Showing posts with label new collection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label new collection. Show all posts

Thursday, July 16, 2015

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day available in Print form

A few months late, but it's here.


This is the physical copy version of my latest short story collection.  The ebook version did come out around Saint Patrick's Day a few months ago, but the print version ended up lagging behind for one reason or another.  This has now been fixed, so if you prefer to read my stories in physical book form rather than on an ereader, the latest collection is now available.

Here's the blurb:
Who is the lucky one - the man given sensual pleasure beyond his dreams, or the succubus that ensnares and drains him? 
Dangerous and delectable sirens abound in M. E. Hydra's sixth collection of horror erotica.  Within these pages you'll find thirteen tales that will tempt, tease, titillate and terrify.  Read and enjoy as dark temptresses weave their seductive webs and draw in their (un)fortunate prey. 
In "A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day" a down-on-his-luck gambler thinks his fortune has changed when a magical succubus comes to his aid.  A strange agency provides an unusual service in "The High-School Sweetheart Removal Agency".  A researcher has a dangerous and highly sensual encounter with an alien creature in "A Real-Life Goo Girl".  In "Number 66" an expat searches for an unusual girl in the fleshpots of Bangkok.  An accomplished thief falls prey to a shadowy guardian in "Rogue vs. Lamia".  A rich man gets the bigger dick he's always wanted in "Crabs", only to discover the treatment has some alarming side effects.  And finally, a young man gets a surprise when he tries to rape the wrong victim in "Joe Boyega Picks a Bad Night to Become a Rapist". 
They'll give you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, and terrors beyond your darkest nightmares...
The collection consists of 13 stories of sexy succubus/monster girl horror erotica.  Six of these can only be found in this collection while a seventh only appeared previously in a horror erotica anthology from eXcessica.

The print versions aren't big sellers for me, mainly because Print-on-Demand makes books considerably more expensive than typical mass-market paperbacks, but I always like to make a print option available if I can because I know some people prefer to own physical books over ebooks.  It's also a nice ego-trip for a writer to see their own books sitting on a bookshelf. :D

Anyway, sorry for making you wait so long for this, print lovers.  I'll try to make sure the print and ereader version releases are synchronised a little better for future books.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

I'm back online and another snippet from A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day

And finally I have regular internet again.  The phoneline was connected to my new house today.  Obviously the first thing I did was download Monmusu Quest! Paradox. :)  I'll be starting with the Let's Plays as soon as I get everything setup on this new laptop.

Before then, Saint Patrick's Day might have gone by but I still have a brand new collection of delicious and evil short stories to promote.

Here's an excerpt from "Rogue vs. Succubus Lamia" (the strikethrough is deliberate, for reasons that will make sense once you've read the story).  This one is supposed to have a more traditional fantasy feel.

* * *

“I want you to steal the Heart of Aphrossi,” the elegant veiled figure lounging on a luxurious divan asked Nai.

Her name was Madam Esqetti and she was rumoured to be the most powerful individual in Bollinbrocco’s infamous pleasure district.  So powerful that even the notoriously corrupt ruler of Bollinbrocco, Lord Vingsloteni, reputedly stayed out of her affairs.  This was the first time Nai had met her.  Her face was obscured by a black veil and she wore an elaborate—and expensive—gown of overlapping velvets.  Nai could ascertain nothing about her age or beauty.  His first impression yielded no impressions.  That meant he’d assume the rumours were true and treat her as someone not to be trifled with.

Two bare-breasted beauties had greeted him at the entrance to Madam Esqetti’s legendary bordello and led him up to this opulent room on the top floor.  Curtains of exotic fabrics, held in place with chains of precious metal, decorated the walls.  Rare furs and plush cushions were positioned around the room.  The bare-breasted beauties had left him alone with the infamous Madam, at which point she’d made her request.

“Okay,” he answered.

Madam Esqetti laughed.  “Most thieves would baulk at such a task.”

Nai gave her a rakish smile.

“I’m not most thieves.  I’m the best thief.”

“They said you weren’t short of confidence,” Madam Esqetti said.  “I hope your abilities match your bravado.  Weakling failures are of no use to me.”

