May 7, 2015

Friday Free Read - Special Post! His Cemetery Doll Audio Excerpt!

We've re-released His Cemetery Doll!


So for this week's Free Read, we hope you'll enjoy our very first Audio Excerpt!


This excerpt comes from Chapter 7 of His Cemetery Doll. This recording is NC17 and contains graphic sexual content. You may want to listen with headphones!

(If you aren't able to listen to the audio, the text version is posted below)


** Vv---vV ** 

Available at

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Sample Chapters

Chapter I



~~ Text Excerpt ~~


He hadn't slept long before he heard sounds from down in the kitchen below.

"Shyla!" he called gruffly. "Weren't you heading into town?"

No answer came from below, but the sounds of pots clanging told him she toyed about down there. Perhaps she'd decided not to leave him after all and taken it into her head to now re-organize the house, since he'd so clearly wanted her to stay out of the cemetery. With a low groan, Conall rolled out of bed and stepped out into the hall.

"Shyla!" he called again, coming to the head of the stairs. If she had stayed home, she could at least do it without making a lot of noise.

"Shyla, I—"

He staggered then, as the hallway dimmed. Afternoon light flickered strangely, lightning cracking a dismal sky outside, and in the space of time afterward everything else darkened. Conall darted a glance around him as the house fell into shadow.

From the top of the stairwell, he saw the first whispering tendrils of white fog.

The heat of adrenaline shot through his limbs. Conall stumbled back into his bedroom, even as the fog pursued. His gaze shot to the window as the last gray light of day faded away and eerie darkness replaced it, like an eclipse sliding over the sun.

More cold mists veiled the glass, dancing and floating. Trembling overtook him as he spun to find another escape.

He froze, finding himself face-to-face with the broken mask of the cemetery doll.

"You—" he gasped. His breath came out white as the fog enveloped them both, leaving a space of mere inches between them, so he could still see her expressionless face. Gray ribbons wound and curled through the air around him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The doll stared up at him. He sensed her searching, looking into his eyes even though hers remained covered. She held him there with her unseen gaze, until her cool, cold hand came up to touch his bare chest.

Conall let out a low breath. He closed his eyes, and a shudder of strange ease rippled through his body. The cool pads of her fingers ran down his sternum, to his navel. The silky ribbons brushed along his side.

Then he noticed her other hand. She lifted it up, to her own chest, and she held something tightly in her fingers: Shyla's stuffed dog.

"I made that...for my daughter," he whispered. The woman with the broken mask tilted her head down toward the small toy, studying it. For a fraction of a second, her fingers appeared to tighten around it. She returned her gaze to him, then, and the toy fell from her grip into the fog, forgotten.

"Wait—" he said, but she brought her other hand up to his chest to join the first, and he recognized eagerness in the way she pressed her icy skin against his. Her face tilted to him, and then came her lips again, ivory and flawless.

"I—" Conall breathed. "I...don't understand..."

Her fingers slid up, around his neck, but he pulled away.

"No, this...this can't real. I'm asleep. I must be."

Gray ribbons danced, pulling him back to her, and she stroked his face. He sucked in a breath at her touch and found his own hand coming up to brush hers.

"You're so cold," he said. "Like stone...but..."

Her cool touch thrilled him; it made his skin tingle and the heat of his own body sing. Her perfect flesh did, in fact, prove soft under his hands, as if the contact with his worn calluses infused cold ivory with yearning. She caressed his cheek, and Conall leaned into it. Before he could stop himself, he bowed his head to her and kissed her frozen lips.

She wound the fingers of her other hand into his hair, tugging him gently closer.

"Is this what you want?" he whispered. In answer, the living doll pulled him down to her, and Conall, still holding her, guided her to his bed.

They tumbled to the mattress in a whirl of ribbons, the fog pressing in on every side. Conall rolled to top her, still kissing those porcelain lips—but now, he thought he felt them kissing back, the barest hint of panting breath between them. He slid his hand down her body and found the bizarre seams between her limbs. Following the joint of her inner elbow with his thumb, he broke off his kisses long enough to stare down, puzzling over it.

"You...aren't real," he murmured, tracing the seam. "You can't be. feel so..."

She pulled his face back to her, back to needful lips. He shivered with pleasure at the chill of her mouth under his, the mingling of their breaths, icy frost and rousing heat. His reaction stirred under the cloth of his pajama pants: his cock nudged at the firmness of her belly.

It occurred to him then to wonder how far his doll meant to take him. He broke from her, breathing hard as he stared, questioning, down at her.

