Showing posts with label Logical-Lust Publications. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Logical-Lust Publications. Show all posts

Thursday, September 22, 2011

EX FUMO, GAUDIAM: FROM STEAM, COMES JOY by Nobilis Reed

EX FUMO, GAUDIAM: FROM STEAM, COMES JOY by Nobilis Reed

Roma Fervens: Boiling Rome , Book 1

Ex Fumo, Gaudiam: From Steam, Comes Joy is a novella that marks the first instalment in Roma Fervens: Boiling Rome, a new steampunk series that combines Ancient Rome, steam, and the fertile mind of Nobilis Reed.

In a Roman Empire powered by steam, Procurator Marcus Amandus has fallen in love with the wrong woman. Makki is a barbarian, native to the newly discovered Western continent. Unfortunately, Marcus is betrothed to the governor's daughter Livia Ambrosia who has arrived for a tour of the colony. Just when he thinks he has the situation under control, Makki's cruel husband Wotanake returns. Marcus must prove himself a lover and a fighter to protect their lives and his honor.

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~Excerpt~

When we entered my cabin she turned her back and quickly stripped off her buckskin garments. In the narrow space, even across the room, she was close enough to touch. Propriety demanded that I leave her alone to care for herself, but I stood dumbstruck. The sight of her naked back brought a twofold reaction. On one hand, I couldn’t help but appreciate the curve of her buttocks, the lovely arch of her waist, and the full breasts that were visible even from behind. On the other hand, the bruises and welts on her back, some fresh and some faded, inspired sympathy. No one should abuse such a beautiful woman so. When she was free of the sodden leathers, she wrapped my cloak around herself even tighter, and turned towards me but kept her eyes downcast.

“I thank you, Pale King,” she said.

And then she looked up. Her eyes were like polished obsidian, so brown they were almost black. The moment lingered long past its time, but ending it would be a sin more dire than murder. Then the corner of her mouth quirked, a warm edge of a smile, and the moment was over. She had seen the emotion in my own expression.

I swallowed, composing myself, nodded in response to her thanks, and turned to look out the porthole at the water rushing past. “Tell me, where is your home?” When I looked back, her head was bowed again.

“No home. Uncle sell me Wotanake.”

I tried not to judge her intelligence from her simple vocabulary. The trade language did not have complicated words.

“Sell you?” I scowled. As far as I knew, the native people in this area didn’t practice slavery. For my own part, the Emperor had forbidden it after the Fourth Servile War, and while there would always be laboring classes, with all the suffering and privation that entailed, at least they would be free to work wherever their skills could take them.

“Wotanake pay uncle marry me. Wotanake bring me home. Wotanake have four other wives. Wotanake put me in house. Stop me go out. Wives make me work all day. I weave, I mend, I sew beads, I weave. I rest, they beat me. Wotanake lay in bed I was tired, and...” She trailed off, but I knew from the pain in her voice what she dared not say.

My scowl deepened. Even with all of our differences, the woman’s situation struck a chord with my own. While the door had not yet closed on mine, she had escaped her marital prison. I had not suffered as deeply, no doubt, but I was trapped just the same.

“No more talk,” I said, holding up a hand. There was no need to embarrass her. “Uncle know you not like marry Wotanake?”

“Yes. He not have money. Uncle is not chief, like Wotanake. Not pale king like you.”

I nodded in understanding. Calling me a king was inaccurate but there was no way to correct her with such a simple vocabulary. “Why did you come to me?”

“I hear story of stone boat. I hear story of far away king. You go far, Wotanake not chase. I hear stone boat, I run to catch it.” She murmured something in her own language and rubbed the fabric of my cloak between her fingers. There seemed to be more that she wanted to say. She looked up again, eyes wide with hope and curiosity. I nodded, inviting more with a gesture.

“Your life is full things not seen. I see them.”

I stepped back, cocking my head.

This was certainly a surprise! A mind so curious that she would leave everything she knew, putting herself at the mercy of mysterious strangers, to investigate. And in a woman, no less! My own curiosity was piqued. I had to learn more about her.

“You come with me. Sleep in my house. You work. No man no woman beat you. Tell me your name?”

“Makkitotosimew, Pale King.”

“Marcus Amandus.” She nodded once and lowered her head again. I reached out to lift her chin. “Owned person looks at ground. You are not owned. You work, I give you food, a place sleep, things for trade. You not owned.”

She trembled slightly at my touch, but did not flinch or look away. A faint smile touched her lips, and as our eyes met, I felt that warmth again, but stronger.

“You want food, Makkitotosimew?”

She smiled broader this time. “Yes, Marcus Amandus.”

I took a chain from its hook on the wall and yanked twice. The bell summoned my secundus, and while he fetched some food, I folded the little table out from the wall. Makkitotosimew was fascinated with its operation, peering intently at the hinges and the latch.

“You see?” she said. “Things not seen.”

I pulled a seat from the wall and indicated that she was to sit on the bed. By the time we got settled, my secundus arrived with a loaf of crusty bread, some warm sausages on a skewer, cups of steaming spiced wine in conical cups, and a bowl of hot water with towels. He set them down between us and saluted. I returned his salute, glanced at the door, and he left.

Makkitotosimew watched curiously as I washed my hands, and then took the bowl from me and did the same for herself without a word. I would have liked to have engaged Makkitotosimew in conversation over the meal, but as soon as I had taken my first bite, she immediately started in with such gusto that I couldn’t interrupt. After two sausages and a hunk of bread, she paused long enough to hold up the last sausage and ask, “What animal?”

I chuckled. “Pig meat, herbs, grain. Sausage.” I gave her the Latin name for it, farcimen, as I knew no word for it in the trade language.

She peered at it, and then her face lit up with a big grin. “Ah! Pig meat cut very very small. This gut, yes?” She poked the intestine casing with her finger.

“Yes.”

She took a big bite and smiled as she chewed.

The evening turned into an impromptu Latin lesson. She pointed to things, and I told her the words for them. Bread. Cup. Wine. Table. Plate. Knife. Armor. Robe. She had a powerful appetite for them. There were enough things in the tiny room for us to study like this for hours. I was happy to oblige. I had given up on finding such an agile mind among the women back home in Rome. To find one out here in the wilds of the Antipodes was beyond credibility—but here she was.

As the meager light coming down from the overhead reflector failed, there was a pop-hiss as the ship’s artificial lights came on, bathing the room in a pale red glow.

She started in surprise, and stood to get a closer look at them. “What is this?”

“Carbolux,” I said, again giving her the Latin. I stood next to her, regarding the lamp. “It is very small fire.”

“Where is wood?” She peered at the lamp intently.

I searched for words, but they weren’t there. I shook my head and shrugged. “No words in trade-speech.”

She turned back and looked into my eyes. “Carbolux make you look strong,” she said.

I came around the table, taking her shoulders before she could get too close. I could see the hope in her eyes, hope for something that I could not give her. “Makkitotosimew,” I said, “No.”

She laid her hand on the bed where she had been sitting. “What is word for this?”

“Lectus.”

“This is your bed?” she asked, confirming the trade language, with one eyebrow just slightly raised.

“Yes.”