She produced a roll of parchment and unfurled it on top of a small table.  Nai guessed it was plans to the Temple of Aphrossi.  He listened as she gave him information on guard numbers, patrols and other defensive measures he’d need to overcome.  Nai was impressed with her thoroughness.  He listened to her proposed plans, stopping her occasionally to interject his own suggestions.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I want the Heart of Aphrossi and what I intend to do with it?” Madam Esqetti asked him once they’d gone through the plan.

“No.  I’m interested in only the gold you’ll give me for bringing you the Heart of Aphrossi.”

“You’re not curious at all?”

“Not at all.”

“How very professional.”

“There is one additional thing I require for this task...” Nai said.




Monday, March 16, 2015

Update and another snippet from A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day

Some updates.

First off, thanks to everyone who bought my new collection.  I hope you all enjoyed reading it.

Currently I'm still in the middle of the moving house.  I don't have regular internet access at the moment, which means I'm not able to keep as up-to-date with replying to emails/comments and the like.  This should be fixed when I get a phone connected on Thursday.  Not having internet while my first book in around 18 months is out and I need to promote it is not the best timing, but there you go.  (I suspect there will be something else I'll be doing as soon as I get online as well).

On some of the questions I've received about A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day:

I don't know why it hasn't gone up on Smashwords.  I'm checking with my publisher at the moment.  (UPDATE: it's now live on Smashwords)

Also, there will be a print version at some point.  That's another thing I'm checking with my publisher. (It's my fault more than their's.  Once again the deadline snuck on me far faster than I anticipated.)

Mon-Musu Quest: Paradox is out.

Yep, I will own up to cursing a little that they picked this weekend to put it out.  That's definitely one for how to have your book release utterly over-shadowed. :)  Only a minor bit of cursing - I'm as excited to play it as I'm sure eveeryone else is... when I get a damn internet connection again!

As soon as I'm back online I will be doing a let's Play of MQ:P.  I suspect that one might take some time...

As to my own writing.  Next on the todo list is "Sandwiched by Scyllas".  I'm hoping to get that out before the end of March.  After that it's the one I imagine a lot of people have been waiting for - I finally get around to finishing the Succubus Summoning 201 arc.  Also I haven't forgot about that little Twine game I was working on either.  Now I'm not rushed off my feet I'm going to see if I can sneak a few hours on A Night With Ceptophthorié a day.

Plenty to look forward to. ;)

But I'm also supposed to be promoting my brand new collection.  So here's another tease, this time from the title story, "A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day", to entice those of you that haven't yet bought it:

* * *

“Luck of the Irish, eh, Irish” the barman said as he poured Nic a commiserating shot of whisky.

Nic wouldn’t know.  He was born and bred in the home counties.  The closest ties he had with Ireland was a grandmother from Dublin he hadn’t seen in over a decade.  Nic had a knack for accents and after travelling the casinos of Europe he’d noticed everyone loved the Irish and hated the English, especially plummy-voiced Southern boys.

The Irish accent also worked much better on the ladies, not that Nic was in the mood for anything other than getting drunk and moping.  Just to rub it in, this would be the night one of the hottest girls Nic had ever seen came up and sat on the stool next to him.  Nic didn’t know the Ribchester did shows.  The girl was dressed up in bright green top hat and tails like a cabaret dancer.  Vivid red hair spilled out from beneath her top hat and cascaded onto her shoulders in shimmering waves.  She had the delicate elfin face and high cheekbones of a model, but rather than being cold and haughty, her large eyes and warm smile gave her the expressive features of a girl that looked fun to hang out with.  She also looked like she had quite the figure hidden beneath that waistcoat judging by how the material bulged and was stretched taut at the chest.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi?” Nic said.

Normally this would be the point he’d turn on the fake Irish charm and see how far it took him.  He wasn’t really in the mood.  Not after losing his shirt—twice!—in the same night.

Besides, she was probably a working girl and there was no way he could afford her.

on account of losing his shirt—twice!

She was wearing an odd choice of clothes for a hooker, though.  And normally they liked to get their claws into some shmuck on a lucky streak.  There were no mirrors nearby, but Nic suspected he looked like someone who’d just watched their favourite puppy get run over by a lorry.

“I’m your succubus,” the highly attractive girl said while flashing him a smile that’d give a butterfly diabetes.

“My what?” Nic said.

