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.

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.

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).

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!

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.

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!

Coming Soon... A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day

Just leaving this here.

Excerpts and more information to follow this week.

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.

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.

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.

A Succubus for Freedom: Excerpt 4

A Succubus for Freedom is already out as you might have seen. I don't have exact details on when the print version will appear - hoping to have more information on that soon. In the meantime here's another excerpt from one of the new stories, "Come on the Candle". (Sorry about the repetition for the people who've already picked up a copy - I'll make it up with a new Jackson in HRPG World mini-serial starting here after I'm done with the ASfF promotion season.)


* * * *

“She looks like a devil,” Vince said.

The candle looked like the kind of prop you’d expect to see in an old Hammer film about Satan worshippers.

“That’s because she is,” Annette said. “She is Arpella, spirit of lust and temptation. The ritual is a rite of cleansing. By spraying his seed onto the candle, a man is—in essence—telling her: ‘Take this. It has no hold on me.’ It’s a way of demonstrating he has transcended the pleasures and desires of the flesh.”

“Arpella?” Vince queried. “Not Lilith?”

The sculpture looked like a Lilith, or one of those succubus demons from a computer fantasy role-playing game.

Annette laughed. “That’s a Christian invention,” she said. “They took their stories from the Romans and modified them, just as the Romans took theirs from the Greeks, and the Greeks took theirs from sources long forgotten in the dust of history.”

Vince looked at the candle. “This ritual. All I have to do is light the candle and masturbate over it?”

As genuine as Annette sounded, he couldn’t quite shake the fear the attractive shopkeeper was having a joke at his expense.

“That’s right,” she said.

“Sorry. I’m picturing this in my head and it looks . . . well . . . a little ridiculous to be honest.”

“Smell the wax,” Annette said.

Vince put the sculpture to his nose and took a cautious sniff. Oh. That smelt kind of nice. Exotic. Like perfume or incense, but with a hint of something else. His previous mental image of him jerking away in front of the candle was swished off screen and replaced by a picture of a dusky desert maiden belly-dancing in a cloud of scented smoke.

“That’s the real magic,” Annette explained. “The wax is impregnated with a special blend of aromatic compounds and essential oils. As the wax melts they’re released into the air and inhaled by the user.”

“Oh. It’s a kind of aromatherapy,” Vince said, understanding.

“Yes,” Annette said. “The smoke will help you relax and achieve the perfect state of mind for flushing all the tensions from your body.”

That was good to hear. Vince was a little apprehensive about the ‘flushing’ part.

“Actually,” Annette lowered her voice, “one of those compounds is quite a potent aphrodisiac. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the force and strength of your release.”

The shop owner might have the voice of a prim and proper schoolmarm, but right there and then she gave him a look as filthy as any of the nymphs from the naughty films Carolyn had forbade Vince from seeing.

* * * *


It's Annette Brite up to more mischief. This one is best described as like "Bubble Bath", but with smoke. I haven't forgotten about that foam succubus minion either. I'll be catching up with her in the next collection.

And yeah, I know, Vince is a bit of a strawman. . .

A Succubus for Freedom: Out Now!

You can’t escape . . . You won’t want to escape . . .

Succubi and other monstrous femme fatales abound in M.E. Hydra’s fourth collection of wild, warped and wickedly dark erotica. Lie back and enjoy as alluring sirens ensnare helpless prey in thirteen weird tales of sex and horror. They'll give you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, and terrors beyond your darkest nightmares . . .



Here's the full list of the stories:

A Succubus for Freedom
Exile
Guard Duty
Don't Fuck the Flowers
The Biggest Tits in the World
A Night at McHooligans
Barbarian vs. Succubus
Onychophoral Dreams (The Soul Worm II)
Naga Massage Review
Come on the Candle
What Bad Boys Get For Christmas
Riding the Medusa
Locked in with a Succubus

Some of the titles will be familiar, but I managed to boost the original story content up to nearly half. Six of the stories are brand new and only appear in this book. I also modified a couple. "Locked in with a Succubus" should now have an ending that makes more sense. "The Biggest Tits in the World" is actually my lowest rated Lit story, partly because of some scale issues in what happens. No problem - Lovecraftian Geometry to the rescue!

The six brand new stories feature the stone tablet succubus being thoroughly evil in a hefty 11K word novella (if you like your demon girls BAD, you'll really enjoy this), the Robert E Howard 'Conan' homage I mentioned in previous posts, something a little experimental with some lush descriptions of hell, an odd succubus summoning rite with candles and smoke, and two Hell-space stories featuring some bizarre (and sexy) monster girls.

Why are the chapters for "Locked in with a Succubus" alternating with the other stories instead of in one place?
Originally it was a weekly serial and I wanted to preserve that feeling of having a 'pause' between each chapter. It's one of those things that might work or could suck. It wouldn't be any fun being independent if I couldn't do the odd bit of experimental craziness now and again...

