New manyeyedhydra Stories!

They do exist. I’ve been hoarding them as I aim to hit that half and half ratio between stories I’ll post up on the internet and stories I’ll keep for the anthologies. If you’re feeling withdrawal symptoms, there are three brand new stories in A Succubus for Valentine’s Day and other tales of Perilous Pleasures to look out for.

Puffed Up
An arrogant superhero tracks down the source of a new drug, Sin, hitting the streets. He discovers the drug has a hellish origin. Will his much-vaunted abilities be enough against the magical wiles of a succubus?

Fans of Garth Ennis’s work with series such as The Boys might like this one. Those with a smoke fetish or an inflation fetish might get a little extra from the story. And it goes without saying it’s perfect for fans of femme fatale super-villain vamps.

The Spiders of Thomisoidus
Off we blast into the future for a Science Fiction tale. Poor everyday dude Joe Baneham gets suckered into signing up for a five year commission on what he thought was a paradise planet filled with hot, blue-skinned alien babes. Unfortunately for him, the babes are completely inept at sex and the planet is a swamp-ridden dump infested with monstrous spiders. Things look up when Amycis, one of the beautiful indigenous locals, falls for him. But what dark secrets of her race is she hiding...?

Spiders, silk, blue-skinned alien babes, bondage and plenty of sexy teasing are all present in this little tale of extremely perilous pleasure.

Foam Shower
A guy, a girl and a very steamy shower scene. I put up an excerpt last week here.

Also features foam. Lots and lots of foam.

The other tales have been tweaked and touched up from their original versions. The title tale, A Succubus for Valentine’s Day, has a different ending to before. It’s even nastier. Beware of cutesy-looking succubi that are summoned from black stone tablets, especially when they offer to play Cupid. Brrr....

A Succubus for Valentine’s Day and other tales of Perilous Pleasures, out next week from all good online ebook stores. Please support me and buy a copy so I can continue to corrupt the internet with my twisted tales of perverse pleasures. ;)

Valentine's Day Variety Box

One of the things I noticed when putting together the stories for A Succubus for Valentine's Day was the variety. There's a sequence in the collection that runs from Harry Potter parody, to superhero story, to science fiction set in the future, to modern-day horror, to swords & sorcery fantasy, and then to a story with gangster elements. That's variety. Whether or not that's a good thing...

Well it scares the shit out of me to be honest.

Now, I could try and run the usual arrogant bastard bullshit and burble some nonsense about transcending genres. And then someone else could make some catty remarks about firing blindly with a blunderbuss in the hope of hitting the target, any target.

Variety isn't a bad thing. It keeps things from getting predictable. Too much and a collection goes all patchy, like buying the new album from a favourite band only to find there's two decent tracks, a real stinker that's unlistenable, and a whole bunch of meh to round it out.

I think I'm okay on this one. The settings vary, but the stories are all essentially horror. The femme fatales are sexy and the sex is blistering hot. Job done, as I hope you'll find out next Friday.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Different, and...pleasant.

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

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


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

For the shy and awkward...

This is for the shy and awkward at school/university/college.

It gets better.

(this is where I eat lunch)

Spiders, Silk and Sex

Oo-er, Succubus Summoning 201 has gone a bit...spidery. When the chapter goes up later this year (once I've got the whole arc down in rough draft), it'll probably be my first story up on Lit featuring that Monster Girl staple: the spider-girl or arachne.

It's not my first spider-girl story. Both of my previous spider-themed stories (there's one in the forthcoming Valentine's Day collection) managed to bypass Literotica somehow. Here's a taste of what you're missing from "Arachne's Web" in A Succubus for Christmas and other tales of Devilish Delights.

Gordon was underground, but he wasn't sure where. Unlike the other vaults he'd visited in his dreams lately, this room was so vast he couldn't see the walls in any direction. Old cobwebs formed gauzy hangings all around him. Dream or no, Gordon didn't want to see the spider that had produced them.

He picked his way through a forest of silken threads. They were sticky and stronger than they looked. Pulling them off his naked skin when he accidentally brushed into them was energy-sapping work.

Gordon heard a chuckle from above him, feminine and dripping with evil.

“So eager to return to my parlour, little fly,” the voice said.

Gordon looked up and saw Arachne sitting above him. She was completely naked and sat, suspended, in the white threads as easily as if they were a hammock or swing chair. Her green eyes sparkled and her luscious red lips curled up in a cruel smile as she looked down at him.

“You can't resist my body,” Arachne said with a smile.

Struck dumb, Gordon said nothing. He was mesmerised by the curve of her tits.

Arachne leaned back and opened her legs, baring the hairless gash of her pussy to him. As Gordon watched she reached down and caressed her smooth labia. One of her fingers slipped inside and her breathing roughened to soft little gasps. Gordon felt his own arousal grow as he watched her play with herself.