“Succubus,” the girl repeated.  “The stone you have in your jacket pocket is a succubus tablet—my succubus tablet.  Whoever owns a succubus tablet is master of its succubus.  You own the tablet.  That makes you my master.”

Nic shook his head and took a gulp of his whisky.

Hooker, waitress, showgirl, prankster; as hot as she looked, he really didn’t need this nonsense.

Friday, March 13, 2015

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day - Out Now!

I'm glad to announce my sixth collection is now out and available to buy.



Amazon link
Excessica link
Smashwords link
(let me know if it's absent from your ebook purveyor of choice and I'll check with my publishers)

Here's the blurb:


Who is the lucky one—the man given sensual pleasure beyond his dreams, or the succubus that ensnares and drains him?

Dangerous and delectable sirens abound in M. E. Hydra’s sixth collection of horror erotica.  Within these pages you’ll find thirteen tales that will tempt, tease, titillate and terrify.  Read and enjoy as dark temptresses weave their seductive webs and draw in their (un)fortunate prey.

In “A Succubus for Saint Patrick’s Day” a down-on-his-luck gambler thinks his fortune has changed when a magical succubus comes to his aid.  A strange agency provides an unusual service in “The High-School Sweetheart Removal Agency”.  A researcher has a dangerous and highly sensual encounter with an alien creature in “A Real-Life Goo Girl”.  In “Number 66” an expat searches for an unusual girl in the fleshpots of Bangkok.  An accomplished thief falls prey to a shadowy guardian in “Rogue vs. Lamia”.  A rich man gets the bigger dick he’s always wanted in “Crabs”, only to discover the treatment has some alarming side effects.  And finally, a young man gets a surprise when he tries to rape the wrong victim in “Joe Boyega Picks a Bad Night to Become a Rapist”.

They'll give you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, and terrors beyond your darkest nightmares...


I hope you all enjoy it.  Please leave your thoughts in the comments below (or better still leave a review up on Amazon or other places).

Thursday, March 12, 2015

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day previews - 3: Number 66

Here's the third in a series of six previews of the brand new stories in my upcoming collection, A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day.  The reason they're all scrunched together rather than spread out a bit more is the sudden cloud of chaos that engulfed my life over the past few months.  I'm currently in a nice new house and things are looking much better, but I'm without an internet connection until a phone line is put in next week.  Thankfully, blogger seems to have a "here's one I prepared earlier" feature so I can queue these previews up over the next couple of days.

That's all boring technical stuff anyway.  Let's go straight to the words instead.  This one's from "Number 66".  In this one there maybe sexy body-to-body massages on an air mattress.  There may also be terror and icky Bad Ends.  You'll find out at the weekend (I hope - I'm going to look very foolish after doing all this if the date gets moved back).

* * *

Harrison took a taxi.  The GI was right; it wasn’t where he’d expected it to be.  Pom Prap Sattru Phai was off the beaten path for the degenerate expat set.  This was where the normal tourists came to take pictures of old Buddhist temples.  Harrison thought the man might have the wrong street.  He arrived there and saw a plain narrow alley.  It was only when he walked down its length he found the massage parlour discreetly tucked away.  The signs and neon lights were as gaudy as any down Soi Cowboy, but positioned in such a way they couldn’t be seen from the main thoroughfare.  Harrison wondered how they did any business hidden away like this.

A shrunken mama met him at the door.

“American?”

“English,” he corrected.

She led him down a stairway festooned with tinsel and flashing pink Christmas lights.  At the bottom he was shown into the infamous fishbowl room.  Fifteen girls sat in three rows of five behind a big glass window in the far wall.  They were dressed in skimpy bikinis and each had a white disc with a number on it attached to their right hip.

And there she was—number 66.

She was impossible to miss.  She was tall, leggy, busty, blonde... totally unlike the other girls sitting behind the glass.  She was clearly a foreigner and Harrison wondered what she was doing here, working as a common hooker amongst the local girls, especially with a body like that.  She was as good as any glamour model Harrison had seen in lads’ mags and those models had the advantage of Photoshop to brush up their appearance.  It made no sense at all.  Why was the girl here when she could be doing the exact same thing for fifty times the price out in the expensive hotels by the airport?  It must be as they said—she was a rich heiress playing around for kicks.  She certainly had an aloof air about her.

