Friday Free Read: The Gothic Doll

It's time to meet yet another one of the demon clans from my Blood and Fire series. You can read all about the succubi in my short novella, Angel's Keeping, but first enjoy a little taste of their magic with this story about a wistful young man and his darkest fantasy.

 

It started innocently enough: she appeared in the coffee shop, a fair-haired girl, a little gothic doll.  She wore dark lipstick, gray eyes framed by dark lashes and smoky eyeshadow.  She wore her hair with a headband decorated by the skull-and-crossbones symbol, and her off-the-shoulder black blouse showed the tattoo of a Chinese dragon winding up her right shoulder.  She sat in the corner, sinking into the cushions of a sofa to watch the readers with silent interest.

Darren noticed her during one of his poems, her head tilted slightly to the side as she listened, fingering the heavy pewter pendant around her throat.  She was instantly captivating: dark and elegant, beautiful in a way he might never have expected.  

When he left the stage, though, she glanced away, almost skittishly, and stood up again, hurrying out the door.

A Thursday Taste: "Joy to My World", a Christmas Story about Demons

It's time for a taste of Thursday, dahlings!

 

Watch out every Thursday for a wonderful treat. Here you will find links to a taster of some awesome writers' work. Please support and encourage them

Don Abdul       Kelliea Ashley

Angelica Dawson     Muffy Wilson   Decadent Kane

Michelle Howard       Ray Sostre

Gemma Parkes      Jorja Lovett
Linda Hamonou     
Pablo Michaels
Brantwijn Serrah

 

And now, here's this Thursday's Taste of a Foreplay and Fangs work in progress:

"Joy to my World", a Christmas story

about fallen angels. 

~~~~~~

 

The waitress ditched her tray of drinks and took Rasche by the hand, leading her into one of the back rooms. The Christmas theme survived even in the private show quarters, though with a more generous degree of triple-X action. The small space Raschael's escort chose had been decorated with garlands and wreaths, and a stocking hung by the door, but on top of the holiday trimmings there were also striking boudoir pictures. They all contained the same sweet, golden angel, but in much less "angelic" form.

Friday Flash -- A Break in Routine

Best damn group of perverts you'll ever read. Every Friday we write flashers of 100 words precisely inspired by a given picture. The idea then is to comment on and support each others work. Keep flashing!

This Week's Inspirational Photo

 

***

Hunting's a bitch of a gig. On the road, going it alone, always keeping one eye open. The Sanctus Incendia keeps long hours. As in, 24/7.  Yup. Tough being a demon hunter.

Worth it when you close in on your target, though. I watched the delicious slab of beefcake across the diner. At least I knew what I'd be having for dinner.

Because it's tough being a demon hunter. The least I could do for this one was give him a good, hard fuck before he died in my arms.

Who says the demon has to be a bitch, too?

  

***

Drop by to see our other flashers!

 

Michelle Howard: www.michellehowardwrites.com
J S Morbius: http://morbiussworld.blogspot.co.uk/
Doris O'Connor: http://thetardisscribbles.blogspot.co.uk/
Decadent Kane (Summer): http://decadentkane.blogspot.com
Muffy Wilson: http://muffywilson.blogspot.com
AuroraRose Andromeda: http://rollingmuseintheroses.blogspot.com/

Ravaged Blog Tour, Day 4: Raschael's Top 10 Guide to Seducing the Clergy - from "Wages of Sin"

My second tale in the Ravaged Anthology is one of my own favorites, The Wages of Sin.  While I'd love to regale you all with my own interpretation of the piece, instead I give you another of my "Special Features":

Angel Raschael's Top Ten Guide

to Seducing the Clergy

My name is Raschael.  I am of the First Blood of Demons, the fallen ones.  Nowadays we are commonly referred to as incubi and succubae.  Among my clan, I am employed as a temptress and a spy; great men and women are often at their most vulnerable when they have allowed themselves to be seduced.  I deal with some degree of specialty in men and women of the cloth.  So it is with great pride I give you my own Top Ten Guide to Seducing the Clergy.

1.      Make Confession – Oh, the confessional booth.  Is there any place more perfect for whispering deep, dark secrets and salacious little hints?  The confessional provides an ideal amount of privacy, and best of all, a tailor-made excuse to talk dirty.  

2.      Seek Faith – "After hours", shall we say?  Discover a time when the church is likeliest to be empty, and be sure to drop by... unexpectedly.

3.      Offer up Your Heart – Show him your soft side, your vulnerable side... that shy, innocent, wide-eyed Catholic schoolgirl side.

4.      Ask Forgiveness –. Make a subtly improper proposition—then, when chastised, very quickly take it back, and feign immediate chagrin.  Oh, shame on you! 

5.      Where Two (or Three!) Are Gathered... – There's ample space within a church where an illicit couple might be alone: the vestry, the balcony, the choir room.  Find excuse to... 'make use' of them.

6.      Sing His Praises –Be sure to mention often—and in dangerous proximity to the rest of his flock—how very, very much joy he brings you. What a good, attentive priest he is... so skilled in the ways of... worship.

7.      Search the Scriptures – Do you know how many naughty tales there are in the Bible? Hell, Song of Songs is a whole book devoted to erotic love. If you don't believe me, ask your priest to explain the verse, "his fruit is sweet to my taste"... then watch him turn red.

8.      Receive Baptism – Think of the sight of you in that white robe, all wet, clinging to your curves... all the better if you wear nude-colored underthings, or if you're very, very devoted, nothing at all.

9.      Cast Your Cares Upon The Lord – And then, cast your clothes upon the floor.

10.  Call Upon the Name of God – over... and over... and over...

This post is part of the Ravaged Blog Tour!  Remember to enter our giveaway for a chance to win one of seven copies of the book for free!

Ravaged, Volume 2: Available Friday!

Hello, all my lovelies, and Happy New Year!  I've been looking forward to 2014 for quite some time, and I have some wonderful news to start it off with a bang! (pun definitely intended).

 

 This Friday, Breathless Press Releases Ravaged, Volume 2: a generous collection of delicious tales full of werewolves, witches, leopards, bears and more.  The Ravaged collection follows the bedtime habits of shifters, my lovelies, and this year's anthology contains some of the best!

All this week, I'll be following the Ravaged blog tour, highlighting the works of my fellow authors, one each day, to celebrate the release of this new anthology.  Join us, and you will even have a chance to win a free copy of the anthology and all the wicked shifters contained within.

 Trust me, lovelies... and go get some "tail".

 

Ravaged Book tour Jan 3-9th

Jan 3rd-

Leona Bushman

Jan 4th-

Rebekah Lewis (Victoria)

Jan 5th-

Persephone Jones

Jan 6th-

Brantwijn Serrah

Jan 7th-

Jenn Myers

Jan 8th-

Ella Grey

Jan 9th-

Lucien Didier

Guess Who's Back, My Lovelies...

Yes, after more than a year away.  I really ought to be punished, oughtn't I?

Allow me to make a rather intimate confession: I have been away dealing with some rather deep personal issues, and didn't have the energy or the willpower to write even my sexy stories.  I've recently been diagnosed bipolar and have been learning how to manage it.  So that is why I have been so very long away, my friends.

But now I am back, and with some wonderful news!

First of all, some old news revisited: in March, Graveyard Games and Hunting Grounds, two of my supernatural sexy shorts, were published in Breathless Press's Crimson Anthology, Volume 1.

Available at Breathless Press and Amazon.com.

Now some additional good news: Breathless is also publishing two of my shifter stories, Equinox and The Wages of Sin, in their upcoming Ravaged Anthology!

Release date forthcoming!!

In other news, I'll be submitting to the second Crimson Volume soon, and resubmitting Lotus Petals for consideration as well.  I hope you will wish me luck on that, my lovelies!  It would mean so much to me to see the book in print (or E-Print, as it were...)

So I'm back again, with happier times on the horizon I hope, and some beautiful books with my name (as well as the names of many wonderful wonderful erotic authors!!) on the cover.  I will keep you posted, lovelies!

Dance of the Paper Dolls (Pt 3)

         <Pt 2

          “What are you?” she asked.  “Why are you doing this?”

