Showing posts with label Short stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short stories. Show all posts

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Cover Tease for Sandwiched by Spiders

Here's a little cover tease of my upcoming short, "Sandwiched by Spiders".


Yep, in case you hadn't already guessed, L'hassia and L'katipia from "Succubus Summoning 211" are getting a chance to show off their stuff in their own short story.  (If you were hoping for Puff and Pfaffle, don't worry, I'll be getting to them later)

I'll be running some final formatting checks tomorrow before uploading to Amazon and other sites.  As it's a short, I'll be fully self-publishing this one rather than going through Excessica (they only have a limited number of slots per week and it wouldn't be fair to the other writers there if I monopolized those slots with a series of short stories.  My other books will be coming out with them as usual).  I'll post as soon as "Sandwiched by Spiders" is available. Check back here for further details.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Introducing "Sandwiched by"

What is Sandwiched by?

Sandwiched by is a series of linked short stories I’ll be putting out in 2015.  In this case the link is a thematic one.  Each story will feature one (un)lucky guy sandwiched between the hot and sexy bodies of two (or more) monster girls.  If you remember the scenes in Succubus Summoning where Phil was wedged between Rosa and Verdé, or Puff and Pfaffle, then you’ll have an idea of what’s in store.


There won’t be anything linking the stories together other than the theme, although they may link back to events in my other story universes.  Some will be nice, some will be funny, some will be icky, and some will be downright terrifying.  The one thing they’ll all be is sexy (I hope!).

I’m planning to put out one a month through the usual ebook outlets (Amazon, Smashwords, etc).  Lengthwise they will be a similar length to my other stories (4,000 to 8,000 words, although there might be a few longer ones if I get carried away with all the sexy).  I’m going to sell them at 99 cents each, which seems a fair price for individual short stories.  Going below $2.99 results in significantly reduced royalties from Amazon (35% instead of 70%), but I don’t think $2.99 is a fair price for a 5,000 word short story.

Initially, I wasn’t a big fan of selling short stories separately, but the advent of ebooks has changed things considerably.  A lot of erotica authors have reported a lot of success with selling shorts and Sandwiched by is an experiment by me to see how viable shorts are.  Varying the lengths also allows me to get work out more frequently rather than hoarding a bunch of stories and then missing the date I should have put a collection out.  It’s also a challenge to me to see if I can set a project and maintain that monthly release schedule.  A few of the ideas in my ideas folder are for serials and it might be fun to do something similar with an old-style pulp serial (with tons of gratuitous sex, obviously!)

So why not post these Sandwiched by stories up on Literotica or on your blog here?  Simple cold economics.  This is now going to be my job and if I want to keep it as my job I need to make sure it brings money in.  This doesn’t mean I’m going to stop posting on Literotica or take my existing stories down.   Free sites like Literotica are great advertising and if people like something they tend not to mind paying for more of the same goodness.  Think of it as getting more options to read more hot stories by me.

I’m hoping you’ll be tempted to give Sandwiched by a look anyway.  The first story will be out later this week just as soon as I’ve finished the cover.  It features two characters from Succubus Summoning getting a little more action (and if it’s not the two characters you were hoping, don’t worry, they’re going to get a story as well).

And speaking of Succubus Summoning, yes I know the latest chapter has been delayed again.  I was supposed to wrap up the series in Nov/Dec.  Sadly this got knocked around in all of the fallout from losing my job and having to move country.  Now I’m into the deadlines for the new collection coming out in March.  I’m hoping I’ll get that out of the way in Jan and can then devote Feb to (finally!) completing the Succubus Summoning 201 arc.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Many-Eyed Hydra's 2014 (It wasn't the best . . .)

2014 kind of sucked for me personally.

I had to scrap plans to put out a new collection in March as it wasn’t ready and then ended up not putting out any new books at all for the entire year.  While I did keep the Succubus Summoning series moving, I still fell short of my plan to make it a stable, monthly serial.

On the real life front the second half of the year was especially disastrous.  I lost most of August to stomach flu from hell and then September delivered a bigger whammy as I lost the job I’d held for the last seven years.  This was especially whammy-ish as I’d been working abroad.  No job meant no work permit and no work permit meant I had to leave the place I’d been living for the past five years and move back to grey old Britain.  If you’d been wondering why my #DailyWriting updates had dried up over the past couple of months then here’s your answer (unsurprisingly, losing your job tends to be bad for the self esteem regardless of how much money they give you to fuck off).

Tacking back to more positive waters, I did manage to get a fair bit of writing done in 2014.  While updates to Succubus Summoning were typically sporadic, I did get four new chapters out (208, 209, 210, 211).  I’ll look to complete the current arc early 2015 with the collected eBook version following soon after.  In 2014 I also put four brand new short stories up on Literotica: “A Real-Life Goo Girl”, “Busted Bankster”, “The High-School Sweetheart Removal Agency” and “What Kevin Did Last Summer”.  These weren’t the only short stories I wrote.  Currently I have another eight short stories waiting on my hard drive for suitable collections to include them in.

On the blog I tried out something new with some detailed playthroughs of monster girl hentai games like Violated Hero.  They didn’t help too much with book sales, but they did boost traffic to the blog, were fun to do and people seemed to like them.  I’ll be doing more of them next year, but I’ll be a little choosier over the games I pick as the Let’s Plays do soak up time and effort that could be devoted to writing as I mentioned here.  If Monmusu Quest: Paradox comes out next year I will be covering that for certain.

On the subject of time that is one thing I will have considerably more of next year.  While losing a regular source of income sucks dogs’ diseased dicks, I was at least sent on my way with a reasonable severance package.  Or Many-Eyed Hydra’s writing grant for 2015 as we like to call it.  At the moment my projects file is currently brimming with ideas for short stories, serials and novels.  I’ve been itching to get at it before those ideas go stale.  Next year will give me an opportunity to hammer out a lot of new material.  I’ve also got some other monster girl/succubus ideas I want to try out.  If the year works out and I’m able to balance the finances, I’ll keep going.  If not I’ll dust off the CV, re-enter the job market and be thankful I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to try out something as crazy as this.

Anyway, let’s hope 2015 will be a blinder of a year filled with plentiful sexy succubus smut!

Saturday, November 23, 2013

A Succubus for Remembrance is unleashed!

Finally, after a few hiccups, my new collection is out:


Think paranormal erotica is only about sparkly vampires and fluffy werewolves?  Think again!  You’re about to enter the bizarre and twisted universe of M.E. Hydra.  His sexy succubi and other assorted femme fatales will give you a wild ride, but be careful they don’t eat you whole in the process.

This, his fifth collection, contains thirteen tales of the darkest erotica.  A terrifying succubus wreaks vengeance on a group of former soldiers in “A Succubus for Remembrance”.  A man is sent by his therapist to an unusual nudist camp in “Iron Girders and Steel Springs”.  Two lovers look to a magical artefact to solve their problems in “The Skinning Knife”.  A sinister mobster engages sexy diabolic help to demonstrate “Ways to Break a Good Man, #1” (and no.2 and 3).  Bizarre and imaginative sex demons abound in a triptych of tales set in the hell-space universe.  Also includes an extra bonus tale, “Nazi vs. Succubus,” for lovers of extreme, no-holds-barred fiction.

Prepare to be surprised, shocked and aroused by these and other tales of fiendish femme fatales.  They'll give you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, and terrors beyond your darkest nightmares...

You can pick it up from:

Directly from my publisher, Excessica (variety of formats)

Amazon.com (kindle)

Smashwords (variety of formats)

Barnes & Noble (nook)

and others...