“I am in your bed, this night.” It was not a question, it was a statement of fact, and I could see that there was great significance in her eyes.

“It does not mean—”

She silenced me, her fingers on my lips, and then pushed past my hands to press her body to mine. “Marcus Amandus, I see your eyes. You see mine. You feel this.”

My cloak slipped from her shoulders, and in that moment, I was lost. My hands moved down her back, across the rippled scars. I winced in sympathy, but instead of flinching at the touch, she purred and snuggled in closer.

The irritating whine of the aeolipile faded into the background. My attention was completely taken up by the warm, naked body pressed against my armor. “Makkitotosimew. I...I...” I swallowed. The words wouldn’t come. “I am not free.”

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RISKWEAR by Nobilis Reed

RISKWEAR by Nobilis Reed

Tales of Love and Engineering , Book 1

Frank invented a fabric that can become any material. Marta developed software that turns it into any garment. While attending the fashion show where the fruits of their labor are unveiled, they discover two things. First, her desires mesh perfectly with his dominant nature, and the clothes they have made are the perfect toy for living out their fantasies. Second, their system has a disastrous flaw.

Working together to fix the bug transforms their invention from a plaything of the elite into something far more exciting, and their relationship switches from simple compatibility into something that carries a risk for them both.

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~Excerpt~

“Please, just don’t...go too far,” Marta said, tremulously. “These people are clients, not friends, not strangers. Some of them wouldn’t understand.”

“We’ll see,” I said, fully intending not to go too far, but I couldn’t help ratcheting up her anxiety another notch.

We went back in to the party and found a knot of people gathered around the door where Darlene Collins had entered the room. Someone had put a glass of champagne in her hand, and servers moved through the room handing them out to everyone present. Marta and I took one each, and when the toast was spoken, Marta held hers up, shouted “Prost!” and downed it in one go.

Once the furor had died down, we finagled our way through the crowd and managed to get close enough to Darlene to get a few words in. “Congratulations,” I said, offering my unadorned right hand for a shake. “You’ve done some amazing things with that material.”

“Ah, yes, well, I couldn’t have done it without you two. Speaking of which, Marta, have you given Mr. Sarenti his bonus?”

Marta nodded, a little too enthusiastically. “Ja, ja. He is wearing them.”

The exchange puzzled me for a moment, until I realized she was talking about the suit. “It was very generous of you,” I said, giving her a nod. “I know how much they cost.”

“Use them in good health.” She gave a wink. “And be sure to have Marta show you everything it can do.”

“No doubt of that,” I said.

Marta let out a whoop of laughter that was cut short by a hiccup.

“Are you alright?” I said, quietly, as we drifted away from the knot of people surrounding Darlene.

“I’m fine.”

“You seem a little tipsy. Maybe it’s time we go?”

“But you haven’t done anything yet!”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you. Come on.” I led her to the door and out to the elevator. Once inside, the mirror-polished surface of the door allowed me to see her pout.

“Are you getting bratty on me?” I asked, turning to look her in the eye.

“I thought you were going to use the controller again.”

“What...like this?” I made a gesture over the controller and her blouse started sliding up her arms and into her corset as if there was a reel inside, winding the fabric together. She gasped and put her hands over her chest where the corset was barely covering her nipples. The blush that had been only playing over her cheeks now came out in full force. I pulled a floppy, rubbery square out from the back of her corset, rolled it up, and stuck it in my suit pocket. That square had been her blouse, but now it was just a lump of inert nanomachines in their “at rest” state. “Keep up the attitude, and you’ll get more of the same,” I said.

“Ooh, do you promise?” she asked with a giggle. The doors opened, letting us out into the hotel lobby.

“I thought we were going to your room?” she asked, starting to pout again.

“No, you need a little air, I think, and a little exercise. Burn off some of that alcohol.” I steered her out the door. It was only a bit past sunset, and the sidewalks were still busy with tourists and late commuters. We walked down to the corner and across the street into a beautiful public garden full of broad walkways lined with trees.

As we walked past a little carousel whose clientèle included children and adults in equal measure, I leaned in and spoke softly. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while your judgment is impaired. I want you fully awake and aware of what I’m doing.”

“Ach, I’m not that drunk.”

“I’ve never been drinking with you. I need to be sure.”

“Alright then, let’s just walk—hand in hand, as if we were lovers.”

We weren’t alone. The gardens were full of couples out enjoying the dusky evening, watching the city come alive with light and sound. Marta’s hand was soft and warm in mine, if a little sweaty, and I realized as we were walking that the simple action prevented me from accessing the controller.

When I slipped my hand out of hers to scratch the back of my head, I heard a slight gasp, and I knew that she’d been holding my hand on purpose to prevent me from using the controller. She tugged on her corset, trying to keep it from slipping down.

She was giving me a brave face with her teasing and bravado, trying to show me that she wasn’t afraid of what I could do with her little machine, when in fact she was turned on by the risk. I decided to remind her of exactly where the equities lay.

I moved my hand to her hip and steered her in the direction of one of the sculptures surrounded by a grassy lawn, and stopped to admire it. I dropped my hand to her posterior, eliciting another sharp intake of breath. Using my own body for cover, I lifted the back of her skirt and sought out the slit in her panties, and the sensitive skin revealed there. Her high heels and leggy build made it easy for me to reach without having to bend down.

She clamped her legs together, pinning my hand in place, but then relaxed as I twiddled my fingers between her thighs. “Frank,” she said, in a voice so faint it was no more than a breath, “I’m not drunk anymore.”

“That’s good,” I said. I could hear it in her voice; she was, indeed, sober again, or at least sober enough to judge rationally what we were about to do. “Do you still want to do this?” I asked.

“Ja.”

I gave her another stroke with my finger. It wasn’t really fair but it seemed like the thing to do. “You trust me?”

“Ja.”

“Good. Then I want you to walk back to the hotel. I’ll be behind you a little ways. Don’t look back, don’t run, just walk straight to the hotel.”

She nodded and gave me her purse, but didn’t move until I withdrew my hand from her skirt and gave her a little pat on the backside. “Go.”

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Friday, June 17, 2011

PIRATES by Nobilis Reed

PIRATES by Nobilis Reed
The Orgone Chronicles continues...

After their adventures in SCOUTS [Book One of The Orgone Chronicles, and 2011 EPIC eBook Award Finalist] - Challers and Valka are safe, protected aboard the Pirate city-ship known as "Port." The scars of their ordeal among the Scouts remain, however.

Valka is stuck with a hyper-fertile Ovor body, and the only way for them to raise enough money to change her back, is for them to join the Worthies-reality-TV celebrities who are always on camera. In an environment where loyalty is dismissed and betrayal is rewarded, their love suffers its greatest test yet.

Meanwhile, on Stakroya Station, their classmate Renedy wrestles with a budding sexuality that does not fit the station's rigid mold. An intimate night with the man who has been chosen for her does not go well at all. Instead she finds herself attracted to another woman; a relationship the Station can never condone.

Through it all, the sinister eyes of the Scouts see all. Freedom, for all involved, must be won again and again.