The other girls were a much of a muchness.  Harrison saw plenty like them every night in the clubs in Patpong, apart from maybe the girl sitting in the centre of the front row.  She looked a real sweetie. It was something in her eyes and smile.  There was an infectious sense of fun about her.  Her figure wasn’t bad either.  She couldn’t compete with the blonde girl, obviously, but at least she had some curves beneath her bikini top.  Smiling enthusiastically, she beckoned to Harrison, urging him to pick her.

From the disc at her waist he saw she was number 9.  She was the girl both Murray and the GI had recommended.  He could see why.  She looked cute.

Under normal circumstances Harrison might have picked her.  That wasn’t why he was here though.  Number 66 was why he was here and that was the number he whispered into the shrunken madam’s ear.

The madam made eye contact with Number 66 and the blonde girl looked Harrison over.  For a brief horrible moment Harrison thought she might reject him, but instead she gave a curt little nod and got off her chair.  She met Harrison in the corridor outside and took him all the way down to a door at the end.

The room on the other side was a surprise.  When he’d visited establishments like this before, the girl usually led him to a small cramped bathroom with a narrow inflatable lilo squashed up against an equally narrow bath.  The room he walked into was palatial by comparison.  A big jacuzzi bath stood in one corner.  A patterned screen hid the other.  On the floor in the centre was a king-size air mattress.  Even as big as it was there was still space on the floor to walk around it.

Harrison looked at the lush designs of ancient debauchery painted on the tiles covering the walls.  “This is fancier than I was expecting,” he commented.

Number 66 didn’t answer, instead motioning for him to go behind the screen and take his clothes off.

Before he did he asked her for her name.

She smiled and pointed to the white disc attached to her hip.

* * *

Out soon, A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day and other tales!

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day and other tales - The tales

My newest collection of short stories, A Succubus for Saint Patrick’s Day and other tales, is out (should be out) this weekend (as I may have hinted in previous blog posts).  It features a mixture of previous uncollected Literotica stories, some brand new stories, and a story from one of eXcessica’s collections that people might not have had a chance to read before.

Here’s the full running order—thirteen wickedly dark and sexy tales.

  1. A Succubus for Saint Patrick’s Day
  2. The High-School Sweetheart Removal Agency
  3. A Special Tube of Lube
  4. A Real-Life Goo Girl
  5. Busted Bankster
  6. Number 66
  7. Rogue vs. Succubus Lamia
  8. The First Time
  9. Snared, Sucked and Slurped
  10. Pussy-Wrapped
  11. The Night Doyle Lowry Saw a Terrible Thing and was Sucked into a Quagmire of Sensual Depravity
  12. Crabs
  13. Joe Boyega Picks a Bad Night to Become a Rapist

A few weird titles as you can see. ;)

So what will you find this time around?

There are plenty of succubi, some obvious and some less obvious.  I’ve also included stories about other monster girls such as slime girls, a sea anemone girl and an unusual take on a lamia.  There are others that slithered out of the black pools of my imagination and have no names.

As for the fetishes, there are the usual leanings towards femdom and Bad Ends.  There are a few sensual massages—one four hands, one body-to-body on an air mattress, one girl-on-girl.  There’s a bit of mixed fighting that owes a lot to the sexy designs of videogame characters.  Some vore (that one was predictable).  Also, one of the stories features an erotic sink, a fetish I haven’t covered before, but does fit in with my style.

And, because I had to let Horror-head have some fun, there’s also a guaranteed erection destroyer.  Have to remind people occasionally that we’re doing horror here, not just the sexy stuff. ;)

There are plenty of returning characters, some that haven’t been seen for a while.  I’m sure some of you will have fun spotting the references to some of my older work.

The stories are weird, they’re wicked, and they’re wicked sexy.  There should be something for everyone here, I hope.

I’ll blog more details when the ebook is out and available to buy.  In the meantime, previews will be continuing for the rest of the week.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day previews - 2: Joe Boyega Picks a Bad Night to Become a Rapist

Originally I was going to space out these previews a little more.  The last couple of weeks have been completely mental with a house move and trying to get this finished.  But I did manage to upload the manuscript to eXcessica today, so the new collection, A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day and other tales, should be out Fri/Sat.

Here's another tease from one of the stories ("Joe Boyega Picks a Bad Night to Become a Rapist").  One of these characters might be familiar...