The last tale is a little nasty.  Horror-head got a little carried away and squeezed out a horror-exploitation (I really shouldn't let him watch all those video nasties from the '70s and '80s).  I like to push things as far as I can, but that one might be a little too far for some readers.  The warning is there to steer them away as I don't want it to spoil their enjoyment of the rest of the collection.  (I might be worrying about nothing and it's actually unintentionally hilarious.  It's difficult to tell with these things sometimes.)

I hope you all enjoy it.  If there's any questions or you want to leave feedback, feel free to use the comments below and I'll answer what I can.  And please spread the word - succubi need new willing acolytes! ;)

And now i can finally get back to Phil's adventures...

Thursday, November 21, 2013

"A Succubus for Remembrance" Excerpts - A Succubus for Remembrance

And we have a release date!  A Succubus for Remembrance and other tales of Femme Fatales is finished.  I'll be uploading the files tomorrow evening and it should be available from most online bookstores Friday or Saturday.  To whet the appetite here's another excerpt, this time from the title story:

* * * *

Greg Holmes was dreaming.  He knew he was dreaming because he was standing beneath the cliffs overlooking Kabul.

He knew it was a dream because he was on the other side of the world to Kabul and nothing—not wild horses, not masked men with guns, not even a direct plea from Her Majesty herself—would make him return to this wretched patch of rock, sand and sun.  It didn’t matter.  A piece of him would always be left here, frozen in time amongst the heat and dust like fossils in the sand.

He was not alone.

A woman stood at the base of the cliff.  As with most women from this part of the world she was covered from head to toe in a black burqa.  In itself that wasn’t an unusual sight.  What was unusual was the level of ornamentation added to her costume.  Exotic designs and symbols were stitched onto cloth usually as plain and black as midnight.  An exotic golden frill hung from the black scarf wrapped around her forehead.  The niqab covering her face was composed of gold and precious stones.  This was attire to attract rather than deflect attention.

And her eyes.  They simmered with sinful desire.

The sun plunged out of the sky and the cloudless blue of midday turned to the deepest indigo of night in a few blinks of an eye.  Time rushed around him as though he was standing in a time-lapsed film.  The only fixed points were him and the girl.

She turned and headed towards the entrance to one of the caves that carved deep holes into the rocky cliff face.  A warm orange glow emanated from within, promising warmth and shelter from the harsh desert night.  The same fires flickered in her eyes as she reached the entrance and glanced over her shoulder back at Greg.

The meaning was clear.  He followed her into the cave.

He was naked now.  So was the girl.  By the soft light of candles he caught glimpses of dusky skin, long lithe limbs, shapely swells of breasts and ass, and then the shadow-painted cleft of the most intimate part of all.

She beckoned him on with an outstretched arm, an exotic wraith painted in swirls of shadow and candlelight.

He stepped towards her, wanting—no, needing!—to put his arms around her and bear her down to the soft earthen floor of the cave.  Needing to feel her warmth between his legs.  Needing like a parched man needs water in the desert to hear her quiet sighs as they lay entwined together.

She opened her eyes and they flared orange like the fires of burning suns.  Like the balls of fire rising up from a city as airplanes rained destruction down on it.

Greg’s desire burned away to fear.

Something terrible with burning eyes awaited him in the darkness of that cave.

Yet he couldn’t stop.  Trembling legs put one foot in front of the other as he was drawn, inexorably, towards her outstretched arms.  Her eyes expanded.  Twin suns grew from tiny spheres the size of marbles into burning stars that filled his entire world.  They became his world and consumed him.  Beneath their scorching glare his body shrivelled to blackened charcoal and blew away like ashes before a bomb blast.

Greg jerked awake with a start.

The fuck?

Greg was not normally a dreamer and never as vivid as that.  He stumbled out of bed and walked into the bathroom to splash water onto his face.

He’d heard some vets complain of Post-Traumatic Stress, but he’d barely seen any action in Afghanistan.

Barely had still been too much.

Frowning, he looked down.  An erection was tenting the front of his underwear and showed no sign of going down.  He supposed part of the dream had been sexual.  He took care of it with his hand and returned to bed.

* * * *

A Succubus for Remembrance and other tales of Femme Fatales, out this weekend!

Thursday, November 14, 2013

"A Succubus for Remembrance" Excerpts - Ways To Break A Good Man, 3

Still buried in the guts of editing and formatting A Succubus for Remembrance.  Watch this space, soon, etc, etc.

In the meantime here's another excerpt from one of the new stories, "Ways To Break A Good Man, 3":

* * * *

DCI Ben Millard noticed the girl with the flame-red hair as he was walking back to the station after lunch.  Or rather, it was her perfume he noticed first—a seductive melange of sensual aromas that surrounded her in a cloud.  The perfume tugged at his nostrils as he walked past, teasing him with fragments of half-remembered erotic exploits.  The scent seemed familiar although he couldn’t place it.  Maybe it was a brand Adrienne used to wear.

Millard pushed thoughts of Adrienne aside.  Not today.

Even though he was single now, Millard didn’t usually look at other women.  Old habits die hard and all that.  This girl was hard to ignore.  She stood beneath a streetlamp about fifty feet from the rear entrance to the station.  Her appearance was as attention-grabbing as her perfume.  Her slim figure was hidden beneath a glossy leather coat that extended down to just above her knees.  A pair of long lithe legs emerged from the hem of the coat and terminated in a stylish pair of black shoes.  Her hands and wrists were covered in a matching pair of black gloves.  Lustrous red hair cascaded down onto her shoulders in waves of shimmering fire.  Millard thought she resembled a starlet from an old ‘70s thriller.  Unusual to see a young woman embrace the old fashions.  Classy.  Most girls today were either aggressively dowdy or ineptly raunchy.

“That’s a bit of alright,” DI Martyn Ward said to him as they passed her and entered the station.

“Bit young for me,” Millard said.

“Never stopped Berlusconi,” Ward said with a wink.

Considering he was a detective chief inspector in one of the largest metropolitan boroughs, Millard’s afternoon was remarkably incident free.  He debriefed the team on the forensics results from the latest murder case.  Case was possibly too strong a word.  One young lad, Joe Turner, had stabbed one of his mates in a petty dispute over a girl.  They had the motive—as feeble as it was—the murder weapon, and both Turner’s fingerprints on the murder weapon and his DNA at the crime scene.  This wasn’t one for the casebook of Sherlock Holmes.

Oh, the young lad would continue to swear black was white even when given irrefutable evidence of his guilt, but it would be enough for a jury.  Millard was sympathetic to the plight of disadvantaged youth, but—god help them—they didn’t half make it harder for themselves.

And that was mostly it for the afternoon.  Millard took advantage of the brief respite to get stuck into his paperwork backlog.  No doubt another alcohol-sodden city-centre weekend would leave him with a full plate of work again when he came back in on Monday.

“Hey boss.”  Ward popped his head around the door as the hands of the clock swept around to five-thirty.  “Looks like we’re all done here.  We’re going to have a poker night over at Chris’s.  You in?”

“Yeah, su—”

Millard pulled a face.  He looked at the phone sitting on his desk.  There was still one item sitting in his in-tray.

“Sorry, Martyn.  Still some work I need to get done.  Maybe next time.”

“Sure, no problem, boss.  Give us a buzz if you change your mind.”

Millard knew Ward was trying to help.  They all were after that . . . business with Adrienne.  The frustrating thing was this time he would have come along . . .