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Chapter One



Challers, Port



VALKA PANTED, her body hot with fever and soaked with sweat, while I knelt at her feet. According to what I had been able to learn, the proper vessel in which to receive an Ovor egg as it was laid was a shallow ceramic bowl. There was a stack of them next to me, enough for the seven eggs Valka was expecting. I was as ready as I could be.

Only, it wasn’t going well. Over the past week, Valka had developed a fever, and when she started feeling contractions, she sent a panicked call to my cubicle.

I had crossed the hall to her pod without even bothering to put on clothes. I couldn’t believe how bad she looked. Didn’t the doctors care what was happening? They were supposed to be taking care of her, vack them all! And now the eggs were coming.

“Portcon! We need medical attention here!” I screamed.

The floating holographic head that represented the interface to Port’s main computer system said simply, “Medical assistance is en route, Ward Challers Dizen. Estimate four minutes until arrival.”

Valka gave another grunt, pushing words past her teeth. “Too late.”

I saw a dark mass pushing out of her body, squeezing through. I held my hands up and took it in my hands as Valka’s muscles expelled it.

The thing smelled terrible. None of the recordings I had found mentioned that. I swallowed to keep the bile where it belonged and set the egg in a bowl with a white cloth over it. The next one wouldn’t be long.

“Medical team has arrived,” said Portcon. “Opening pod access.”

The door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman wearing a greenish coverall. “Come on out, make room for us.”

“She’s having her eggs now!” I shouted. “Someone has to stay with her!”

“They’ll be fine,” said the medic. “Come on out.”

I hustled to the door, and watched as the medic took my place. Another one squeezed in alongside Valka’s reclining chair. The second one took out an injector and put it to the inside of her elbow. Valka’s breathing immediately became less ragged, and she relaxed back down onto the chair. I could hear a wet squelch as another egg was born. My stomach took another tumble.

The smell only got worse. I knew something was wrong when the medics frowned and shook their heads.

“What?” I cried. “What’s wrong?”

“Ward, you’ll need to either keep quiet or go back to your pod.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.”

The medics worked in near silence, occasionally exchanging a word or two of medical jargon that I couldn’t understand. Finally, they piled all of the eggs into one bowl and began packing up their gear. Valka was still and quiet, her only movement was the slight rise and fall of her blanket as she breathed.

“Is she going to be all right?”

“She’ll recover. Nasty infection she got there.”

“And the eggs?” I didn’t want to care about those eggs. They were a legacy of the Scouts and the forced breeding program they had imposed on Valka. But Valka cared about them. No matter how it had happened that she was bearing them, they were hers, and she had been looking forward to this day ever since we had arrived at Port. She cared about them, so I did too.

“Dead,” said one of the medics. “That’s what gave her the infection.”

“Dead? But how?”

“You two are the new kids—ex-Scouts, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You get in any fights while you were escaping?”

“Yeah. There was some fighting when we left.”

“Use the jump drive?”

“A few times.”

“Hyperwarp and jump drives aren’t the cleanest forms of propulsion. No good for developing eggs. That’s probably what did it.”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to be glad that Valka wouldn’t be burdened with seven eggs to tend, but I knew that learning what had happened would devastate her. Finally, I just asked, “How long will she be asleep?”

“The drug will keep her out for four hours or so. After that, she’ll sleep naturally. You should probably get some too. Do you need a tranquilizer?”

“No, I’ll be okay.” I stumbled across the hall, through my door, and collapsed onto my chair. With the adrenaline of the evening starting to burn off, I was bone-tired. “Portcon?”

“Yes, Ward Challers Dizen?”

“Wake me up if Valka Parl wakes up, please.”

“I will do that, Ward Challers Dizen.”

I pulled the thin sheet over my body and tried to let the blackness of sleep wash over me. One thought kept intruding, however. How would I tell Valka? What would she say? I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that whatever happened, I would be there for her. It didn’t feel like enough.

Nothing was going right. We had all expected something to change when we reached Port. We had expected there to be a tremendous outrage that innocent human lives were being used as power sources for the new weapon system being used by the Scouts, the one we were calling “egg missiles.”

Robert had tried to get the word out, convince people that something had to be done, but it seemed like everyone was convinced that it either didn’t matter, that the Scouts were despicable for a dozen other things anyway, or that we were lying to try to stir up trouble. Robert said it was a credibility problem; he had been away for too long, and nobody remembered him. The rest of us were complete unknowns.





VALKA’S RECOVERY took a long time. By the end of the second day, she was alert and awake again, though not really strong enough to come out of her pod. She was well looked after, with medical monitors installed in her pod and daily checkups by human medical staff. I looked in on her often, but when she was resting, I went back to my pod.

My interest in history, which I had gained during my studies at the Academy, became a need during those days of waiting. It was the only way I could distract myself. There were many, many things the Scouts had never told us, things the Pirates knew and were more than willing to share. I spent hours scanning the archives, sorting through events I had never even heard of in school, and it was better than fretting about things I couldn’t control.

One thing that particularly caught my attention was the true origin of the Scouts. During the Great Diaspora, after the discovery of orgone and faster-than-light travel, mankind’s government fragmented into a thousand individual colonies. Nobody had the strength to hold all of the colonies in one entity. There was a constant, low-level conflict throughout this era.

According to my studies at the Academy, the Scout Service appeared at this time as a force that sought to quell the constant fighting with diplomacy and trade. The records I found here, however, told a different story. One group, known as the Incorporates, started conquering systems one after another. They had mastered a technology for direct interface between brain and computer that allowed them much greater control over their warships. Not only that, they were able to command absolute loyalty from those they conquered by means of this interface. Whole populations were reduced to blissful, mindless slavery.

Once the rest of the galaxy learned what the Incorporates were doing, the reaction was immediate. The horror of it shocked them into action. Resources were marshaled, technologies were shared, and great warfleets were dispatched to erase the Incorporates from the galaxy. It was in this conflict that the Scouts, Fleet, and Merchants were founded.

When the war was over, the leaders of the three services decided to remain in power. They said it was to preserve galactic peace, but of course, it also preserved the “emergency powers” they’d been given in the war.

After fifteen days, Valka had gained strength to wake me with a kiss on the lips. I smiled. “Good morning. Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Her face was bright, but there was an edge of darkness to it.

“I guess you know what happened to the eggs,” I said.

“I asked Portcon.”

“I would have told you, you know.”

“I know, but…I guess I didn’t see the need to involve you. I’m sorry. I should have let you tell me.”

I sat up and put my arms around her. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

When I let go, Valka’s features had taken a hard edge. “Seven more crimes the Scouts are responsible for,” she said.

“I have a feeling they’re not going to worry.” I sat up and hung my feet off the side of the chair to make room for her. “Portcon? Breakfast, please. The usual?”

“Oatmeal with fruit is available, Ward Challers Dizen.”

Valka hopped up on the chair and snuggled up next to me. She caught my eye as I stared down at her. “What?” she asked.

“I guess I’m not used to seeing you without that belly. It seems strange.”

She smoothed her coverall over her stomach, frowning. “I’m still kind of overweight. All this sitting around isn’t good for me. I got more exercise back on Stakroya Station. I also ate less.”

I leaned down and kissed her. “You know that doesn’t matter to me.” It was the truth. It was Valka that I loved, not her body. The Scouts had transformed her into an Ovor, a four-breasted race designed to produce large quantities of eggs, but that didn’t matter to me.