* * *

 Joe Boyega tracked the woman in the black dress and white fur stole as she walked up Donohoe Road.  She didn’t notice him.  He was just another city kid hanging around a bus stop.  In this environment his dark blue hooded top functioned as effectively as camouflage fatigues in a jungle.

The woman was elegant and sexy.  Class followed her in a tangible cloud.  She breathed it in and out.  She was totally different to the girls on Joe’s street.  They acted like they were gonna be celebrities—pop stars, actresses, models; it didn’t matter—but anyone else could see they were nothing more than low-class skanks.  They didn’t want Joe and he was happy with that.  He didn’t want them either.

Joe wanted the woman in the black dress and white fur stole.

This woman had it... refinement.  She looked like a real star.  Her black hair was cut in an exotic Cleopatra bob that framed a pale, ethereally beautiful face.  Joe had never seen the whole of her face.  She always wore a pair of large fashionable shades that hid most of it whenever she was outside.  To Joe she seemed less a human being than some kind of aloof alien—as perfect as a fine art sculpture—gliding effortlessly through a sprawling morass of humanity.

She was a whore.

He’d figured that out after watching her house for the past month while he pretended to wait for a bus at the stop across the road.  Him staking out her front door had come about by accident.  At one time he used to catch the bus from here to take him up to The Cornish Block, a pub on Whittaker Road, where he’d worked behind the bar.  That hadn’t lasted long.  The owner of The Cornish Block had been dealing drugs out of the back and the feds had bust him, taking down The Cornish Block and Joe’s evening job with it.  It was during his waits for the bus he’d first noticed the sexy girl in black.

It was easy to work out she was a whore.  All the different men coming and going through her front door had been a giveaway.  There were way more than could be explained by an active dating life, and they were of all types and ages ranging from fit young men to silver-hairs with the expanded waistlines brought about by late middle age.  The one thing they shared was money.  They all looked well off, but then everyone looked well off when compared to Joe’s circumstances.

There could have been an innocent explanation—some other business she was providing—but Joe doubted it.  He’d watched men both come and go.  When arriving they’d approached the door in a furtive, sidling manner.  As if they knew they were up to something that wasn’t quite legit in the eyes of society.  It was totally different when they left.  When they walked out of that front door their chests were puffed out as if they’d just successfully negotiated contracts worth millions of pounds.  One time Joe had even glimpsed the woman through the door as she waved her client goodbye.  She’d been dressed in nothing more than frilly black lingerie that had contrasted with her pale white skin.  He’d also been surprised by the number of tattoos covering her exposed flesh.

Then he supposed it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.  She was a whore after all.

It was that puffed up feeling, like he was worth a million pounds, Joe wanted.  That’s why he’d picked her to be the one.

And because she was a whore.

He reasoned she’d be more used to it.  For her it would be less... traumatic.

Joe paused as he contemplated what he was about to do.

...traumatic.

Shit.  Was he really going to go through with this?

The reptile part of his brain reared up and asserted control.

She was a whore.  She’d be used to this.  It was what men paid her for day in and day out.  He would have paid her too... if he had the money.

He felt bad about it, but he had to pop that damn cherry.  It was driving him fucking insane.

The woman in the black dress walked up a short flight of steps and started to unlock her front door.  Joe glanced to his left and right.  No-one about.  Perfect.  He crossed the road with brisk strides, bounded up the steps, and then bundled her through her front door and closed it behind him all in one smooth movement.

“Don’t cry out,” Joe warned.

He held up a big kitchen knife.  It glinted in the light cast by the streetlamp outside.

* * *

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day and other tales, coming soon!

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day previews - 1: A Special Tube of Lube

A while back I allowed readers to choose a story from my stockpile to be posted up on the internet.  Of the three choices, one - "A Special Tube of Lube" - remained hidden.  In a few days time you'll all get a chance to read it as it's included in my forthcoming collection, A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day.  If all goes to plan the book should be available to buy on Friday.

In the meantime here's a sexy excerpt to whet the appetite.