He looked at the phone again.

. . . if there wasn’t something else he had to do.

Millard carried on with his paperwork for another ten minutes or so and then got up to stretch his legs.  He walked over to the window and watched as most of the staff headed out to either their homes or their local watering holes.  He was tempted to say sod it and join them.

He noticed the girl with the flame-red hair was still waiting underneath her streetlamp.  Her arms were folded and she glanced left and right along the road.  She couldn’t be a working girl, could she?  She’d have to be a bit daft to set up a pitch here, not fifty yards from the largest police station in the city.  Poor lass must be waiting for someone.  No doubt they’d be in for an earful when they finally showed up.

* * * *

This one has links with another story in the collection and features a returning character from the last collection (Freedom).

Coming soon (providing I don't collapse from overwork :) ) . . .

Sunday, November 10, 2013

"A Succubus for Remembrance" - Cover

And we have a cover . . .


I still don't have an exact release date as I'm in the middle of the annoying fiddly formatting stuff at the moment.  It was supposed to be last Friday but has been revised to: 'as soon as I get the annoying fiddly ebook formatting stuff done and upload it.'  This should take place within the next week.  I'll put a post out as soon as it's up.

Wednesday, November 06, 2013

"A Succubus for Remembrance" Excerpts - Vernon the Volunteer

I was going to post a new excerpt yesterday but had a horror journey back from holiday that culminated in a car that wouldn't start and a flooded kitchen.  Fun times.

I still don't have a concrete release date as I'm still waiting on a few things like a cover and some final editing tweaks.  Usual #ChaosWriting, in other words.  I'll update here as soon as the new book goes live (hopefully sometime next week).

In the meantime here's an excerpt from the third of the hell-space stories in the collection, "Vernon the Volunteer".  (It's also a little bit more NSFW than the other excerpts).

* * * *

“—give a demonstration of the techniques used by H-space indigenous life forms to overwhelm and subdue opponents.”

Vernon didn’t really hear the doctor.  He was still staring at the girl who’d joined them up on stage with slack-jawed appreciation.  Holy shee-it.  Were all the girls of H-space as hot as this?  She was fucking smoking.  She looked like a lingerie model.  That was all she was wearing as well—lingerie.

Well kind of.

Vernon didn’t know what it was.  Some kind of inky-black substance covered her boobs and pussy like a cloud.  Didn’t bother Vernon that much.  Why be bothered about that when a super-hot babe was standing in front of him.  Vernon certainly wasn’t.  Like he wasn’t bothered by her horns either . . . or those yellow eyes . . .

Vernon frowned.  His brow furrowed.

. . . or her wings . . . or her tail . . . or the way she looked like a . . . devil . . .

Then she smiled at him with a face that looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine.

No, it was way better than that.  Model types were all haughty, stuck-up bitches.  He could see she wasn’t like that.  She was more like one of those pretty actresses that play the sweet girl next-door, and were just as nice as the characters they portrayed.

Vernon knew a girl just like that back home.  What was her name again . . .

Vampyrotiea’s eyes met his.  Her smile looked innocent and sweet on the surface, but there was a little curl at the corner that promised naughty pleasures once the lights went out and it was just them, alone.

. . . oh, he couldn’t remember.  Didn’t seem important.

“Vampyrotiea is a succubus,” the doctor said to him in a quiet voice.

Vernon’s eyes remained fixed on Vampyrotiea’s.  The doctor’s voice was an irritating mosquito whine in his ear he tried to ignore.

“Sexual intercourse with her will kill you.”

“Uh huh,” Vernon said, not caring what the doctor said.

She was gorgeous.  Amazingly, beautifully, gorgeously hot.  She had the full package—nice rack, peach of an ass, long toned legs.  And she was smiling at him.

Him!

“I’m so sorry, son,” the doctor said before walking away.

“Uh huh,” Vernon nodded again.

His hands were pointing forward from his sides.  He had the strong urge to reach out and grab her round the waist.  No.  Mustn’t scare her off.  He had to be smooth.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked.

She placed a warm hand against his cheek.

“Vernon,” Vernon replied.

His hand itched at his side.  He ached to slide it over the curve of that peachy ass, to feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers.

“I’m Vampyrotiea, Vernon,” Vampyrotiea said.

She caressed his cheek.  The strange inky-black substance covering her breasts flowed up her arm like the tendrils of a plant.  Didn’t seem important.

“I want you to do something for me, Vernon,” Vampyrotiea said.

He picked up a strange scent.  It must be her perfume.  Fancy perfume.  Expensive perfume.  Sexy perfume.

“I want you to pull your pants down.  Can you do that for me, Vernon?” she asked in a voice as smooth as the most expensive silk.

For a babe like her, of course he could.  Vernon undid his pants and dropped them and his underwear to the floor.  His boner popped up like a flagpole.

Vampyrotiea’s eyes lit up.  She murmured sexily and her other hand stroked up and down his shaft.  It was soft and gentle, just like her smile.  Twin tendrils of darkness slithered down her arm and nudged against his exposed boner.  Ticklish.

“I want you to fuck me, Vernon,” Vampyrotiea said.  “Fuck me hard from behind.”

She turned around and bent over a chair with her legs splayed apart.  That peach of a bubble-butt ass was right in his face and waggling invitingly.  The oily black cloud swirling between her legs parted like rainclouds before the sun and for a moment Vernon glimpsed . . .

. . . something like a maw.  A circular maw like the mouth of a lamprey, but with no teeth.  Instead Vernon saw rows and rows of fleshy lips.  It gaped open, deep purple in color and lined with pulsing black veins . . .

. . . the folds of her exposed vagina, moist and dewy-dropped with arousal.  She glanced back at him over her shoulder.  Her luscious lips were bunched up in a sultry pout and need smoldered in her eyes.  She was eager for him.  Desperate for him.

* * * *

I don't think this demonstration is going to end well . . .

Apologies for the continuing vagueness over the release date.  Keep an eye out here and I'll post as soon as the book hits the (virtual) shelves.


Thursday, October 31, 2013

"A Succubus for Remembrance" Excerpts - Slugjob

As promised yesterday, here's another excerpt from one of the brand new stories in my forthcoming collection A Succubus for Remembrance.  As it's Halloween, I thought it appropriate to let my sexy (and scary!) little witch, Annette Brite, come out and play.

* * * *

He saw light flickering in the archway on the other side of the room.  Someone was coming down the steps.

Annette Brite.  Naked Annette Brite.  Naked and gifted with the body of a complete sex goddess Annette Brite.  Hutson stared at her wistfully.  He’d thought she might be hiding a knockout body beneath that voluminous velvet dress, but the reality beat even his desire-fuelled imaginings.  She had gorgeous long legs and a pair of tits a reality TV show sleb-wannabe would sell her mother for.  Her skin was a little pale, but it suited her exotic features and was far easier on the eye than the gaudy fake tans favoured by the orange people.

He was less aroused by the occult symbols daubed all over her exposed flesh.  The markings were dull red in colour.  It could be paint but Hutson didn’t think it was.  She was still wearing that necklace of wooden beads.  She carried a torch in one hand and a long ebony staff in the other.  In the flickering light she looked like an albino aboriginal witchdoctor.

The feral savage look didn’t really suit her, in Hutson’s humble opinion.

What a crying shame.  Hottest bod he’d ever seen in the flesh and its owner was a complete fucking nutcase.

God, you’re a dick.

“Hello studmuffin,” she said, giving him a smile.