“It matters to me. I feel like a lump.”

“Portcon says that the nutritional content of the food is calibrated to keep you healthy.”

“Yeah, well, that may be true, but these pods are orgone collectors, right? They probably want to keep us a little fat, because more mass means more basal orgone.”

“I guess.”

“You guess? Look what they do to Merchants. Challers, you can’t trust these people. Everyone is looking out for their own interests.”

I looked down at my own body. I had to admit that the muscles I had gotten during my training with the Scouts were not as defined as they had been. “They’ve got a gym up on the Boulevard. We could go together.”

“Yeah, have you seen what it costs? I know I have a lot of credits with the Port, but I can’t spend it like that. I’m just going to have to be more careful about what I eat. Ooh! It’s almost ten. Put your screen on. I want to see the Morning Summary.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s a program they put on every morning to show you everything interesting that happened overnight.”

“Portcon, please display ‘Morning Summary.’”

Portcon’s face disappeared, replaced with a rotating logo and a dramatic voice. “Welcome to Morning Summary for day 842 of cruise fifty-six.” The logo was replaced by a long list of names, grouped in fours and fives under titles like David’s Destroyers and Madden’s Marauders. “Please choose the Worthies for your report,” the voice continued.

“What is this?” I asked.

Valka snuggled close, holding my arm. “I discovered it last week. Those people we saw patrolling the Boulevard? They call them Worthies. They have cameras following them around all the time, and folks can watch what happens. Pick David’s Destroyers.”

I reached out to the hologram and waved my finger at that section. The screen cleared, and an image formed of a man in a baggy white shirt and black pants lounging in a comfortable, armless chair. He swirled a drink in one hand and smiled at a short-haired woman who had just walked into the scene. She was similarly attired, though neither wore the weapons we had seen Worthies wear up on the Boulevard.

A disembodied voice accompanied the scene. “The romance between Krinna and David has continued since she signed up for his crew. It’s a good thing he convinced her to join up, since with only two members, his crew would have been delisted this morning. As it stands, he still has only ten days remaining to get back to four members and keep his crew going long term.”

David took her hand and pulled her down for a passionate kiss, which she returned with enthusiasm. She reached behind him and pulled out the knot that held David’s shirt together, and unfolded the two triangular flaps to expose a hairless, muscular chest.

“Are they going to have sex right there where everyone can see?”

“Uh-huh.” Valka squirmed closer and put an arm around my waist. “He’s been romancing her all week.”

We watched Krinna run her hands over David’s chest, and the camera zoomed in to show the effect her caress was having on his nipples. When it zoomed out again, she was shrugging out of her shirt, revealing a back almost as well-muscled as his chest. Soft music began playing in the background, a light tune that heightened the affectionate tone of the scene.

“You like this guy,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“I mean, you like watching him.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, his crew is about to be officially disbanded, and he’s completely not concerned. In control. You don’t see that kind of confidence all the time.”

The point of view shifted again, this time coming down from above—a perfect angle to catch David taking one of Krinna’s small breasts into his mouth and the look of pleasure that came over her face as she arched her back.

I started off watching David, trying to figure out what it was that Valka saw, but Krinna soon had my full attention. I had never seen a woman who looked like that before. Even my mentor in the Scouts, Shirley, wasn’t as muscular as this woman. I was attracted and repulsed at the same time. Something inside me said it wasn’t right for a woman to look so masculine, but then I remembered the hermaphroditic Chevalier newgens I had met at Scout Headquarters. I pushed that thought aside.

As Krinna reached down into David’s pants, Valka slid her hand past my waistband and squeezed my swelling cock. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” she said.

If watching David got her this worked up, I wasn’t going to complain. “Why didn’t you come over?” I moved my hand from her shoulder down under her arm to cup one breast through her shirt.

“I didn’t want to come over until I was ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“You know.” She pulled her shirt up over her head and threw it aside. “This.” Her four Ovor breasts were full and round, tipped with thick, dark brown nipples. She did have a bit of extra weight on her, but I barely noticed. By the time both of us were fully naked, the couple on the holoscreen were naked too, rubbing their bodies together as they kissed.

Valka leaned back on the chair, letting her legs fall to either side. “I want you to pleasure me while I watch.”

I smiled and climbed up onto the chair, between her legs. Her pussy lips, which had been kept hairless while we were at Scout Headquarters, were covered with fur. I ran my fingers through it. “I don’t know if I still know how,” I said with a smile.

“Mmm, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

While I explored with my fingers, I heard the sounds of Krinna and David’s encounter over my shoulder. Judging from his encouragements and her muffled responses, she had something important in her mouth. I took it as my cue to get my own mouth involved.

I pulled her pussy lips apart. It had been too long since we had been this close. Valka’s advanced pregnancy had made a lot of sexual activities difficult or tiring, and I was elated to be able to do this for her again. I licked slowly, playing with her inner lips, flicking them lightly with my tongue. As I gradually moved up towards her clit, I felt tension building in her thighs.

“Vack, Challers,” she said between deep breaths, “I missed this.”

I chuckled. “So did I.” I hadn’t performed this act on Valka too many times, but I knew how to pay attention to her reactions and adjust. With a light touch, I placed my lips around her clit, drawing only just enough suction to be felt. She made a soft, contented noise and touched my head, not pushing down or pulling back. She was simply acknowledging that I was there.

I sucked harder, flicking my tongue at the tiny bud of flesh between my lips. “Ooh, too much,” she gasped, and I backed off, licking along the sides of her clit.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. That’s much…mmm…much better.”

I slipped one arm under her body and drew my hand up to stroke the lower part of her cunt. A brief flash crossed my mind of a black, sickly egg. I pulled back to look. Except for the hair, it hadn’t changed all that much since I had seen her last, making it easy to dispel the image from my mind.

The sound of David and Krinna’s sexual encounter changed. I looked over my shoulder to see Krinna straddling him, flexing her thighs as she rose and fell, impaled on his cock. I wanted to fuck Valka too, but I could wait until she’d had an orgasm. I went back to my task with the goal firmly in mind.

Slipping my fingers inside her, I searched for the firm knot of flesh on the upper wall of her channel. It was there, where I had found it once before. I hoped the result would be as spectacular as the first time. With quick little strokes, I rubbed the spot with my fingers while I licked the hood of her clit in the same rhythm. I imagined a kind of circuit between my hand and my mouth, with Valka’s body strung between. When my tongue started to get a little sore, I switched to using my nose for a few seconds while I gave it a rest, and went back. When my fingers cramped, I switched hands.

She did not disappoint me. Her thighs clenched around my shoulders as I worked, and growling cries escaped her throat. I could feel her pussy tensing around my fingers and even smell the musky change in her scent.

And then I noticed that the top of my head was wet. I pulled back and looked around.

Milk dribbled down from all four of Valka’s breasts, and droplets were scattered all over her stomach. She looked down at me, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said, when she’d gotten her air back.

I laughed. “Don’t be. I think it’s great. It’s like you’re ejaculating too.”