Arachne's gasps grew louder and huskier until finally she gave a strong shudder. He watched, astonished, as a stream of thick white liquid jetted from her pussy. The liquid solidified in the air to form white strands that floated down and stuck to his exposed flesh.

What the? Gordon thought.

It was silk, just the same as the old threads around him.

“I'm not letting you go now,” Arachne said, her luscious lips curled up in a cruel smile.

She sprayed more white fluid from her pussy and it rained down on Gordon in gossamer filaments. He tried to brush the strands away, but they adhered to his skin and tangled together like a net. When Gordon tried to back away he tripped over and fell into a dense knot of threads. Hopelessly entangled, Gordon could only look on as Arachne, moaning and sighing with pleasure, squirted more and more strands of silk over his supine form. They looked feathery-light, but Gordon couldn't break them and soon his arms were entangled as well.

Arachne laughed at his struggles. She flipped over onto her front, her hands grasping old threads as if they were ropes. There was something unnatural about her body, as if her arms and legs had joints in the wrong places.

Gordon paused in his struggles and watched in astonishment as Arachne descended down from above, supported by a thick white rope of silk extruded from her pussy. She abseiled down like a spider, flipping as she approached the ground to land lightly on her feet.

What was she? Gordon thought. The lithe curves of her body were absolutely breathtaking as she walked towards him, but there was something utterly alien about her that registered in his most primal senses. He resumed his struggles, desperate to escape the thing walking towards him.

Go on, you know you want to read what happens next...

The Changing Face of High Street Horror

While I was back home for the Christmas holidays I paid a visit to my local Waterstones to see what was lurking on the horror shelves.

Paranormal Romance is still very much the ‘in’ trend. So much so there was a whole rack of shelf space given over to ‘Dark Fantasy’. Love 'em or loathe ‘em, it doesn’t look like the hunky dudes with fangs and the hunky dudes with fur and fangs are going away any time soon.

In the actual ‘horror’ section proper—Waterstone’s labelling, don’t look at me like that!—Monster Mash’em’ups are the other bandwagon rolling down the hill. I haven’t read them and sort of suspect they’re a one-punchline joke stretched far beyond its use-by date.

Of course, it’s because of this kind of nonsense Christopher Fowler (I wish I had a blog like his—he must type like a zillion words a minute or something) and Maura McHugh kicked off the Campaign for Real Fear.

Me, I’m kind of ambivalent. These are not the horror books I want to be reading, but they are for a lot of other people and they enjoy them enough to buy them by the truckload. Few things piss me off more than the whole snobbish ‘your taste is rubbish, you should read/watch/listen to what I’m reading/watching/listening to’ attitude, so I’m not going there. Even if it means I must accept the existence of true horrors like Eastenders, Friends and X-Factor.

Trends are cyclical anyway. Someone’s going to write the book where the shy but pretty heroine falls for the tall, dark and handsome vampire...who then tortures her relentlessly over the next couple of hundred pages by making her watch while he kills everyone she ever cared about, and we'll remember that vampires are actually really fucking scary.

Next year it will be...well, probably no Waterstones and its slot taken by a shop selling iPhone cases and other tat, I reckon.

Sticking with Dead-Tree Technology

One of the things I was happy to pick up over the Christmas break was a fresh set of A5 writing notebooks. It seems a bit weird to still be writing out stories longhand in the age of word processors and other computery goodness, but I find that works best for me. I’m old enough to remember my mum typing up estimates for my dad on a fancy electronic typewriter, but not old enough to have ever used one myself.

I keep trying to kick the habit. Ink and bits of dead tree, I mean it’s so primitive. Look, there’s this lovely shiny laptop with a blank screen all waiting to be filled with words. And look at this keyboard, so much faster and more efficient at producing words than that awkward scratching.

It never works out that way. It’s that delete button. It’s far too easy to use. If you’re of a slightly perfectionist bent (which I am), the delete button is the concrete block waiting on the tracks to derail the writing process. It’s too easy to get stuck at a point in the story, writing and re-writing variations of the same sentence over and over until I completely lose the thread of where the story was supposed to be going in the first place.

I like my little writing pads. They’re the tortoises—slow and steady—of the writing process. They’re a little more portable than laptops and don’t run out of battery. I like taking one with me to lunch and getting a couple of extra pages done over the break. I like the steady accumulation of pages until a story or chapter falls out. I like how I can write any old bollocks to skip snags, because it’s only the first draft after all.

With discipline (and maybe some tape applied over the delete button), I could do most of this on a word processor. I think I like the little pads because they're a clear separation between first and second draft. It doesn't matter if the first draft was done on paper or typed in Word, I usually end up typing the whole thing again for the second draft. I find it's the best way to trim out all the needless fat from a story. Copying up from a notebook is easier than having two Word's open and the fonts at magnifying glass size.

Alas poor trees, it may be a while before I'm weaned off you yet.