“Hi,” Hutson waved his hands out of the top of the manacles.  “It’s normally the blokes that have to resort to the Rohypnol, you know.”

“It’s crude, I know, but you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to bring men back here.”

“It’s not exactly the Playboy mansion,” Hutson commented.

The pool in the centre burbled again as a couple of bubbles broke the surface.  An odd smell came from it.  Hard to describe.  Not rot, not decay, not chemical, but bad.  Nasty.

And that definitely wasn’t a jacuzzi, Hutson thought.

“I don’t suppose I can get that massage now?” Hutson asked.  “These manacles are buggers on the wrists and shoulders.”

Brite paused.  Her full lips pursed and puzzlement flashed across her eyes.

Good.  That’s what he wanted.  He wanted her knocked off balance.  He wanted her to worry she might not be as fully in control as she thought she was.  Plus, it was what all the cool dude heroes did in the face of danger in the big Hollywood movies.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Brite said.  “But don’t worry, you’ll find tonight’s activities to be equally as pleasant, I’m sure,” she added, leaving the innuendo hanging in the air.

I Was Forced To Take Part In Satanic Orgy! Says Local Man.

“As long as you have condoms,” Hutson said.  “I always practise safe sex on the first date.”

Another puzzled look from Brite.

“You’re being very flippant,” she said.  “Do you think this is a dream?”

It took his mind off the fact his insides felt like ice-cold porridge.  It was taking nearly all of his willpower to stop himself from shitting streaks of thin diarrhoea across the stone floor.  He wondered if the cool dude heroes of Hollywood movies ever had that problem.

“No, I’ve been kidnapped by a crazy bitch who wants to sacrifice me to the Flying Spaghetti Monster’s evil twin.  But I don’t let anyone intimidate me.  Only my old man gets to do that and he’s been under the ground for over a decade now.  Where’s the rest of the Manson family anyway?  Shouldn’t your little coven be showing up by now?”

Those were the questions Hutson asked, but what he really wanted to know was: How long have I been out?

Brite smiled.  She recited some gibberish words that sounded like no language Hutson had ever heard before and banged the base of her staff on the stone floor.  He’d told her he wasn’t scared of her, and he tried to tell himself the same thing, but there was something really wrong here.  It was more than her obvious craziness or the weird symbols daubed on both the stone surfaces and her flesh.  It was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, like his senses were trying to scream something through a thick glass window and he couldn’t quite hear them.  There was something not right about her.

More bubbles welled up to the surface of the pool and popped with oily plops.

And that rancid pool gave him the fucking willies.

“You do realise if you stab me through the heart you’ll suffer three simultaneous heart attacks,” Hutson said, trying to bolster his flippant front.

Puzzlement again, then Brite gave a little giggle of laughter.

“Ah, the Wiccan Rule of Three,” she said.

“I thought you’d be aware of it, being the leader of the local Wicca group and all that,” Hutson said.

“It’s a sweet religion,” Brite said, “but the fate of the sweet is always to be crushed by the cruel.  My true religion is older and darker.”

“Older than Christ?”

“Older than man.”

Hutson knew it was nonsense, but felt an icy chill slither through his guts nonetheless.  His eyes widened, briefly cracking his shield of flippancy before he wrested back control from his primal fears.  Meant nothing.  Crazy people always sounded convinced of their crazy beliefs.  It’s why they were crazy.

How long had he been out?

She recited another occult verse and punctuated it by banging her staff down on the stone flagstones lining the edge of the pool.  More bubbles welled up and blopped at the surface.

Coincidence, or some kind of trick.

“Older than man?” Hutson queried.  “Are you seriously trying to tell me Cthulhu himself or one of his mates is going to rise up out of that pool and crush me in his slimy beard tentacles?”

He tried to show his derision through laughter.  He couldn’t keep the unease out of his voice and it came out too high-pitched—brittle and panicky rather than smooth and dismissive.

Her naked body.  What wasn’t right with what he was seeing?

“That’s all makebelieve,” Brite told him with a smile.  “An American writer made it all up and other writers copied him.”

She recited more ominous gibberish and banged her staff on the floor.  Hutson couldn’t pick out her words.  Even though she’d said them mere moments ago, they slipped straight from his mind.  It was as if his ears and brain found them so abhorrent they rejected the sounds and dismissed them from his memory.

Stop it.

More bubbles were streaming up to the surface of the pool and popping with noxious burps.

Burps.  That was a word to use.  And farts.  Children’s words.  The mangy pool was plurping and garargalling.  Pretend he was Ricky Gervais inventing stupid animals and calling them stupider names.  Twist her insanity and see it for the ridiculousness it was.

Hutson couldn’t keep out the atmosphere of dread.  It seeped through his skin and crept up his bones.  The sludge in the pool sloshed about like something was moving below.  Something big.  Even though he knew it had to be nonsense, he couldn’t shake the feeling that some vast and indescribably malevolent entity was rising up to the surface.  Coming to claim him.

Stop it!  Stop scaring yourself.

Brite raised her staff again.

Okay, that was enough.  Time to play his hand.

* * * *

Why the title "Slugjob"?  Uh . . . um . . . no particular reason . . .

*reads a little further*

Oh dear fucking god!  What the fuck was I on!?  Imagination, you're sick!  Sick, I tell you!

"Streetwalking with a Succubus" takes 3rd place in Literotica Halloween Story Contest

Literotica's Halloween contest results are in and "Streetwalking with a Succubus" took 3rd place:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/contest.php/halloween-2013

This is a nice boost before I enter the formatting hell of getting A Succubus for Remembrance ready for publication.  It's also quite hard for the shorter stories to place in Literotica's contests, so thanks to everyone who voted and I hope you enjoyed the story.

I'm now ineligible to place for the next couple of contests.  Anyone that's been following my writing for long enough will know this usually means an excuse to let Horror-head out of the cage and enter the nastiest story I have lying around.  I don't have anything for Lit's Winter contest, but I can promise something really dark and sexy for the Valentine's Day contest next year (and - shock horror! - succubus-on-girl action).

Before then I'll be putting out the A Succubus for Remembrance collection (there will be another new excerpt posted tomorrow) and then getting Phil's misadventures back on track.  It's annoying the Succubus Summoning series has slipped off its monthly schedule and I'll try to fix that.  Unfortunately I still haven't mastered the art of not falling to gibbering bits every time a publishing deadline comes around.

Monday, October 28, 2013

"A Succubus for Remembrance" excerpts - Ways to Break a Good Man, #1

Last Halloween I posted a story called "Ways to Break a Good Man, No.2".  A few people asked where the hell is "Ways to Break a Good Man, No.1"?  In truth there was an original "Ways to Break a Good Man, #1" story involving my succubus-wielding mob boss, Koontz, and a dangerous game for a 'good man' Governor's soul.  I liked the idea and it had a really effective horror scene early on, but the story kept petering out in a mess of convoluted dialogue (One character realised they needed to stall for time and I made them so good at it they kept filibustering the story into oblivion).  I've finally straightened that story out and it will be present in the forthcoming collection, A Succubus for Remembrance.  Here's an excerpt to whet the appetite:

* * * *

“My people are turning this hotel upside down as we speak,” King said, trying to regain composure, authority.  “They will find me.  And you.”

“Tut tut, Governor King.  You didn’t think Ceptophthorié was the only demon I have working for me . . .”  The fat man grinned like a toad before turning away.  “Enjoy your time with Ceptophthorié.  She’ll give your fall a soft landing.”

He tittered as he left the room.