“I guess I am.” She took the lower pair in her hands and squeezed. Streams of milk sprayed out. “They got sore after the eggs came and this made them feel better. Ever since then, I’ve been milking myself. Port said that most women who get sick during pregnancy never even start lactating, but Ovors might be different. The information wasn’t complete.”

I climbed up her body, licking the droplets up as I went. “I could have helped, you know.” The milk was sweet and warm, with just a hint of salt from her sweaty skin.

“I know. I guess I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

“I want to be with you no matter what, Valka. I don’t mind seeing you weak or sick. I want to take care of you.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”

I sucked on the hard nub of her nipple and got a tiny squirt of milk. “Does that feel good?”

“Mmm, yes.”

“Good. I like doing it.” I sucked some more, and gradually felt the tightness in her skin recede. I switched to the other.

“Mmm, that’s much better,” she said.

I went from breast to breast, gently draining her of the offending fluid. My hard cock bumped her thigh, and when I finished, I shifted position to enter her.

“Oh, Challers.” She put a hand on my chest. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“An Ovor is always fertile. I don’t want to go through that again.” Her eyes pleaded with me. “Please.”

I hung over her. If I pressed the issue, I could probably convince her to let me fuck her, but we had both been through too much for me to even consider it. I sat back on my heels, my cock jutting up from between my thighs.

“Here. Let me do this instead. Lie down.” She climbed off of the seat so I could take her place, and then she climbed back on, straddling my knees. She transferred some of the copious lubrication from her pussy onto my cock before wrapping her lower pair of breasts around it with her hands. “How does that feel?”

“Mmm, that’s not bad. It’s not as good as being inside you, but it’ll do.”

Above her head, David and Krinna were cuddling on their chair. She sat on his lap, sitting crosswise with his arm supporting her shoulders. Their soft demeanor contrasted with the hard edges of their bodies. They both seemed too tough for such contemplation, but there they were.

I returned my attention back to Valka. Her upper breasts bobbed hypnotically as she moved. I brought my hands up to them, stroking their soft skin as she continued pleasuring me. “They’ve gotten bigger, haven’t they?”

“A bit.”

I watched my cock disappearing between her breasts. “Seems like a lot more…mmm…than a bit to me.”

She looked down. “I guess.”

I gasped as the first jet erupted from my cock, arching over my stomach to land on my chest. It was so soon it caught me somewhat by surprise. My stomach and Valka’s breasts were splattered with semen.

“Feel better?” she asked.

I laughed. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Valka got a washcloth from the hygiene station and cleaned herself off. “You really like me this way?”

“Yes. Of course, I do. Why do you ask?”

“I want to save up to get enough to use a gentank.” She climbed up onto the chair and sat cross-legged, facing me, and handed me the towel.

“How much does it cost?”

“The price seems to fluctuate for some reason, but it’s usually something like a hundred thousand.”

I whistled. “Where are you going to get that kind of money?”

“Well, you know you don’t have to stay in your pod all day. That pays your basic life support, but if you want to accumulate credits, you have to do more than that. I’ve been looking around and there are a few jobs I could do.”

“How much would you get?” I finished wiping myself off and tossed the cloth into the recycling hatch.

“Well, there’s a job as a data wrangler that would pay twenty-five an hour. If I work ten-hour days, then I could have enough to use the gentank in about two hundred days, given what we’re starting with.”

“Could you do it from your pod?”

“No, this would be at a data center a few decks down.”

“So you’d have to pay life support while you were away. Valka, that’s not two hundred days. That’s a lot more. It might take years.”

Valka groaned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do! I don’t like this body. I don’t want to have any more eggs!”

“Maybe there’s a drug or something that will stop that.”

“There is. It costs ten credits a day.”

“That’s not too bad.”

“I don’t like draining our savings like this. I’m not making any income, and it costs life support any time we visit.”

I looked up at the screen where David was walking along the Boulevard with Krinna and another Worthy whose name I had missed.

“How much do Worthies make?”

“I don’t know.”

“Portcon,” I called. “How much do Worthies earn?”

“A Worthy earns shares of all the crisis and transcendent orgone that is generated while being observed by Wards.”

“And how much is that?”

“It varies widely, but most Worthies earn between two thousand and five thousand credits in a day.”

I turned to Valka. “That’s it, then. We need to become Worthies.”

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Friday, June 10, 2011

TOO MUCH BOOGIE - An Anthology From Logical Lust and LL Publications

TOO MUCH BOOGIE - A New Anthology from LL Publications

Selected stories inspired from the recorded gems of the Delta blues, Chicago blues, Memphis blues and Texas blues. Called "the Devil's music," the stories of the blues goes beyond jump turns, slow drag ditties, reel, jigs, minstrel songs, ragtime, or the buzzard lope. These lyrics connected to these stories celebrate heartache, separation, distrust, betrayal, lust, but they promise a healing love of revival and renewal. It's a celebration of the present, of the now, and it's totally mad at the past and suspicious of the future. But who are kidding? Let us tell the truth. Really, the themes of this raucous collection often wallow in carnal pain, in the weakness of the flesh, and the temptation of sin. Taboo love, forbidden love. Sometimes it's just plain nasty. All of the good stuff.

In Too Much Boogie, the spirit of the blues afflicts everybody. Within the emotional pull of the lyrics and its stirring music, there is a common language of the heart and the soul. Although the blues were born and bred in the land of Jim Crow by black people, it has nothing to do with class, color, or category. Even the rich get the blues and do dumb things. The book shows there is a pulse beating within each of us and that pulse is the blues.

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Stories include:
1. The Things I Used to Do by Alegra Verde
2. For Love or Money by Alice Sturdivant
3. Rocking Chair Blues by Jayme Whitfield
4. What's in the Box by Kalamu ya Salaam
5. Mother's Milk by Kevin James Breaux
6. Ask the Heart by Akua Lezli Hope
7. She Had to Go and Lose It at the Astor by D. L. King
8. The Summer of Bobby by Jolene Hui
9. Can't Be Satisfied by Gary Phillips
10. Midnight Special by Victor J. Banis
11. Tricked by Zander Vyne
12. Come for Me, Dark Man by Anne Tourney
13. Heaven is a Blues Café by Hzal
14. Red Eye by Lisabet Sarai
15. The Backup Singer by Rebecca Kyle
16. Hole by Remittance Girl
17. Once You Go Black by Amanda Fox
18. Goodbye Blues by Thomas S. Roche
19. Effects of Moonshine by Dorla Moorehouse
20. It's Tight Like That by Cole Riley
21. The Principal of the Thing by Savannah Stephens Smith
22. P.K. by Art Nixon
23. Warming Up by Maxmilian Lagos
24. My Strongest Weakness by C. Dennis Moore
25. Head Games by Robert Buckley
26. Sunday Morning by Dean Jean-Pierre
27. The Room by Nick Nicholson
28. Hurricane Love by Alicia Night Orchid

ROCKING CHAIR BLUES


Jayme Whitfield







“Kick up my furnace and turn up my heat

Brown my biscuits and chop my meat

That’s why I want him around

’Cause I’m the hottest gal in the town.”



Hottest Gal in Town — Lil Johnson (1940)







I.