* * * *

Erica and Eunice took off their woollen jumpers and stepped out of their casual jeans.  Holy fuck, would you look at those bodies, Larry thought.  There was a pair of lingerie models standing in their underwear in his living room.  He’d suspected they’d been dressing down to mask their figures, but he hadn’t expected both to be so jaw-droppingly gorgeous.  They were all legs and soft, smooth, inviting curves.  Had a page from a Victoria’s Secret catalogue come to life in his living room?  They wouldn’t have looked out of place there.  Hell, they’d have probably shown up most of the other girls.  They posed for him, showing off the fantastic curves of their chests and the equally smooth canvasses of their asses.  Erica was wearing skimpy pink underwear with lacy trim.  Eunice had the same, but in devilish flame red.  Both looked hot enough to set the carpet and curtains on fire.

Erica looked at his boxers and motioned for him to take them off.  Larry obliged with a smile.  He hadn’t been totally sure what their visit would entail—how far they’d go—and he’d been too afraid to ask directly, but this, and the strip of condoms he’d seen in Erica’s bag, made him a lot more confident the service he thought they might be offering was the same service he hoped they were offering.

“You joining in?” he asked.  Erica and Eunice had made no move to remove their bras and panties.

“Later,” Erica said.

“It’s better to draw these things out,” Eunice added.  Her words felt like a moist tongue slowly running down his shaft.  Already erect, Larry’s dick twitched in eager anticipation.

Erica patted the surface of the massage table and Larry climbed up and lay on his front.  The surface was surprisingly well-padded and soft.  Comfy.

He felt firm hands on the back of his neck.  Erica gave the meat of his shoulders some experimental squeezes.

“You’re very tense.  Up here is all knotted up,” Erica said.

“Stresses of work,” Larry lied.

Shitty posture while playing too much Call of Duty on his Xbox more like.

“Are you okay with us using massage oil?” Erica asked.

“Sure.”

“Why don’t we use the special cream?” Eunice said.

“What a splendid idea,” Erica said.  “As long as that’s fine with you,” she leaned down to whisper in Larry’s ear.

“Fine with me,” Larry said.  “What’s so special about it?”

“It has aphrodisiac properties,” Erica whispered close enough for her warm breath to tickle against his earlobe.  “Or so they say.”

“We save it for our... special... clients,” Eunice said.  Her hand slid down and lingered against his inner thigh.

“So I’m ‘special’ now then,” Larry grinned.

“You’re young and your belly doesn’t hang over the side of the table.  Trust me, that’s a vast improvement over our usual clientele,” Erica said.

Larry laughed.  “For now,” he said.  “I shouldn’t laugh too much.  That’ll probably be me in twenty years time.”

Working remotely on software while dressed in only a dressing gown and slippers; Xbox; military shooters; playing military shooters under the guise of working remotely on software while dressed in only a dressing gown and slippers—ah, the perils of modern living.

“So this ‘special’ treatment...”  Time to stop pussy-footing about and pop the question.  “Just how far does it go?”

Now Erica was close enough for her soft lips to brush against his ear.  “As far as you want it.”

That sounded like an affirmative.

He jolted as Eunice tickled the underside of his scrotal sac with a long fingernail.

Felt like an affirmative as well.

Both girls giggled.  Through the corner of his eye Larry saw Erica walk away and pull something out of her bag.  He heard a rude sound.  He assumed Erica was squeezing some kind of thick substance out of a tube, but there must be some air caught inside as it came out with a series of burbling squelches that reminded Larry of the lewd sounds of sex organs coming together in the filthier porn flicks.  It was oddly arousing.  Naughty cream for a naughty massage, he thought with a smile.

“This might feel a little cool at first,” Erica warned.

 * * *

A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day, out Friday 13th March!

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!

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, 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?

Sunday, August 12, 2012

A Succubus for Freedom: Excerpt 5

Continuing the excerpts from A Succubus for Freedom, here's a tasty chunk from the other new Hell-space story, "Onychophoral Dreams (The Soul Worm II)":


* * * *

It was quiet. I didn’t notice it until it was almost right on top of me and by then I was too surprised to react. She—

That’s the weird part. It’s so easy to focus on the human-like parts and forget their other . . . bits. I know I should think of it as an it, but it’s always a she.

She was right in front of me, not more than a couple of paces and as naked as the day she was born. Cute as well. She had a smile like the girls you always wanted to talk to at school, but never had the courage to ask. Those naked titties of hers were something to behold. Big, round, firm, and with the sweetest pink nipples you ever saw right in the middle of them. Pink like her hair, if it was hair.