That left King alone . . . with the demon.  He sat up on the bed and his gaze flicked back and forth between her and the lamp sitting on the bedside table.  He was ready to pick it up and hurl it at her should she make an aggressive move in his direction.

The girl didn’t move.  She sat on her chair and her full lips curled up in amusement.

“You look very tense.  Would you like me to give you a massage?” she asked.

“No thanks.”  King’s gaze flicked back and forth between her and the lamp.  “I’m not going to let you do to me whatever you did to McMillan.”

“That’s not how it works,” Ceptophthorié said.  “You have to do me.”

King’s brow furrowed.

“Like McMillan,” Ceptophthorié said.  “He shoved his big prick inside me and filled my gorgeous pussy with his cum.  Then I made him into my little toy.  Those are the rules—the man must instigate sexual intercourse of his own free choice.”

“Then I won’t,” King said.

“No?” Ceptophthorié arched a pencil-thin eyebrow.

“No,” King said, his voice flecked with ice.  “I have a wife and daughter I love very much.  I’m not interested in a common whore.”

Ceptophthorié smiled at his insult.

“I could make you,” she said.  “I could use my magic to pin you to the bed, climb on top, swallow up that gorgeous prick with my luscious pussy and ride you until you melted inside me.  Or I could entangle you in a web of seduction so potent the merest pluck of a thread would bring you to me on your knees like a faithful little dog.”

For a moment King felt that oppressive force of her presence wrapped around him like a velvet glove.  He feared her words were no idle boasts.

“Do it,” he challenged.

Ceptophthorié smiled.  “Where would be the sport in that?  There’s no fun in taking a man as if he were a common beast.  It’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?” King asked.  The more he kept her talking the more time it gave the others to find him.

“I want to play a game,” she said.  “Would you like to play a game with me?” she asked with a coquettish expression of wide-eyed innocence.

“What if I say no?” King asked.  “What’s to stop me walking out of that door right now?”

Ceptophthorié pushed her lower lip out in a disappointed pout.

“That would upset me.  I don’t like it when my games are spoiled.  And when I’m upset I take it out on the loved ones of the person who upset me.  McMillan is not my only toy.  Would you like your wife and daughter brutally gang-raped?”

The furious intensity of King’s glare was broken as he stared into the demon’s burning red eyes and realized she wasn’t bluffing.  It felt like ice-cold water poured down his spine.

“Now for the rules of the game.”  Ceptophthorié switched back to coquettish playfulness.  “It’s a challenge—your resolve versus my erotic temptations.  At sunrise I must depart this plane.  If you can resist my seductions until then you win and get to keep your soul.  I’ll even make it easier.  I won’t use my demonic abilities to entrance or otherwise compel you into having sexual intercourse with me.  I won’t even touch you . . .”

The corner of her full lips turned up in a suggestive smile.

“. . . unless you ask me to.  How does that sound?”

“It sounds very easy.  I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Really?” Ceptophthorié said with a teasing smile.  “It seems your body has other ideas.”  She glanced at the obvious erection tenting the front of his underwear.  “He seems eager to greet me, to feel the warmth of my flesh wrapped around him.”

King reddened and shielded the embarrassing protrusion with his hands.  It was an automatic response, that was all.

Ceptophthorié giggled.

“If I decide to play, what guarantee is there that you’ll stick to the rules?” King asked.  “If your . . . demonic—”

It still felt wrong to use the word even though he’d accepted the impossibility of what she was.

“—abilities are as powerful as you claim, what’s to stop you using them once it gets close to sunrise and I’m about to win?”

“My word,” Ceptophthorié said.

King snorted.  “You’re a demon.”

Ceptophthorié was about to feign an expression of hurt, but laughed instead.  “True,” she admitted.  “I won’t cheat though.  The game has no challenge if I allow myself to break the rules whenever the game doesn’t go my way.”

She fixed her gaze on King, temporarily casting aside her flirtatious mask.

“I want to see you fall.  I want you to feel the wind flutter through your hair as you plummet into my abyss and know it was you that jumped.  That is true pleasure.”

She closed her eyes, brought her hands up and lewdly squeezed the swollen mounds of her breasts.

“It won’t happen,” King said.  “You made a mistake.  You showed me McMillan.  Do you think I’d be stupid enough to fuck you after I saw what it did to McMillan?”

Ceptophthorié threw back her head and laughed.

“I always show the men the consequences of their own damnation.  It makes the game so much more interesting.”

The succubus made no move towards King.  He watched her warily.  At least it started that way.  His gaze dipped downwards and was pulled in by the lush, swollen hemispheres of her breasts.  It orbited her fleshy curves, trapped like a ship caught in a black hole, sucked down, tugged into the shadowy cleft of cleavage while he became aware of the steady beat of blood through his temples.  Down his gaze fell, sliding down a flat belly to the beginnings of her short skirt.  She uncrossed her legs and he glimpsed the gates to her sex—plump, dewy, welcoming.  His vision narrowed until it seemed like the shadowy pink cleft between her legs grew to encompass his entire world.  It was like he stood on the edge of the hotel roof, staring at something far below, staring then teetering, teetering then falling.  He was falling down into a fleshy canyon and the soft pink folds of her sex were opening to accept him, opening to engulf him.

* * * *

I suspect this game will be a little harder than Governor King first thought.  A Succubus for Remembrance, out November.

Monday, October 21, 2013

A Succubus for Remembrance Excerpts - Hugh the Hero

The holiday back home with the folks has been unsurprisingly chaotic.  I'm still endeavouring to get A Succubus for Remembrance ready for an early November release, although this might slip - I'd rather put out a good book two weeks late than an on-time book filled with embarrassing errors.  In the meantime here's an excerpt from one of the new stories, "Hugh the Hero."  This is the parallel-quel story to "Trent the Traitor."  You'll recognise the opening scene in the excerpt, although this time it's from Hugh's perspective.

* * * *

They paused outside a large ornate door.  Hugh saw a face he recognized walking in the opposite direction with an accompaniment of succubus guards.  One of the lower-ranked infantry grunts.  He’d seen him a few times in the main mess tent at Helmuth.  Weaselly-looking dude.

“Hang in there,” he bellowed.  “Don’t let them break you.  The marines will come.  They’ll bust us all out of this hellhole.”

Hugh truly believed that.  He believed in supreme American military might.  The unusual H-space physics and unorthodox hindig tactics had caught them off guard, but they would find a way to adapt and then they’d flatten this little shitball just as easily as they’d steamrollered over Osama Bin Laden, Saddam Hussein and all the other fucktards.

 “Pray to Jesus!” he shouted.  “Keep your faith in...”

Hugh’s words tailed off.  Why wasn’t this guy in chains?  Why did he look more like a VIP with an escort detail than a prisoner with guards?

An awful thought germinated in Hugh’s mind.  The attack on Helmuth had been too easy.  Even with their unorthodox tactics the devils should not have been able to penetrate their outer defenses and surprise them like that.

Unless they’d had inside help.

“You sold us out.”

Rage exploded within Hugh.  This asshole hadn’t just sold out his side, he’d sold out his country, his species, his world, God.  For what, a piece of demonic tail?

“You motherfucker.  You sold us out.  That’s how they got in so easily.  You sold us out for a piece of ass.  You traitorous fuck.  I’ll tear your fucking lungs out.”

Thoughts of waiting patiently for the right opportunity were incinerated in the incandescent blaze of Hugh’s righteous rage.  Right then, at that moment, he cared about nothing other than putting his hands around that fucker’s scrawny throat and squeezing until the asshole’s eyes popped out.