IN AN ATTEMPT to escape the sweltering heat, Abraham ducked into the first shop he came across. The sign on the door read “Second Chances,” and he rolled his eyes at the cliché name of the used furniture store. He hesitated in the doorway, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. The room he found himself in wasn’t much cooler than the sidewalk had been, but a small fan in the back attracted his attention. Weaving his way past occasional tables and frayed settees, he finally reached the rear of the store. He looked around furtively, hoping the sales clerk hadn’t heard his entrance. He wanted a few minutes alone with the tepid air the fan was spreading around.

With a sigh of contentment, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, hoping to allow some of the heat to escape. Sweat beaded on his forehead and pooled in the small of his back. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so uncomfortable.

“Makin’ yourself at home, I see.”

Startled by the woman’s voice, Abraham jumped. She laughed, a rich, throaty laugh that drew his eyes to her. She stood at the base of a stairwell about four feet from him. The lack of light made her features hard to discern, but what he could see of her form invited more inspection. Long legs led to broad hips and a small waist. Her breasts were large, barely contained by the thin green cotton dress she wore.

“Just tryin’ to escape the heat,” he replied.

“See something you like?”

Abraham was taken aback by the forward question, and then realized she must have been talking about the collection of used furnishings that surrounded him. Realizing that if he didn’t at least feign an interest, he’d be ejected from the shop, he pointed to the item closest to him—a wooden rocking chair with cane-webbed back and padded seat. Nodding her approval, the woman moved in his direction, coming to a stop only inches from him. He could feel the heat of her, smell her scent, a curious mixture of lavender, sweat, and Bourbon.

His gaze traveled over her face. She had wide hazel eyes that were fringed by dark lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips. Her skin was almost luminescent, like melted caramel dipped in honey. Thick black curls tumbled down her shoulders and he resisted the urge to touch the silky strands.

She laughed again, and then turned and sat in the chair he’d pointed to. She began to rock, her breasts rising and falling with the motion.

“This is the nicest piece in this backwater town,” she grinned up at him, the mischief in her eyes enchanting.

“Is that so?” He crouched down on his haunches, bringing them face-to-face again. She smiled, flashing him a glimpse of even, white teeth.

“Sure it is. I wouldn’t lie. She hasn’t gotten much use, only by a man or two. I’ll make you a deal—you give me $10 and she’s yours.” Her spiel over, she grinned at him. He laughed and ran his fingers up her bare arm.

“I don’t know, looks a lot more worn than you say. I’m not a wealthy man, and $10 is a lot of money for something that I might get one use out of, don’t ya’ think?”

Raising an eyebrow, she slid her tongue out and licked her bottom lip, as if she were considering his words carefully. Abraham was entranced.

Without warning, she jumped up from the chair. Her sudden movement startled him, causing him to lose his balance and fall onto his ass. She laughed, and then extended a hand to help him up. He caught it, clamping it tight in his own. Once he was back on his feet, he pulled her close to him, his arms circling around her back, her breasts tight against his chest. To his surprise, she didn’t fight him. Instead, she pulled his arms down until his hands were on her ass.

“Now listen here, cheapskate. That chair is the best around, ready to accommodate. The weaving is nice and tight, just right for a man your size.” She spun around and rubbed her ass against his obvious arousal. “Look at the curves, and those legs—long and sleek. And the color—no, you won’t find another one like it, especially at that price.”

“Not much use, eh?” he asked, his voice thick. “A man or two, you said. How do I know you’re telling the truth? I prefer the things that I pay for to be new. And I’m not cheap, just wary of being takin’ for a ride. How do I know the previous owner won’t come lookin’ for it—or that it has some fault that isn’t apparent to the naked eye?”

She pulled away, sitting in the chair, sliding her back down and her knees up. Her dress pooled around her knees, which she casually spread wide, giving him a view he wouldn’t soon forget.

“Well, sir—” she began, but he cut her off.

“Abraham.”

“Abraham, all I have left to say is that if you’re not buyin’ it, I’ll have to just keep sittin’ on it. I’m not in business to be giving things away. My rent has to be paid, same as the rest, and we both know this chair is the best around. So if you’re not interested, then I’ll just keep sittin’ on it—someone else’ll be along soon enough.” As she finished talking, she slid her thighs shut.

“Ten dollars, right?”

“That’s right, Abraham. Ten dollars and it’s yours. You can take it home, put it in your room, use it how you like.”

“I’ll take it.”

She laughed again, and then jumped up.

“Let me just take it in the back room and clean it up a bit, then I’ll have my boy bring it ’round to your address...”

“I’ll come with you and take it now, if you don’t mind.”

She stopped then, her green eyes flashing.

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea, Abraham...”

“But I do, and since I’m the paying customer, you know I’m right.”

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Wednesday, January 19, 2011

MESSALINA: DEVOURER OF MEN by Zetta Brown

MESSALINA: DEVOURER OF MEN by Zetta Brown

When life imitates art... Eva Cavell is a woman with an embarrassing secret. She is sexually frustrated and is convinced that her size and race intimidates men.

In an attempt to relieve her sexual tension, every Thursday Eva goes to a local movie theater and allows desperate strangers to fondle her in the dark. She allows no eye contact, no phone numbers-and definitely no names.

During one of her escapades, renowned artist, Jared Delaney, a smooth Southern gentleman with irresistible violet eyes, has Eva breaking her own rules. He has been watching Eva on her weekly visits and sees through her icy defence and straight through to the hot passion burning underneath.

...expect to be framed. Messing about in dark theaters isn't a good pastime for Eva. She is a tenure-track instructor at a private Denver college that is currently embroiled in a sex scandal and she is the youngest child of a prominent black family.

To add to her turmoil, Neil Hollister, Eva's classroom aide and former student, is a handsome, barely-legal frat brat whose interest in her is carnal rather than academic-and she's tempted.

Despite desperate attempts to maintain control, Eva's world is spiraling into chaos. As emotional pressures build inside her, an explosion is imminent. Will she ever be able to live her life how she wants and without shame?

The answer may lie with a woman who is bold and unashamed in her sexuality. Can Eva be more like her? What would happen if she even tried?


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Excerpt:

I dim the lights and turn up the saxophone jazz. Then we step onto the balcony to see the city lights. The sky glows orange and pink behind the silhouetted mountains and the night comes in like a band of dark blue melting from above with a few bright pinpoints for stars. Leaning against the railing, I want Jared’s hands on me, his long fingers satisfying my fetish for them as they find their way into my center once again.


Instead, I sense his gaze on me, sliding down my exposed spine and lingering on my bottom before continuing down my thighs to the back of my knees. I’m riveted to the spot, pretending to look at the skyline. He finally comes close behind me.


“Cappuccino,” he says as his cool fingers glide up the back of my neck and into my hair.


“Hmm?”


“The color of your skin. Definitely, cappuccino.” His breath is warm against my ear. “I wonder if it tastes as good.”


His kiss smolders on my collarbone and I wouldn’t be surprised if a burn develops there. He traps me by wrapping his arms completely around my middle and I get to experience just how hard his body is for the first time.


“You’re trembling,” he whispers, pulling away. “Why?”


I stay focused on the view. “I’m finding it hard to let my guard down.”


“Do you have to guard yourself?”