Her attention remained oriented on his eyes—how he hated her blindfold, hiding her true gaze from him, denying him the sight of her real expression. Her fingertips, though, slid down his body, moving with slow but deliberate intention. He shuddered as they slid beneath the hem of his pants and bravely wrapped around his stiffened cock.

"Oh—" he breathed, his eyes sliding shut. He moved his hips to meet her, feeling dazed. He couldn't recall the last time another had caressed him so; the last time a woman's delicate hand had gripped him in such firm but gentle tenderness.

She met his motions. The confines of clothing stifled him, and he shifted to slide his trousers off. She shifted as he did and rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips.

She sat up, allowing him to behold her fully. As he watched, the ribbons wound around her body began to slip away, slowly unraveling to reveal the immaculate form beneath: breasts, wanton and gleaming white, capped with brilliant pert nipples like snow; flat belly, dipping into a tiny cup of a navel; sweet, sensuous hips; and finally, a bare, perfectly shaped, womanly mound.

Conall couldn't help it: he brought a hand up to trace the outline of her sex, testing it. Cool, smooth, like the rest of her...but pliant, yielding under his touch. He slipped his finger into a silken sheath, and here he found her hot, and wet.

The doll's head rolled back, her hips sliding forward to welcome him.

"Who broke your mask?" he asked, reaching up with his free hand to remove the blindfold. She turned her face away, clearly denying him. She seized his hand and guided it instead to her breasts, letting him knead the soft flesh.

"Why do you come to me?" he breathed. She spoke through her motions, as she began to move again, rocking to him, back arching with her delight. Her gestures, so...alien. She mesmerized him, the slide and roll of her body, the graceful arch of her form. In the glow of gray night fog she seemed to float above him. He withdrew his hand from her sex and grasped her other hip, pulling her down, moaning softly at the way her thighs tightened around him.

Steadying her with an arm around her waist, Conall sat up, settling her in his lap. His cock pressed stiff against her, and he nuzzled his face between her breasts, greedily inhaling her scent. She smelled like winter, and it filled him with a sense of sweet freedom, escape, release. As he took one lovely nipple between his lips, he found she tasted like snow.

She shifted her hips to explore the rigid length of him. His cock jumped at the feel of her pristine pussy gliding along him. His hands slipped to her firm buttocks, and she let him lift her up, then slid back down, welcoming his hardness inside of her.

Conall threw back his head with a breathless moan, as they began to move. Dichotomous sensation suffused his whole body: her figure, firm in his grip and yet astounding in its unreal character; the deep heat and sensuality of her sex, an invigorating contrast to the wintry pleasure of her skin; her legs, squeezing him tightly as her hands rested, hardly there at all, over his shoulders. A spirit, fleeting and ephemeral; a woman, welcome and familiar, riding with him in throes of ardent need. They surged, arching to one another, and Conall's heart beat with rapid excitement.

He needed to feel her ecstasy. He curled one arm around her hips and rested his other hand over her left breast.

"Look at me," he gasped. "Please. I want to see it on your face, in your eyes."

She did look at him, but of course, all he saw was the expressionless doll's mask. It pierced him. He reached for the blindfold and, as before, she ducked his hand.

There had been a change in those fixed features, though. A single, argentine tear traced down from under the ribbons, sliding down one perfect cheek.

He touched his finger to it and found it wet, exactly like a real woman's tears. Moving closer, deeper, he pressed his lips to hers again, and their motions quickened. Her hands closed around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

He gripped her hard and pulled her into heavier rhythm, needing to plunge deeper. Her slick inner sex welcomed him, so tight, so sweet around him, eager and yielding for him. The head of his cock swelled with desperate want, his thighs and buttocks flexing to give her all of him, every vigorous stroke. The rush of impending climax gathered, tightening in his loins, and he shivered as her cool breasts met his heated chest, her pert nipples like snowflakes alighting on his skin. The thrill pulsed through him, to the core, and his cock throbbed inside her.

She tightened. Her pussy quivered around him and her fingertips dug into his flesh. At the first quake of her climax, his cock jumped as he came to his peak, his pleasure cresting and crashing into orgasm. The first jet of hot cum burst from him, spilling into her, and he pulled her down on him hard, holding her as he pumped stream after stream of slick heat inside her body.

He still kissed her, holding her with unshakeable strength, claiming her. She made no sound, but he could feel her sex tightening around him, clenching and releasing in hungry, nearly painful desperation. When their lips parted he could swear he felt her icy, heavy breath against his mouth.

He held her there on his lap, unmoving for long moments after their climaxes subsided. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the slender slope of her beautiful neck, inhaling the clean, enticing scent of her.

"This..." he panted, " madness. This is...utter madness." 

The doll leaned her brow to his, saying nothing.

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