The bubblegum-skinned demon girls giggled and opened the big ornate door.

Hugh tensed his muscular frame to pounce and...

...was suddenly travelling backwards in the opposite direction.  He felt a constriction around his waist and looked down to see pink tentacle as thick as his thigh wrapped around his midriff.  It was fantastically strong.  Hugh was lifted up off the floor and dragged through the open door and down into darkness.  One of the succubi gave him a little wave as she closed the heavy door behind him.

Hugh’s struggling form was dumped onto a floor that was underneath an inch of what he initially thought was water.  The substance was wet, but as he moved his hands through it he realized it was too viscous to be water.  It felt more like warm slime.  The floor didn’t feel much like a floor either.  It yielded beneath his weight and felt more like a trampoline, or the surface to a waterbed.

Unsteadily he got back to his feet, wobbling on the yielding and slippery floor.  Initially the room seemed to be in darkness, but as his eyes accustomed he saw the slime beneath him was mildly phosphorescent.  It wasn’t as bright as the corridor outside, but his eyes were able to adjust and see—

Oh Mary-fucking-mother of God.

Most of the hindigs looked like the typical devil girls of computer games.  Some were weirder—he’d heard of floating jellyfish girls; strange plant hybrids; girls that were half spider; and he’d glimpsed the giant fog puffers that had overwhelmed FOB Helmuth.  The hindig before him was half octopus or squid.  From the waist up she had the voluptuous body of a porn queen.  There was a regal cast to her face as well.  Hugh might have thought it beautiful if it wasn’t for the unnatural bubble-gum hue to her skin, or her yellow eyes.  She didn’t have hair either.  At first he’d thought it contained within a pink sack hanging behind her head.  Then he realized that sack was part of her body.  He watched it swell up and down as if it was breathing.

That part, her upper half, Hugh could just about deal with.  It was her lower half that nearly tore his mind asunder.  His disintegrating sanity tried to tell him it was a ball gown—a giant, elaborate, puffed up ballroom dress, like a princess might wear in a Disney cartoon.  One that was so huge she needed to stand on stilts to wear it.

He wasn’t yet insane enough to be fooled.  It was a ring of pink tentacles, each as thick as his thigh.  They bulged out of her waist and curled down to the ground.  Hugh saw it clearly even though he knew it should not be.

“Welcome,” the demon said in a surprisingly melodious voice.  “I am Enteroctia.”

* * * *

And that's a little more of Hugh's eventual fate revealed.  For the rest you'll have to wait until the new collection comes out next month.

There is also a line in this story that should hit like a slap in the face.  Don't worry, I love you all really... ;)

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

A first preview for "A Succubus for Remembrance"

In an ideal world this would be where I show off a cool new cover and a coming soon link.  As I normally write in a state of complete chaos those aren't ready yet.  It also didn't help that the last few stories ended up being 10,000+ word monsters and a couple needed full rewrites.  In the meantime, while I'm trying to get my shit together, here's a peek at the contents list:

1. A Succubus for Remembrance
2. The Skinning Knife
3. Vernon the Volunteer
4. Trent the Traitor
5. Hugh the Hero
6. Slugjob
7. Iron Girders and Steel Springs
8. Ways to Break a Good Man, #1
9. Ways to Break a Good Man, No.2
10. Ways to Break a Good Man, 3
11. Vampiric Boobies
12. Streetwalking with a Succubus
13. Nazi vs. Succubus

Some of those will be familiar, but not as many as with previous collections.  This time over half will be brand new stories making their first appearance with this collection.  These are also some of the longest stories I've written.  This time I built the running order from my ideas file and then wrote the stories afterwards.  I wouldn't recommend this approach to any budding writers as you end up with a 90K monster instead of the more sensible 70K words it should be! :D

The list isn't 100% finalized.  "Nazi vs. Succubus" was supposed to be a succubus-themed parody of the Ilsa nazisploitation films.  I let horror-head out of his cage for that one and he ended up rampaging off into some very dark and disturbing territory.  I'll have to run that one past the folks at eXcessica to make sure it doesn't cross the line.

Overall A Succubus for Remembrance might be a little darker and more monstery than my other collections.  Perversely, it also has my highest number of happy-ish endings so far.  Some questions are answered - such as what did happen to Hugh in "Trent the Traitor" and you'll also get to see "Ways to Break a Good Man, #1" after I confused everyone with the title "Ways to Break a Good Man, No.2" last Halloween.  More of the devious witch Annette Brite's background will be revealed, the hell-space campaign continues to worsen, and I add Octopus Girl/Scylla to the list of monster girls I've written stories about.

Provisionally, the collection should be out early November, although there is a chance the date might slip (Chaos writing, sorry).  I'll be giving out further details in the coming weeks as well as excerpts from the new stories.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Print Version of A Succubus for Freedom Out & Other Anthology News

The print version of A Succubus for Freedom and other tales of Obscene Orgies is finally out. You can grab it on Amazon here, or from eXcessica directly here. I live in hope one day I might actually get both the print version and ebook version out on the same day. Sorry for keeping you print lovers waiting. My own copies are winging their way towards me to be added to my Shelf of Books Guests Must Not Read...

I also have a few new stories coming out in eXcessica's fundraising anthologies.

The first, Colors, is out now.


It's an anthology of interracial erotica. I submitted a story about two lovers skinning each other and having sex.

Sometimes I wonder why the good folks of eXcessica put up with me...

The next is back to more familiar territory for me: an anthology of erotic horror tales to chill the bones in time for Halloween.


My story for that one is titled "Crabs" and I believe the anthology will be available on the 12th October.

Warning: Will Make Readers Wince.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

A Succubus for Freedom: Excerpt 6

There are six brand new stories in my new collection, A Succubus for Freedom. I've already run excerpts of five of them. Here's an excerpt from the sixth. It's the twisted homage to Robert E. Howard I talked about back here. This time it's "Barbarian vs. Succubus".


* * * *

Even exaggerated with wine-soaked bravado, none of the tales of the Seraglio of Neeb matched up to the reality. It truly was a temple to the worship of sensual pleasures. The rooms beyond were more sumptuous than even the King’s own chambers. Nanok saw pools of crystal-clear water with fragrant flower petals sprinkled on the surface. Mountains of soft silk cushions were piled upon lush, exotic furs. And the girls . . .

Nanok had never before seen such a collection of comely beauties. If willing wenches were as plentiful as apples on the ground then these maidens must be the sweetest, most succulent fruits of the Gods’ own orchard. Nanok saw sapphire-eyed willowy blondes from Fe’berg; flame-haired temptresses from wild Zeminolia; olive-skinned beauties from the islands of Oran; a dark-skinned Buronthian with her black hair twined together in long braids; girls from every corner of the map he’d travelled to and some from regions he’d only heard of in campfire tales. Their supple bodies were naked save for swathes of fine silk around their shapely hips. All were adorned with delicate golden chains and glittering precious stones. A king’s treasure in metal, stone and flesh, was Nanok’s thought.

This temple even had its own idol. At the far end of the long room, with its legs astride a walkway between two pools, stood an enormous statue of the same horned devil woman Nanok had seen on both the chains of office and capstone above the entrance. Clouds of incense wafted around the statue’s legs.

All civilised men made a worship of hedonism and pleasure, in Nanok’s opinion. At least in Neeb they were honest about it.