I shrug. “Once you start, it’s hard to stop.”


He laughs and I wonder if the man has a sensitive bone in his body. I turn to face him and encounter those eyes. For a moment, it’s as if we stare into each other’s core. He doesn’t move. I feel the warmth of his skin and inhale the sweetness of the wine on his breath.


“Let me guess.” He smirks. “You have to keep in control to save from getting hurt?”


“So what if I do?” I reply, perhaps too defensively. “I have yet to meet anyone who can handle me the way I can.”


“Ooh, I don’t know, Evadne. Seems to me as if your control is ready to snap.” He traces my jaw with his finger. “What is it, girl? I understand black women have a reputation for being lovers who take no shit.” His eyelids narrow. “Or is it all myth?”


Excitement rushes through me, warming and moistening my flesh . . . melting the cobwebs away. I’m enjoying this sparring match. That’s right. I’m a sistah with attitude and if you think you’re dealing with some little girl, you’re mistaken. But all I say is, “Myths survive on a kernel of truth.”


“Is that a challenge?” He grins. “I like a challenge.”


My gaze carves into his and I put my hands on my hips. As I do, it forces him to back up, but only a few inches. “You try me. Are you man enough to handle this?” I indicate my body with a flourish of a hand.


He reaches out with his glass and lets the cool, wet rim trace along my exposed collarbone, making me tremble.


“Girl,” he sighs, shaking his head, “don’t you know that when you ice your passion, you just make it hotter when it’s thawed?”


We stand, for what seems like hours, waiting for the first sign of weakness in the other. He tips his glass, letting a trickle of wine spill onto my shoulder.


“Oops.” He smiles and bends forward to lick the wine away, trailing his tongue up the side of my neck. When his lips connect with mine they are wet and sweet and I let his kiss engulf me.


Taking me by the waist, he navigates us back inside with the grace of a ballroom dancer as we maintain our kiss. Soon I’m on my Victorian fainting couch in a position many Victorian women probably never had the luxury to experience as Jared’s voyage of discovery takes him down between my thighs, his hair caressing me like silk.


As he pushes up my dress, I figure he’ll just give me a cursory nibble and move on like most men, but he sighs with contentment, a crusader reaching his pilgrimage. Without hesitation, he places my legs over his shoulders and spreads my intimate lips so he can lick each inner fold. One moment he’s soft, the next he’s rough, and the contrast is exquisite. When he manipulates my little power switch with his expert tongue, she stands at attention. He blows on her gently and I’m dropped into an abyss, making me release a trickle of my pleasure.


“Mmm,” he moans. “Skin like cappuccino but tastes like mocha.”


A squeal escapes my lips. Jesus Christ, I got me a connoisseur.


Jared seizes my hips in a vise-like grip while his mouth makes a seal to suction the hot liqueur seeping from within me and I explode. My hands grip his head between my thighs and my pelvis thrusts against his face. Considering our first encounter, Jared is running true to form and is about to make me come again.

Tears come to my eyes in spite of my trying not to get carried away. This is a sweet release, and he’s right. My iced passion is melting and it’s hot, wet. He drinks from me and I satisfy his thirst. When he finally rises, his expression is like one who has overindulged in a bacchanalian feast.


“Jared,” I whisper and touch his face. He blinks and snaps out of his reverie. His eyes focus on me as he kisses the Betty Boop tattoo located above my left hipbone. He climbs between my legs, which reflexively encircle his waist. We’re still dressed, but his cock is tenting his pants and is hard and swollen against me. I close my eyes, remembering when I saw it in the theater. Lacing my fingers behind his neck, I smile. “I was getting worried about you down there.”


His kiss forces me deep into the cushions. I taste myself on his lips and strain to get more, leaving us both gasping for air. A high-pitched beep goes off. He raises his head and glances at the phone clipped to his belt.


“Aw, fuck.” Then he looks at me and strokes my cheek. “Eva, I gotta go. My plane.”


My loins literally ache for him. I tighten my legs around his waist. His body trembles and he tries to calm his urge by pressing into me. Big mistake. Gasping, we shudder at the unexpected charge it provokes between us. He shakes his head rapidly, sucking air through his teeth.


“Sugar, please,” he says, voice straining. “If I stay, I risk having an accident. I’m about to do myself an injury as it is.” He makes a pointed glance to his crotch and I can see his distress.


“Here, allow me.” In seconds I have him on his feet with his pants down and my hand cupping his crotch. He looks down at me in surprise.


Looking him straight in the eyes, I lick my lips. I’m going to enjoy this. He’s going to enjoy it. He swallows again, his breath expelling hard and fast from flared nostrils.


“Evadne,” he groans, like a soul in torment as my lips make contact.


I hold his cock with both hands. He’s rock hard. I won’t be able to deep-throat him. That would take practice, lots and lots of practice. He plunges his fingers into the depths of my hair as I give his cock a gentle tug and trace the network of throbbing veins with my tongue.


Down, down, down the shaft I go and into the short curly hairs at the base that tickle my nose. I bury my face there, inhaling his spicy scent. The tip of his cock pushes between the plush pillows of my breasts, which I cup with my hands and squeeze, trapping his cock inside as I nuzzle.


He upgrades his caress to pawing. I continue licking his base before pulling my head back slightly.


“Don’t leave me this way,” I moan, close enough for my breath to feel cool against the moist skin of his erection. His cock twitches. I position myself and slowly enclose my lips around the head of his cock, relishing the girth of it as my mouth takes him in as far as it can. Again, he sucks his breath through his teeth and groans.


Tongue swirling, jaw pumping, I make sounds of contentment. He is my feast. I’m in heaven, and from the sounds he’s making, I’m sure he feels closer to God.


“Evadne—ah, yes! God—damn, work your mouth, just like that.”


I continue for as long as my jaw allows; his cock has grown to maximum capacity. He holds my head in place and thrusts forward, but I keep focused so as not to gag. Instead, I wrap my hands around his firm thighs urging for more. I want it all.


“Jesus, your mouth feels so good. So wet . . . so fucking wet . . .” He falls silent, gaining force. I look up and see his eyes are closed, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his face contorted. I’ve seen that look before at The DeLuxe. He’s going to come.


He can’t see my Cheshire grin as I continue. His cock thoroughly lubricated, I move away as a pearly tear drops from its eye.


“Aw,” I coo, rubbing his cock against my cheek. “Don’t cry, my sweet. You’re breaking my heart. Eva’s gonna make it better.”


“Evadne,” he growls. “You’re killing me. I’m gonna come. Please, I’ve got to.”


“Not yet, you don’t.” I squeeze the base of his cock, making him grit his teeth. “You still have that plane to catch?”


He can’t articulate a response.


Putting my forefinger in my mouth to get it wet, I prepare to make him come so hard that if I don’t blow his mind, I’m wasting my time.


“I can’t hear you, Jared. Do you still have to catch that flight?”


In an amazing show of self-control, he exhales slowly through clenched teeth. “Sugar, I have to.” He shudders again. “Eva, darlin’, please. Let me—”


With only seconds to spare, I take a swig of Asti from my glass. I release his cock and slowly slip my moistened forefinger through the slightly relaxed ring of his ass. Then I envelop his penis with a mouthful of liquid effervescence.