The book can be found on amazon, and in amazon UK (where no one actually reads me, which is ironic considering they're the only people that might understand some of my more obscurer references! :) ). It's also on B&N, smashwords and also directly from eXcessica's own site. I even put it on various romance fiction sites, because that's where we upload books, although I pity the poor person downloading it in search of fuzzy paranormal romance.

I hope everyone enjoys it anyway. Sorry it was so late coming out. It does mean I can now finally get back to Succubus Summoning 201, another project I've fallen a little (okay a lot!) behind on. I would love for people to leave reviews, but appreciate that amazon's insistence on real names might make that unappealing for some people. Please feel free to let me know what you think in the comments below or even email me directly at manyeyedhydraATgooglemail.com. The same for any suggestions. I can't guarantee I can satisfy all of them, but I don't mind tweaking scenarios to cater to specific fetishes (especially ones I haven't got around to covering yet) or even tweaking character descriptions if there's someone/thing you'd like to see in a story.

A Succubus for Freedom: Out this Friday!

Yep, that's right. A slot opened up and so it will be out August 3rd after all. It means I'll have to compress my book plugging, but hey, who wants to read book plugs when you could be reading the actual book.

Here's an extract from the title story, "A Succubus for Freedom", to celebrate:

* * * *

Andy thought the girl from his dream was just that—a dream. Then he saw her in the flesh a few nights later while they were playing a gig at The Wyld Hart.

The Wyld Hart was an odd sort of pub. It was too far off the beaten track to be absorbed into the bland franchise chain conglomerates and it didn’t have the history and character to be one of those defiant locals’ haunts. It wasn’t really the town’s rock pub either—that was The Drunken Choir out on Newcastle Street, where the bikers hung out—but it had been colonized by the metal and emo kids from the town’s schools and college. They had nowhere else to go, so they fetched up at The Wyld Hart because it had a jukebox that wasn’t full of R’n’B and Landfill Indie.

The landlord didn’t mind. The kids brought custom and even if they were ‘funny looking’, they were a lot less bother than their peers, who normally required scraping off the vomit-sodden streets every Saturday night.

Scott Battersby was normally around anyway, and no one messed with Scott Battersby.

Most people assumed Scott was the landlord even though this wasn’t the case. He did rent rooms up on the first floor and spent most of his time either behind the bar or manning the door, but he didn’t own the pub. Scott looked intimidating—bald and squat like someone had taken a seven-foot person and squashed them down to six—but he was a decent enough bloke in Andy’s opinion. Unless he was in a mosh pit. Then you stayed the fuck out of his way. Andy and the band had gone with him to a Megadeth gig. Scott had been quiet for most of the night, and then “Hangar 18” came on and a neat hole formed in the crowd around him as Scott started moshing. Scott was old school.

Scott read the board they’d chalked the band’s name on as they were setting up their gear.

“Perverts In Satan’s Service?” he said, doubtfully.

“Our new band name,” Stidolph said. “Cool, isn’t it.”

“You do know what it spells out?” Scott said.

Both Andy and Chris gave him the dejected ‘yeah, we know’ look.

Chuckling, Scott shook his head and walked away to tend the bar.

Confusion fluttered across Stidolph’s face. “What’s the problem? Is there something wrong with the band name?”

Andy put a hand on his face.

Stidolph wasn’t exactly the brightest spark, but he was still a decent frontman. The gig kicked off and straightaway he was snarling out lyrics and prowling the front of their makeshift stage as if possessed by the spirit of Ozzy himself. Of course, it would have looked more impressive had he been, you know, taller than five-foot-four.

They were halfway through a cover of Dimmu Borgir’s “Succubus in Rapture” when Andy saw the girl from his dream amongst the collection of onlookers that might loosely be termed the crowd. It was impossible to miss her. She wore a lurid red corset that accentuated her cleavage, an indecently short miniskirt and kinky red fishnet tights. Goth-wear with the kinkiness dialled up to eleven. Andy was so surprised to see her he fucked up and missed a few beats. It didn’t matter as Chris did the same. The only one who didn’t fuck up was Daniel, and that was because he was staring at the floor.

The girl watched them all the way through the set. She leant against a pillar in the centre of the room and looked so hot Andy wouldn’t have been surprised had the old oak timber caught fire. Both Stidolph and Chris were convinced they were the ones she had eyes for and showed off accordingly. Andy was a little unnerved. She looked exactly like the girl he’d dreamt about a couple of nights ago.

She wasn’t the only unexpected onlooker. As Andy was packing away his kit at the end of the gig he noticed Richard speaking with Scott over by the bar. No, more than speaking, laughing and joking as if the two men were old friends. Whatever could a boring fart like Richard have in common with an old-school thrash-head like Scott?

He didn’t get a chance to ponder it further. The hot girl, her eyes smouldering, was walking towards them. Both Stidolph and Chris stepped up to introduce themselves. She walked straight past them without a sideways glance. Her burning eyes were on him. They had been all night.