The girls remained queerly composed. Nanok would have expected some to flee screaming at the arrival of ten bloodstained and battle-weary men, and wouldn’t have begrudged them. He’d sacked his fair share of cities. He knew full well men with their blood up from battle, even the most noble, often committed terrible atrocities in the moments following a city’s fall. These girls seemed so unafraid Nanok wondered if they might be ensorcelled or lost in dreams of the lotus. The same enchantment seemed to have spread to Nanok’s men. Rather than charging in like lusty sailors finding port after a long voyage, they were stricken with a kind of awe. They entered quietly and respectfully, more like men on their way to worship at a temple than men looking to spend coin and seed at a bordello.

Two veiled maidens—one dusky, the other as pale as a snowfield—approached Nanok and bowed.

“Esqeta told us King Lyoncar is dead and we are to serve you as we served him,” the dusky maiden said.

“We are yours as we were his,” the pale-skinned girl said.

“What is your wish, King Nanok?” the dusky-skinned girl asked.

Nanok smiled. “I have some battle-weary dogs in need of the light touch of a woman’s hand to pick up their flesh and spirits.”

As with the veiled Esqeta, if the women balked at the presence of the sweaty, bloodstained soldiers, they hid it well. They seemed well-versed in that peculiar civilised art of quelling the fires of the heart that Nanok so often found infuriating when dealing with the sophisticated elites. The slippery sons of snakes never let on what they were really thinking. By Dhom, the battle had been hard enough as it was. He was in no mood for thawing the loins of frosty dancing wenches.

He didn’t have to worry. The two veiled maidens led him to a soft pile of silk cushions. Both ran soft hands over the iron-hard muscles of his biceps and thighs while cooing like lovebirds. Nanok grinned. As usual, the daughters of civilisation were only too eager to let in the wolf prowling outside their gates.

Nanok lay back on soft cushions. It was a welcome change from cold earth and hard pallets. Around him the atmosphere grew more raucous as his men stripped off their armour and cavorted with the harem girls. Music—an exotic caterwauling of unearthly pipes, cat-screech strings and beating drums—played in the background. Plentiful food and fine wines were brought in—a coronation feast befitting a new king. And by Dhom, why shouldn’t he enjoy it. He’d earned it through blood and steel, as was the right of all men.

“Ha ha,” Vroo guffawed. “These wenches have been starved of real men for too long. The sagging sceptre of a fat old king is no substitute for the sword of a virile fighting man.” He took a bite out of a large leg of ham and rubbed his face between the breasts of the voluptuous maiden lying next to him.

Over on a plush divan Dranitreb was attempting to woo his maiden like a yellow-bellied Kosskootan—a kiss to her hand, a kiss to her wrist, a kiss to her arm, a kiss to—

“You’re supposed to make love to her, lad, not send her to sleep,” Nanok called out. “Forgive the pup,” he said to Dranitreb’s partner. “He became a man only today.”

Dranitreb blushed. Understanding flashed in the girl’s eye. With one quick motion she had Dranitreb on his back and was astride him. Nanok smiled. The Zeminolians were renowned horse riders. The young pup was likely to find himself broken in like a stallion if he didn’t watch himself.

The corded steel of Nanok’s neck and shoulders softened as he relaxed on the cushions. The battle was won; time to enjoy the spoils. The pale-skinned maiden brought a platter of sweet grapes and fed them to him while her companion caressed his muscles with first her hands and then her lips.

Scented smoke was filling the room like a fog. He watched it spill out of the nipples and sex of the giant idol and roll across the floor like mists across the northern lakes of Abyleen. Nanok snorted, trying to clear his nostrils of the cloying perfume. The scent was pleasant, but too thick. It overpowered his senses and left him feeling diminished in the way a blindfold over his eyes would take away his sight.

A fiery ache blossomed in his body and surged down to his loins. Sensing his arousal, the dusky maiden took off his loincloth and Nanok’s cock rose with the mists. The air must be drugged. Nanok had heard of such things. Plenty of peddlers in the flesh pits of Po-Teat promised all kinds of unguents, potions and scents to help a man’s rod stay straight and true. Undoubtedly King Lyoncar had required a little something of that magic to help him fully appreciate his treasures. Nanok thought it feeble. If a man had a willing wench beside him, he needed no help.

A gong sounded. The music paused.

“Lady Esqeta will now dance for your pleasure,” the dusky-skinned maiden whispered in his ear, close enough for him to feel the soft pressure of her full lips.

Nanok’s interest pricked up. He was curious to see what the mistress of the seraglio was hiding beneath her robes. A great cloud of smoke billowed from between the legs of the giant idol. Like the breath of a dragon, Nanok thought with a small sliver of disquiet. Two slender girls—golden-skinned beauties from far-off Kallahia, waved fans as they fluttered before the cloud like exotic butterflies. The smoke faded and revealed Lady Esqeta.

* * * *


This was the last story to finish for the collection. Originally it was a simple prospect - take musclebound-but-dim stereotypical barbarian and have a succubus turn the tables on them. Then I reread all of Howard's stories and remembered his Conan, the archetypal and Ur-barbarian, is far more clever and cunning than the fantasy stereotypes that followed.

There's a little black joke at Howard's expense buried in the story. It wasn't deliberate, just a combination of words that could be taken to mean something else. I only noticed it was there when I was editing. I thought about editing it out, but that would mean acknowledging I have something other than a lump of black coal for a heart, which patently isn't true. Apologies anyway, Mr Howard, you stupid daft bugger for killing yourself so young. His genius is available to read here, and well worth checking out to see how good the early pulp masters were.

My humble effort, A Succubus for Freedom, is available now as an ebook from here, here, here, and even B&N here, although no one seems to go there anymore.

For the people waiting for a print version, I do have the full coverflat artwork now and I'm just waiting for the print manuscript to go through. I'll post here with details as soon as the print version of the book is available to buy. Sorry for the delay on that.

I'm not sure which fantasy stereotype is up next for "vs. Succubus". I have Rogue and Samurai (with a guest appearance from another of my characters) pencilled in. Any others you'd like to see?

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

A Succubus for Freedom: Excerpt 2

Okay, so the 3rd was a smidgeon optimistic. The 17th is looking more likely now. Sorry about that.

By way of an apology here's another excerpt. This is from "Riding the Medusa", one of two previously unseen H-space stories in the collection.


* * * *

When Gossow had first heard about Riding the Medusa he’d thought the guys were yanking his chain.

“So you let her wrap her tentacles around you and reel you right up . . . and then you fuck her . . . ?”

Gossow might look like a hick and speak like a hick, but that didn’t mean he had nothing but straw between his ears. He recognised a game of wind-up-the-new-guy when he saw it.

Of course this was early on, before he’d heard all the other rumours. Turned out H-space was a really fucked-up place, with the emphasis on fuck. The eggheads had managed to open up a doorway to super-porno-rapo world.

Erlandsson’s theory was they hadn’t left Earth at all. He reckoned their brains had been fried by some kind of failed military experiment. Here was some kind of hallucination or dream; they were really drooling vegetables back on Earth.

He could be a morose little fucker sometimes.

Gossow had stabbed him in the thigh with his knife. Not hard, just a little prick. See. No dream.

“Yeah. You let one catch you and pull you right up to her. You don’t have to do anything. Just lie back and she’ll do the rest.”

Gossow wasn’t convinced.

“It’s a jellyfish. Won’t it be cold and squishy?”

“No man. It’s fucking awesome. It’s like fucking an ass and pussy and getting a blowjob all at the same time.”