I didn’t move. Ever since Beth . . . since Beth . . .

. . .

It’s been a while since I’ve seen a girl’s titties in the flesh. The other guys’ll go to their strip clubs, maybe get more if it’s offered, but not me. That ain’t me. Now there was this gorgeous naked girl standing right in front of me and I was so shocked I didn’t have the first idea what to do.

Except she wasn’t a girl. You only had to look down to past her waist to see that. Where a normal girl would have a cute little ass and maybe long sexy legs if you’re lucky, this girl had . . .

It’s hard to describe. Hey, you know what a velvet worm is? Proper name is peripati or puripatus or something like that.

Nephew of mine likes keeping weird little bugs for pets and that was one of them. They call it a worm, but it walks. Has these stumpy little legs—not like a millipede, more like a caterpillar.

Anyway, that’s what the girl’s lower body looked like—long, worm-like and dark pink in colour, but with rows of stumpy little triangular legs running down each side. She’d reared up so it looked like she was standing upright like a normal girl, but with that long, moist-looking worm body below the waist and fleshy little pyramid legs waving around in front of her. Even if you couldn’t see that lower peripati-whatever body, you’d still know she wasn’t a human girl. She had antennae. They grew out of her temples like the eyestalks of a slug. There was a second, bigger pair, growing out of her hips on either side of her pussy.

Ah, her pussy. It’s going to sound weird, like I’m the biggest goddamn pervert in the world, but I swear to you it was the sweetest damn little cunny you’re ever likely to see. So clean-shaven, as if it had been plucked, and with all her intimate folds tucked up so nice and tidy within her.

I know how I sound—a fucking deviant lusting after freaky demon poonang—but there was something about her exposed vagina. It drew the gaze, grabbed the eye and held it there like it had been harpooned. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m a good man, a god-fearing man. Heck, there hasn’t been anyone since Beth. Yet I was staring and gawping like I was back at puberty with my first porn mag beneath trembling fingers.

And while I was standing there and gawping like a deer in headlights those weird stalks sticking out of where her hips should be opened out into fleshy tubes and sprayed gunk all over me.

The gunk left her tubes as a jet of liquid, but it was already solidifying by the time it reached me—setting like glue or maybe some kind of stretchy rubber. The first sticky line hitting me in the chest knocked me out of my trance. I tried to struggle free, but it was already too late. She stood there and squirted more sticky threads over me until I was totally gunked up.

At that point I noticed the sticky gunk was eating right through my clothes like acid and I really started panicking. I thought for sure I was going to be melted in freaky alien slime. I thrashed around like a berserker.

Not that it did me any good. The thick threads stretched, but they were strong like thick rubber and stickier than glue. The girl thought it was funny. She stood there with her arms under those perfect pink titties and her shoulders moving up and down like she was giggling.

I was a crazed animal at this point. I was dreading the moment when the slime finished eating through my uniform and started to cut into my flesh.

It didn’t happen. As corrosive as the gunk seemed to be to clothes—and hair—I didn’t feel any pain or loss of sensation when it reached my skin. It felt warm, sticky and kind of pervy. Yeah, a weird description, I know, but that’s how it was. The stuff covered me and I felt all dirty and excited at the same time, like I was about to have illicit sex with that girl at school everyone warns you to steer clear of.

I kept pulling at the sticky, stretchy filaments, but my motions were slower now, like a punch drunk boxer on the ropes in the tenth round. I was stuck fast and knew it.

“Have you quite finished?”

Yeah, she spoke perfect English. It was a shock to me too. I stopped struggling and stared at her like I was an inbred redneck.

Her voice was high and sweet, kind of like a young woman being all teasy and girlish. She had that kind of face as well, if you ignored her weird antennae things.

“You won’t break loose, no matter how hard you struggle,” she said.

She was right. I was all trussed up in her sticky white ropes. What unnerved me was part of me seemed perfectly happy with this.

“What do you want?” I asked.

She didn’t miss a beat. She reached down and hooked a finger right up between the folds of her pussy. I swear that sweet little face went and gave me a smile dirtier than the filthiest jezebel.

* * * *


Out now on Amazon, B & N, Smashwords and other ebook websites.