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.


“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.


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.


“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!

Wednesday, March 04, 2015

New Erotic Short - Sandwiched by Slimes

Finally (it's only a couple of weeks late) the second short in the Sandwiched by series is up.  It's not exactly short either.  I got a little carried away and there's over 10K words of slimy fun (for the slime girls, not necessarily their prey ;) ) in this one.

It's available for the cheap price of $0.99 from:
Smashwords (which will distribute it to other sites)

Here's the blurb:

Sandwiched by is a new sexy series of monster girl erotic horror shorts from the master of dark erotica, M.E. Hydra.  This, the second story, “Sandwiched by Slimes”, sees a man engulfed in ecstasy by two sexy slime girls.

Freddy Lamb used to be a normal engineering student like any other.  Now he’s Sir Fredrick of Lamb, a brave adventurer tasked with deposing the villainous sorcerer king of a strange world that resembles a computer role-playing game.  In reality he’d rather escape this crazy computer game world and find a way back home to Earth.  He thinks the exit may lie in an unusual bonus dungeon, but blocking his path are two sexy slime girls, Corybosom and Rubisia.  They intend to envelop him in their gelatinous bodies and melt all his resistance away with pleasure.  They also don’t intend playing by the rules . . .

Sandwiched by.  One dude, two sexy babes.  A perfect fantasy . . . or maybe not . . .

And of course I couldn't leave it there without providing a little snippet to get the blood going:

“Is this a hentai dungeon?” he asked the two slime girls.

They looked as though they didn’t understand his question.  Freddy thought they were pretending.

“I mean, is this a sex dungeon?” he elaborated.

The slime girls’ eyes lit up at the mention of sex.

“We do like sex,” Corybosom said.

“We’re succubus slimes,” Rubisia said.  “It’s what we feed on.”

“Mmm yes.  We like nothing better than slurping all the cum out of a virile man’s body,” Corybosom said.

Freddy blushed.  That confirmed his suspicions at least.  Normal RPGs didn’t go near sex apart from the mildest of innuendo.  But there was a type—a more specialized niche—of RPGs where sex was integral to both the art and gameplay.  Those games were made only in Japan as far as he knew and were most definitely for adults only.

“I know what this is,” he said.  “It’s battlefuck rules.”

The two slime girls pretended not to understand.

“We don’t fight with weapons in here,” Freddy said.  “We fight with sex.”

“This is a sex-themed dungeon,” Rubisia said.

Freddy smiled.  He’d figured it out.  Battlefuck rules.  He didn’t know those games very well, but he’d heard of them.  He thought back to the shop owner who’d sold him the map.  He’d thought the queer leer on the other man’s face was a little odd at the time.  Pervy fucker.  He knew exactly what this dungeon was about.

“So how does this work?  The victor is the one that makes the other come first?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Corybosom said.

She gathered the gelatinous substance of her body together into a big round cushion.  She sat back on it and opened her legs.  Staring directly at Freddy, she reached down between her legs and parted her labia with her fingers.

Freddy took off the armour protecting his legs and removed his undergarments.  His erection popped up and stood out from his crotch.  That’s what no sex at all since arriving on this freaky world did to you, he thought.  Even sentient giant gelatinous blobs started to look sexy after that long.

Corybosom beckoned him on with a finger.  She pouted plump, kissable lips.

Time to see if his theory was correct then, Freddy thought.  He stepped up between her legs.  He put his hands on her hips.  They felt moist and elastic like jelly.  He aimed his cock in the direction of her gaping sex and pushed forwards with his hips.  Corybosom’s head went back and she gave a little “ooh” of pleasure as he entered her.

don’t melt my dick off.  don’t melt my dick off.

She didn’t melt his dick off.  He didn’t feel any acidy burning sensation.  She wasn’t cold and snot-like either.  Instead she felt warm inside and the jellylike substance of her body pressed pleasantly against his erection.  A muscular swell of thicker jelly rolled down his shaft and sucked him deeper into her.

“Mmm, I love the feel of a big hard cock inside me,” Corybosom said.

She crossed her legs behind him.  The rest of her amorphous mass rolled forwards and partially engulfed his legs.  That felt pleasant as well, like dipping his legs in a warm mud bath.  Looking down it was weird to see his cock through her transparent skin.  He could see his foreskin move back and forth as her semi-liquid insides rippled up and down his shaft in gentle tugs.

He lost two health points.

It was another quirk of this strange game world.  In the back of his mind he could see a full status screen representing him, complete with stats and current level.  It had appeared the moment he’d woken up in this universe.

The damage was okay.  Battlefuck rules were the same as normal RPG combat, but with all the normal attacks replaced with sex acts.  Losing two HP was nothing.  He had plenty left.

Now it was time for his ‘attack’.

He powered his hips forwards with his buttocks.  Corybosom sighed in pleasure as his cock sank deeper into her gelatinous form.

He lost two HP.

Huh, wait.  That couldn’t be right.

“How come I took damage?” he said.  “I thought this was a sex battle.  You know, both of us taking it in turns to make a sex attack.”

Corybosom looked up at him and smiled.  Mischief glimmered in her eyes.

“Oh yes, about that . . .”

The malleable jelly of her body rippled up his cock in a teasing suck that left his knees feeling like they’d been replaced by overcooked spaghetti.

“. . . we may have been a teensy bit remiss in not correcting a tiny little misunderstanding.”

“This isn’t a battlefuck dungeon?”

Freddy had that just-fallen-into-a-yawning-pit sensation he’d just made a massive booboo.

If the scenario sounds familiar, yes, this is the same universe as Jackson in HRPG-World.  This one's a little lighter and more fun than my usual stories.  If you like the dark stuff, don't worry, there are plenty of darker tales on the way in the next collection coming out in a couple of weeks.  (oh, so much darkness . . .)

I hope you all find "Sandwiched by Slimes" to be worth a dollar of your hard-earned money.  Please tell me what you think in the comments below.  Do you like Corybosom and Rubisia and would you like to see more of them?

Next up it's tentacle time as a lucky someone gets "Sandwiched by Scyllas".  I'll try to get it out before the end of the month this time!

Tuesday, March 03, 2015

Cover for "Sandwiched by Slimes"

You know that "Sandwiched by Slimes" short story . . .

It is on the way, honest.

The last week has been crazy hectic with sorting things out for the move as well as trying to make sure the next collection, A Succubus for Saint Patrick's Day, is ready for . . . well . . . Saint Patrick's Day.  The hold up for "Sandwiched by Slimes" was trying to get a cover done.  I finally had a quiet moment today and:

Originally I wanted to vary the designs and have the "Slimes" and slime girls done in the traditional translucent blue.  Unfortunately my art skills are fairly mediocre and as it's already three weeks late, I went with the silhouettes instead.

I'm just on the final formatting and then the book will be uploaded to Amazon and other ebook retailers.  Check back here in a day or so and I'll have the full details.