          “Just the natural order of things, sweetness,” said the dark-haired girl.  “We had to make sure Genesis hadn’t killed you, or we’d have had to punish her, but now that we know you’re alright, we can get on with the party.”

          “Party?”  She was still groggy, her mind still slowly coming awake.  “I don’t… want a party…”

          The girl laughed—it was like ice and glass, hatefully biting.

          “Sure you do.  Colt’s been waiting ages for you to come along and play, haven’t you, Colt?”

          “Sure have,” the male agreed.  “But it’s all right, Cleo… let her catch her breath.”

          He smoothed back her hair; her shoulders relaxed a little.  Devilish as he looked, he seemed gentle.

          “There now.  You are pretty… no wonder our little puppy likes you so much.”

Dance of the Paper Dolls (Pt 2)

 <Pt 1

 

           She went to the window and poked her head out.  They were there, just as she’d imagined them: Darry in the same shirt and jeans—they were even dirtier now—and Genesis, standing behind him, her hands clasped demurely behind her back and her face upturned with a knowing, winking smile.

           Thankfully, though, no fangs.  And she wasn’t wearing that red kimono… just jeans, Doc Marten boots and a violet, laced-up-the-front corset top.  Her hair was pale blonde, but it wasn’t white.

           Maybe, Winnie thought to herself.  Maybe I am overreacting.

           Maybe I am a little jealous.

Dance of the Paper Dolls (Pt 1)

Darry had missed classes for over a week; she’d left him message after message on his cell phone and hadn’t gotten so much as a text in return.  Winnie was just about to contact the police to make a missing person’s report—something she knew she should have done from the beginning—when, amazingly… he returned.

She caught sight of him from across the student union—he was sitting in the teal nylon sofa chair he always sat in, waiting for her as if he’d never left.  A rush of sudden excitement filled her and she picked up her pace to join him, practically dropping her tray of food as she did; as she got closer, though, she realized how strange… how incredibly different… he looked.

Into the Dollhouse (Pt 2)

<Pt 1

Colt reminded Darry of a boy he’d taken theater classes with in high school: he was lean but muscled, catlike almost, and probably agile and wiry.  There was only one word for this young  man’s face, though: beautiful.  He had an almost royal countenance, gorgeous hazel eyes and lovely, pouty lips.  He was sitting lazily on an uncovered sofa when Genesis led naked Darry into one of the musty upstairs rooms, where the sheets had been pulled off of the furniture, and the shades thrown open to let in the sparkling, bright moonlight.

Colt was a lovely man, but it was Cleo—his sister—that immediately drew Darry’s eyes.  She was even prettier than Genesis, with long, shapely legs and smooth, delicious hips.  Her elegant but low-cut gray blouse showed off the curves of her gorgeous breasts, and her long, dark hair fell in a cascading wave down to the small of her back.  When Genesis and Darry entered, she turned away from a musing study on the night sky, and Darry noticed a lithe dancer’s grace accented even her slightest movement.

Into the Dollhouse (Pt 1)

 Guess what? I write sequels.

The days were filled with desperate, wild sex, passionate and indulgent, more than he had ever thought he could take or give.  And yet, each time his beautiful Genesis reached for him across the cool, quiet darkness, silently beckoning to him and whispering sweet, lustful promises into his ear, Darry found himself ready, burning with a fever to consume her and bury himself in her, over and over.

He was losing weight—he was never hungry, except for her.  He was missing classes, he hadn’t spoken to his friends or even his family.

And it didn’t matter, as long as she was there.

The Gothic Doll (Pt 3)

The sidewalks were silent, mostly abandoned, as he followed his little gothic doll back to her home.  It was just the two of them, walking quietly, and—to his strange surprise—saying nothing.  She led, he chased; she glanced up from under her dark lashes and flashed him a smile, like a lady leading a puppy, and he trotted obediently at her heels.  It was a clear night, but there was no moon, leaving only the streetlamps to cast their pools of light along the path.

Her hair was so fine and pale; he thought it must be soft, like long strands of spider’s silk.  Without realizing he was doing it, he reached out to catch a few strands drifting in the breeze—and Genesis ducked away, spinning to face him.

At first he thought she must be angry, but she was smiling again, a sweet little smile, like dusted sugar.  They had stopped between the streetlamps; in the slanted darkness he thought she looked very, very pale, almost white.

“Darry,” she said quietly.  “Do you want to touch me so badly?”

The Gothic Doll (Pt 2)

He’d brought his own portfolio along to the coffee shop, like he did every night there was a poetry reading, and he’d hoped his mystery girl would be there to hear some of his original work.  When she wasn’t, his heart fell, and he almost turned down his chance to read altogether.  There had been members of his literature classes there, though, who urged him on, and Winnie, too—taking to heart what he’d said about being best friends, obviously, as she gently nudged him up towards the stage.

“Fine,” he muttered at her, shoving his portfolio into her hands and picking up his anthology of British Literature instead.  He’d read William Blake: the Romantic writer was the current subject of study in his English course and the poems he was analyzing for that were short and sweet.

Of course, the moment he read the title of the first piece he meant to read, she entered the room.  He caught sight of her just as she slipped in the door, not even tinkling the little bell above it, and he fumbled over the title.  Her pretty eyes flickered up to him—shy and plaintive, just as they were in the dreams he’d been having of her—and she slipped unnoticed into the corner, quietly taking a seat to listen.

The Gothic Doll (Pt 1)

It all started innocently enough: she appeared in the campus coffee shop, a quiet, fair-haired girl, a little gothic doll.  She wore lipstick the color of a red rose’s deepest petals, her gray eyes framed by dark lashes and silver, smoky eyeshadow.  She held back her hair with a black headband decorated by the skull-and-crossbones symbol of poison, and her off-the-shoulder black blouse showed the tattoo of a Chinese dragon winding around her right shoulder.  She sat in the corner, sinking quietly into the cushions of one of the sofas to watch the readers with silent interest.

Darren first noticed her during one of his poems, her head tilted slightly to the side as she listened, fingering the heavy pewter pendant around her throat.  She was instantly captivating: dark and elegant, beautiful in a way he might never have expected.  He wrote poetry, studied it; she was poetry, a lonesome and mournful verse like something out of Dickinson.  Why had he never seen such a fascinating creature as this before?