“Um . . . hi . . .” he started.

The girl shushed him with a finger on his lips. Her other hand grabbed a twist of the T-shirt covering his chest and formed a fist. Both Stidolph and Chris gaped at him in surprise as the girl shoved him in the direction of the toilets.

Yes, for the first time in rock history, the hot chick ignored the singer and lead guitarist and went straight for the drummer.

* * * *

Hey, someone found the succubus tablet . . .

It'll end in tears. (But there'll be some hot sex along the way).

Here's the nice coming soon link on eXcessica's site. It'll also be out on Amazon, B & N, Smashwords and the other usual places. I'll put the links up on Friday. There will be a print version, but it will probably be a week or so later. Given that I've never managed to successfully synch an ebook release with a print release in my entire (short) writing history, this will not exactly come as a surprise.

A Succubus for Freedom and other tales of Obscene Orgies, out Friday!

A Succubus for Freedom: We have a cover!

Tentatively, I also have a date, which is next Friday (August 3rd). I'm just waiting for confirmation on that. It will either be that or the 17th. These vagaries happen when writers write too slowly and miss their scheduled slots. :)

I'll post a more detailed follow-up including the full story list as soon as I have confirmation.

A Succubus for Freedom: Excerpt I

It's a little (lot!) overdue, but I'm down to the final editing and formatting for my 4th collection of short stories, A Succubus for Freedom and other tales of Obscene Orgies. There will be thirteen stories in total, with six of them being brand new, never-before-seen. Here’s an excerpt from one, “Exile”, to whet the appetite.

* * * *

I don’t know who They are, but I know They exist. They left me with that even as They gouged out everything else. They left me with the knowledge this is my punishment, but not what I’m being punished for.

They left me a reminder of what I’ve lost.

If I close my eyes I can see it. Somewhere else. A world of fire and passion. It’s there in my memories, a far-off tunnel I walk down until I emerge into a maelstrom of flames and screams. Countless voices soar and swoop in a crescendo of pain and fear. An orchestra of agony, playing the most sublime symphony of suffering, its instruments countless tortured souls.

It is beautiful.

Pure.

Leaping flames twist and sway across the midnight-black sky. They dance like exotic birds with long plumes of brilliant yellow, red and orange. Their partners for the dance are souls pinned on long blackened iron spikes. Ten feet high the flames reach, caressing feet, ankles, hands, sexes with long flickering tongues. The flames’ lascivious touch scorches hair, chars skin and melts fat. There are pauses in the dance, when the flames die down to flickering red embers. It’s a respite to allow fingers and toes to regrow, molten fat to solidify back into tissue, and skin to creep back over scorched muscle.

The souls scream loudest then.

Looming beyond the fires are the great iron windmills. Powered by great sails of living human skin, black cogs and gears turn ceaselessly, a constant metronome to the unending orchestra of agony. There are people caught in the gears. Caught between the teeth of unyielding metal, their bodies stretch and twist but never tear. The cogs turn and turn, contorting individuals into stretched tubes of skin and meat with a core of splintered bone.

Nothing truly lives here, so death has no dominion. There is only sensation.

Eternal sensation.

I walk down a path paved in mewling babies, their bodies compacted into living blocks. They stare up at me with eyes like glossy marbles and cry through tiny mouths lined with teeth as white as precious pearls. Their wails buoy me up like a feather in a breeze. Up ahead is the palace where she awaits me.

I enter her chambers and walk through into a room where she sits on a throne upholstered in human skin. The still-living heads of the skins’ owners are positioned at the end of each armrest. They chatter and gibber nonsensically to each other while she ruffles a hand through each head’s hair.

She. My vision of perfection. My avatar of passion.

My succubus.

I drink in the vision of her sitting on the throne, one lithe leg crossed over the other, like a starving vampire in the presence of a virginal beauty.

No virgin is my succubus. No trace of innocence clouds her eyes. They burn with lust and passion, fires to turn all her human prey into moths eager to cast their pitiful mortal forms into the burning sun of her desire. I feel that black hole attraction and she mine.

More than simple hunger burns in her eyes as she uncrosses her legs and stands up on obsidian black hooves. A moist tongue dabs around exquisite full lips. I take her hand and together we exit her throne chamber.

Her bed is covered in the still-living skins of a hundred virgin women. Their owners sigh and moan, and the bed undulates as they thrust their sexes at me, begging me to fill them with my prick. I ignore them. Only one sex interests me.

I throw my succubus onto the shifting bed and get on top of her. There is no need for delay or patient build-up. Our passion is a conflagration needing no spark to ignite. The close presence of our bodies is enough. Her legs wrap around me, hooves crossing behind my back as I drive my prick into her boiling sex.

* * * *

A Succubus for Freedom, coming soon. I’ll the post the exact details here as soon as I have them.