Never in all my life have I heard sounds like the ones coming from Jared as he explodes inside my mouth. It’s part groan, part cry, part curse, but all orgasm. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s in pain. Maybe he is.


Eyes closed, I concentrate on keeping my finger up his ass and my mouth around his cock. Drinking my cocktail, I purr like the contented black pussy I am.


“Aw, fuck!”


Another spurt shoots to the back of my throat. Some of it dribbles past my lips and trickles down his shaft, but I’m quick to go after it. I want to swallow all of his excitement. I want everything he can give and more before I’ll let him go. Finally, I take my mouth away.


“Gonna leave me, lover?” I push my finger even deeper inside his clenched ass, making him thrust.


Jared’s labored breathing sounds as if he just ran a marathon and I fear his legs may buckle. And although his cock is spent, I see enough life left in him that I’m smiling with expectation. He sighs, caressing my head, his thumbs glide down my cheekbones.


“Holy sweet mother of Jesus . . .”


He takes a step back and I look in his face; it’s drained of color. His eyes are red, his hair is disheveled, and sweat beads on his brow. He shakes his head like a man who’s taken the ride of his life then helps me to my feet. Grasping both sides of my face, he lays a soul kiss on me and moans as I give him a taste of sperm-enhanced Spumante. When we part, he stares at me with amazement. But soon the look in his eyes is desperate.


“Eva, listen to me. I have to go—now.”


My longing turns to disbelief and he reads it in my face.


“Sugar, listen,” he pleads, a note of anxiety and concern in his voice.


Here I am, for the first time in three years, ready to get fucked and not just felt up. Jared has gotten me so hot my dress is plastered to me like a second skin.


Enough is enough. I’m not letting him get away again. I put my hands on his shoulders and force him onto the couch. From the surprised look on his face I realize he wasn’t expecting this move. I straddle him.


“Jared Delaney, you are exactly five seconds away from being date-raped . . . any last words?”

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Friday, August 13, 2010

TIGHT WOMEN IN HARD PLACES by Alicia Night Orchid

TIGHT WOMEN IN HARD PLACES - a single author anthology from Alicia Night Orchid and Logical Lust Publications

She's a woman who's been around the block. She knows what she wants and how to get it.

She's remained faithful while her husband's off fighting in Iraq, but sometimes even good girls need a spanking. She's followed her lover from sunny California to medical school in Indiana-will it ever stop raining, and why has he brought an anatomy book to bed? In the prize-winning "Savage Nights," Trish loses a boyfriend, but discovers more than friendship with those crazy hippies next door. In "Torn in Two," Cindy gets another chance at romance, but is it worth it with a man who plays that rough?

The wife of a famous politician, she's sitting at the end of the bar, trolling for her next bad boy. A law student far from home, she's having an affair with her favorite professor. The girl next door, she eats too many sweets, struggles with a novel, and watches her neighbors through binoculars. Her mother might have been a cold war spy whose lovers whispered state secrets between the sheets, but Kate secretly yearns to be told how and when to do the nasty. She's the well-known defense attorney obsessed to the point of distraction with her lover's most private orifice, the country-western singer who needs to change her cheatin' ways, and the late-night waitress who swaps her panties for a hundred dollar bill and a brand new life.

Although told from a woman's point of view, don't expect mushy, romantic, happy-ever-ending stories here. Instead, meet real women making tough choices and getting on with imperfect lives. These women don't always get what they want, but they usually get what they need, both in life and in bed.These are tight women in hard places.

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Preface:

Alicia Night Orchid’s TIGHT WOMEN IN HARD PLACES: An Appreciation Preface by Cole Riley

“Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.”

- Anais Nin

Yes, there is so much to say about this book. Alicia Night Orchid’s stunning collection of thirteen stories contains the spark of life, and it will speak for itself with each new reader, with each new mind open to its many secrets. Like any work of art worth its salt, its fictional alchemy restores sensual sanity in this modern plasticized world, bringing a heightened sense of love and lust from a feminine consciousness that can only enrich our jaded selves with its eroticized tales of resilience, empowerment, and fulfillment.

So Alicia Night Orchid’s fictional world is fresh and new. It’s new because its men and women talk and behave like real human beings do. They are not afraid to live or to love. They act in ways like real people do when they are blindsided by the heated chemistry of sexuality and sensuality. She writes simply and boldly of women feeling unsure about themselves, feeling nervy about men, feeling uneasy about the soft flesh they inhabit, feeling frantic about the urges and desires which make pleasure a priority.

This is not smut. This is not porn. This is about revelations and discoveries of the human kind. This is about real people in real situations that involve the often confusing, turbulent themes of love and lust. Alicia Night Orchid gets inside the heads and bodies of her people. She paints lines of economic beauty and sizzle when she talks of bodies seeking comfort and bliss. Not one of her stories contain a boring series of cookie-cutter sex scenes which often fill other countless books.

Take her first story, “The Anatomy of Wet,” where she depicts two college kids entranced with the miracle of young love, which is fleeting as a fickle downpour. In her tale, “Smoke,” she chronicles the parade of bad boys and one-nighters of a wealthy, powerful woman who needs to go “slumming” before she returns to that alabaster address on Pennsylvania Avenue. The story has a surprise ending worthy of O. Henry. Witness her memorable fable, “Royal Orleans,” where she re-creates the moment of emotional seduction in the mind of a young woman eager to know love:



“And yes...yes, you’re sure you made the right decision, because his kiss is like falling into a well that you never wish to leave. You kiss him back—tongues swirl, nipples harden, and suddenly you’re floating, floating, and you’ve said yes, you want to see him again.”



In two other Alicia Night Orchid stories, “I Saw the Light” and “Fridays Without,” it is the small details that form their narrative glue; all strung together like the bittersweet lyrics of a Cajun blues. The former yarn features a honky tonk gal who loves a good time but somehow has lost her bearings in this mix of the spiritual, the secular and the sensual. The latter story has a special place for technology running amok, taking Kate the bespeckled librarian into some forbidden realms of desire.

Conflict, crisis, resolution. This is life itself. Toss all labels, classifications, and categories out when you read her stories. The characters of Tammy the hustle gal, Ray the aeronautic engineer and his “shyster bitch” are as real as can be in the next couple of stories, “Third Shift” and “Ray’s Opening.” The fate of the hapless Ray in the last tale is a somber life lesson with his girlfriend making him her bitch and he loves it. Outlaw Amour 101.

The stories, “Savage Nights,” “Snowbound,” and “Voyeur Nation” all engage the mind, jolt the soul and fire up the libido. Somehow the woman reminds one of the Jimmy Stewart role in Hitchcock’s Rear Window as “peeping Pauline” in “Voyeur Nation,” watching a couple perform while knowing they’re on display. But the other tales, “A Lover in the House of Spies,” “Torn In Two,” and “The Western Front” display a versatility and high craftsmanship rarely found in this genre.

There will always be a public debate about the merits of erotica versus porn. This is high-style erotica told with style and flair. It is similar to the well-penned imaginative work of Anais Nin, D. H. Lawrence, and Henry Miller. This is the good stuff. Read it, feel it, and be moved.

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