the dawn of time. For the love that binds them both is bringing death nearer with every beat of their hearts.

Marco is strong and Selene wise, but these are as nothing to the power of the danger that threatens them in this memorable paranormal romance. And don't miss Torn to Pieces, Sascha Illyivch's novel of two werewolves, and the woman they both love. Cover: Laura Givens.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

THANKS To All Those Who Came Out To "Meet The Editors"

  

Thanks to all who came out on Saturday the 29th for the "Meet The Editors" digital event to hear M.Christian, Sascha Illyvich and Jean Marie Stine talk about erotica writing, marketing, publicity and so many other fun topics! 

For those who, alas, couldn't make it, the entire event will be soon available through CreativeSexuality.org