* * * *

And that was how Gossow came to be standing on a rock at dawn, as naked as the day he was born, stubby erection between his legs, with the great black expanse of Lake Latex stretching out before him. He trembled with excitement as he saw a jellyfish girl glide down out of the roiling clouds towards him.

Come and get me, babe.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Erlandsson hissed from his hiding place in the rocks.

Gossow motioned for him to be quiet.

Erlandsson was there as his wingman. A man going off to Ride the Medusa needed to have a good wingman, if he wanted to live. As good as sex with a jellyfish girl was supposed to be, it would kill a man if it went on for too long.

Initially Gossow was sceptical on that point. He didn’t know much biology, had spent those lessons drawing smiley-faced sperm in the textbooks, but he was fairly sure it was physically impossible for a man to come himself to death.

That was until he was part of the team that had found Private Wiberg.

They reckoned Private Wiberg had gotten a little too excited after hearing the stories and gone off to try Riding the Medusa without first finding a wingman. Private Wiberg had been eighteen. The body they’d found looked like it belonged to an eighty-year-old.

Riding the Medusa needed a wingman. Their job was to wait until the man had had his fun and then put a bullet through the balloon-like bell. Then pfft, the man would float gently back to earth as the balloon deflated. Technically the men had strict orders to avoid the jellyfish girls, but as the girls’ bodies always evaporated to nothingness after hitting the ground, no one would ever find out. As long as a man brought along a wingman, Riding the Medusa was easily the best recreational activity to be found at FOB Rigg.

* * * *


You just know it's all going to go horribly wrong . . . ;)

I'm still waiting on eXcessica for an ISBN number. I'll post the coming soon link as soon as it's ready and hopefully A Succubus for Freedom will hit the amazon store and everywhere else on the 17th August.

Saturday, October 08, 2011

October is the month for new manyeyedhydra stories

Not only do I have a 3rd anthology coming out on the 21st (I may have mentioned this a few times), but I also have a few runners in Literotica's annual Halloween competition.

"Guard Duty" features gangsters, a mysterious crime boss and a succubus in a cage. It expands on the little universe I'm slowly putting together and introduces a new player. It also features a very nasty bit of philosophical fridge horror if you look hard enough.

"Naga Massage Review" is a follow-up to "Naga Special Massage" and shows a different aspect of the lovely Amanda.

I might also enter a new Nicole story for the less death-by-sex inclined if I manage to finish it in time.

So there you go. Stories are like buses. You wait ages for one to show up and then a whole bunch appear at once.

Enjoy! ;)

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Some slightly dubious story titles

A while back I remember reading about a B-movie exploitation-flick producer who kept a drawer full of lurid and trashy film titles, ready to be emblazoned over whatever poor film fell into his grubby mitts. I think he might have been a fictional invention, of either Kim Newman or Neil Gaiman if I was forced to guess. Anyway, through a weird quirk of wormholes and other weirdness, this drawer has crossed time, space and the 4th wall, and taken up residency in one of the deeper recesses of my brain.

My short story titles are getting worse. Okay, so I've already used such gems as "The Biggest Tits in the World" and "The Orgy of the Pink Flesh". The last one was even supposed to be vaguely serious.

This weekend I completed a short story entitled "Vampiric Boobies". I'm currently working on a story called "Don't Fuck The Flowers".

In my scrapbook of ideas I have such delights as "Bloodfuckers of Romania" and "The Giant Pussy on the Wall". Not to mention my epic full novel idea - "Porno Fighters from Planet Earth".

Sigh.

Chances of ever being taken remotely serious as a horror writer: nil.

Gonna have to face the awful truth. I'm the reincarnated soul of a sleazebag exploitation skinflick producer from the sixties. There's no hope for me.

Fuck it. Let's have fun. :)

Monday, February 21, 2011

Beware the 'quick' story ideas...

Blegh. Another weekend gone and about the only writing done was dragging what I thought would be a simple little short story idea painfully over the last thousand words or so needed to complete it.

I've had that happen a few times. Usually I let an idea gestate in my head for a while until it picks up the missing pieces. Sometimes I'll have a story arrive that's nearly already full-formed right away. Then I get the foolish notion to take a break from the current writing project to scribble down the story right away. I mean it's all there. I practically don't have to think. Surely I'll be able to bash that out in a couple of days.

It never works out that way. I wonder if it's because the story already seems so fully formed. It's too rigid. There's scene A to scene B to scene C and chunks of cool dialogue that have to be rammed into the appropriate holes. What seems seamless in the mind doesn't always fit together when typed on a computer screen. Then it becomes a bloody minded exercise to bludgeon the story into place.

It seemed so simple at the start.

Take one arrogant online massage parlour reviewer. Add one savvy receptionist prepared to call bullshit on his wheedling for a discount/freebies. After all, what kind of serious reviewer would announce themselves beforehand. Project further and imagine how the lovely naga, Amanda, would deal with an incredibly rude client and...

Ewww. I thought she was one of my nice ones. Horror-head, did you really have to hijack this?

Sunday, January 30, 2011

"A Succubus for Valentine's Day" out in two weeks

My second collection of short stories, A Succubus for Valentine's Day and other Tales of Perilous Pleasures, is out in two weeks time. Here's a little excerpt to whet your appetite - a steamy shower scene with a succubus some of you might have seen before:


The girl pulled off her costume. Normally Pat would have respectfully looked away and allowed her to shower in a kind of pseudo-privacy, but they were far beyond such civilized niceties. The air in the shower crackled with the intensity between them. Primal forces were at work here.

The girl’s eyes locked with his as her costume fell to the floor. The swimsuit had only hinted at what lay beneath, what was revealed to Pat took his breath away. She had the figure of a svelte savage beauty—lithe, athletic and with a perfectly flat stomach. Pat was entranced as she padded across the floor to him like a jungle cat through exotic waterfalls. He knew he was her intended prey and didn’t mind. It was refreshing for the roles to be reversed.

Pat put up his arms to welcome her into his embrace, but she casually batted them away, sliding her body behind his instead. The erect points of her nipples rubbed against his back. Her hands came around and roamed over the firm contours of his chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. She liked what she found, leaning forward to blow warm air in his ear before planting a light kiss on the lobe.

She broke off her hug and continued moving round behind Pat. She plucked his shower gel from an alcove in the tiled wall and squeezed out nearly all the contents down the front of her body. Pat watched, his long dormant cock twitching to life, as the thick amber gel oozed down the valley between her breasts. She rubbed the gel into her flesh, bringing it up to a creamy white lather.

She turned to smile at Pat, a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. She upended the plastic bottle and emptied the last of the shower gel in a thick dollop on top of her outstretched palm. She discarded the empty bottle and padded stealthily behind him.

She pressed her breasts against his back again and Pat felt the slickness of the lather between their bodies. She moved her body against him, sliding up and down, side to side and in circular movements, using her breasts like a sponge to wash his back.

Different, and...pleasant.

Pat gave a shocked tremble as she reached around and closed her gel-slathered hand around his erect cock with an audible squelch. The coolness of the gel caused Pat to suck in an involuntary ‘ooh’ of surprise. It was a pleasurable shock though, and became more pleasurable as she slid her hand up and down his shaft with liquid pumps.

She giggled in his ear, the sound light and fresh like a bubbling mountain stream. Pat turned his head back, meeting hers for a wet kiss beneath the warm shower spray. She continued to pump his cock while spreading creamy lather across his chest with her other hand.


A Succubus for Valentine's Day and other tales of Perilous Pleasures - Out Feb 11th.