News

Coming Soon: BWE3

It’s official! Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Vol 3, featuring my super-sexy friends-to-lovers erotic short story will be out November 21, 2017 in ebook and December 12, 2017 in print. Published by Cleis Press and edited by the fabulous Rachel Kramer Bussel, BWE3 is one you’ll definitely want to curl up with this holiday season.

Blurb:

Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 3 delivers the kind of sexy stories you want most: daring, bold, and surprising tales of women who pursue their boundless passions anywhere and everywhere. Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, winner of multiple Independent Publishing Book Awards, these scintillating scenarios turn the tables on how women are “supposed” to behave. Instead, these uninhibited vixens indulge in their favorite fetishes, do deliciously intimate “Body Shots,” and get tied up with “Red Satin Ribbons.” They pose nude, dress up, and roleplay, always obeying their most exhilarating impulses. These lusty ladies take your most cherished, private fantasies—from making a sex tape, to taking part in a thrilling threesome, to having a stud delivered to your door hot and ready—and make them come alive. Written by beloved authors Abigail Barnette, Annabel Joseph, and Charlotte Stein along with several genre newcomers, these are erotic encounters you’ll want to savor again and again and again…

Pre-order a copy for yourself (and a special friend or two) today!

♠♥♠

Ebook edition:

Kindle U.S.

Nook

Google Play

iBooks

Kobo

Amazon Canada Kindle

Amazon UK Kindle

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Print edition:

Amazon U.S.

Bn.com

Powell’s

Books-a-Million

IndieBound

Amazon Canada

Amazon UK

♥ Audiobook edition TBA ♥

“House Rules” Now Available!

Surprising Myself Cover

I am pleased to announce that my short, kinky story “House Rules” is now available as part of Insatiable Press’s first original anthology exploring women’s secret fantasies, Surprising Myself.

Read an excerpt!

Cole’s gaze narrowed. “So, Maddy, tell me what you’re into.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Standard stuff, I guess,” I said. “Bondage, S&M, submission. Spanking.”

His lip quirked. “You want to be spanked.”

My buzz was wearing off. I wiped the sweat from my upper lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed it, which was silly because we were practically on top of each other. I was tired of talking and having the spotlight focused solely on me. “What about you? I’m sure the sex you and your fiancé had put everything you did with Ashley to shame.”

“My ex wasn’t into it.”

“Oh.” I paused. “How long were you two together?”

Cole’s gaze dropped. “A year and a half.”

“Can I ask what happened?” I needed to hear him say it.

Cole sighed. “I scened with someone else. We didn’t have sex, but we may as well have, as far as my ex was concerned. She was right, in a lot of ways. There was some emotional infidelity.” He studied his hands. “It’d been so long. I just…needed the release. I never wanted to hurt her.” He grunted. “I mean, I did. That was kind of the problem.”

Cole scrubbed his guilt-ridden face. I couldn’t condone his behavior, but I could relate. For years I’d placed myself in relationships with men who couldn’t give me what I wanted. I thought I was being practical, but in truth, I was afraid — afraid that the things I wanted were too extreme, too strange, too hard to find, so why bother?

Eventually, I stopped dating altogether. Vanilla sex left me hollow. I wanted to be filled to bursting.

I took a deep breath and touched Cole’s knee. “I’m sorry. I know how it feels to repress who you are in order to fit someone else’s mold of what’s acceptable, and I know what it is to deny yourself the things you want most. But you shouldn’t have to.”

Cole stared at my hand. “Why do you deny yourself?”

“Fear mostly. And the belief that what I want most is something I can never have.”

“And what do you want?” Cole studied me, his eyes hungry for something I couldn’t put into words. I only knew I wanted to give it to him.

“Release.”

He wetted his lips. “Madeline, when you played with your exes, did you use a safe word?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

I swallowed hard.

“Mercy.”

Product Description: Thirteen writers present sexy, steamy stories of women getting the chance to live out their personal fantasies. What’s yours? Whether it’s several lovers at the same time for a pulse-pounding ménage scene or the allure of getting caught in public, these stories will set your mind ablaze. From voyeurism in a sex club to swinging, cuckolding to cosplay, Surprising Myself brings you stories from 13 hot new writers to watch out for and just might make you think about fulfilling your own wildest fantasy.

Surprising Myself (ed. by Matthew Cooper) is available in ebook and audiobook formats from Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble and Audible.

Onward to 2016!

I have to say, 2015 was a fantastic year for me in terms of writing and publishing. It was the year I got to hold my first piece of published work in my hands. It was the year I had three erotic poems and three short stories released in print and ebook anthologies, as well as online (plus a BDSM erotic romance short pending for early 2016 and another out on submission). I completed my first novel just under a year ago and my second in November, the latter of which I intend to begin querying by mid-February.

Side note: writing a query letter is hard, ya’ll. Dare I say harder than writing the book itself. But it can and must be done if you want to be trade published, which I do.

There’ve been some changes. Nearly all of my energy has been rerouted from short stories to novel-length works. I turned my “blog” into a “news” feed because I wanted to devote the majority of my free time to writing fiction. I put a flash fiction series on the back burner that may or may not make it to “The End.”

While I believe wholeheartedly that it’s important to finish what you start, I think it’s also important to stop and take inventory, to ask yourself if what you’re doing is bringing you closer to your goals or slowing you down. I want to write books. Short stories and flash fiction have served as invaluable stepping stones for honing my craft, but the only way to get better at writing novels is to write them.

So, whatever your goals, ambitions or resolutions—writing-related or otherwise—here’s to a productive 2016!

Erotic Poem: “These Things”

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but this little nugget popped into my free write this morning, so I thought I’d share.


He’s the guy who works for your dad, at the auto repair shop, who wouldn’t turn you down if you hit on him when you were sixteen.

Fifteen, he might raise an eyebrow. Depends on how many beers he’s had. He’d offer you one. Maybe a cigarette, too.

He’d make fun of you a little, quirk his lip around the bottle, and stare openly at your breasts. If you kissed him, he’d kiss you back, but not first. Never first.

Sometimes, these things just happen.

He might finger you, but he wouldn’t go down. Not this time.

At least he’d let you look into his eyes while he fucked you. And he wouldn’t ask “Was that your first time?” until after he’d already come.

Love Slave: Heatwave

Love Slave Heatwave“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days—three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”
John Keats, Bright Star

I’m pleased to announce the release of LoveSlave.org’s erotic summer themed ebook anthology, Love Slave: Heatwave!

The folks over at LoveSlave.org are running a raffle featuring ebooks by a handful of my fellow Heatwave authors. Visit their site (and scroll to the bottom) to peruse their offerings and enter for a chance to win free books.

Enjoy an excerpt from my short story, “Wild Things”

I retrieved the flashlights and stepped out into the humid night. Shane was already in the yard, shirtless, staring up at the moon. His chest muscles rippled with each deep inhalation of the lilac-scented air and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run my hands over his skin. He lowered his gaze from the night sky to me, his eyes cloudy with whiskey and moonlight.

“I already checked the bins,” he said. “Blocks are in place.”

“Oh, all right.” I paused. “I guess we can go back inside.” The second I said it, I knew I didn’t want to. I felt oddly at home under the stars with my estranged friend, the trees towering overhead, the woods inviting us to come and play.

Shane walked up to me, hand outstretched. “Give me one of those.” He gestured to the flashlights. He fiddled with it for a few seconds, as though weighing an idea in his mind.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, his eyes boring into mine.

“Which one?” I croaked, painfully aware of his closeness.

“Come on. You know the rules.” Shane put his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the nearest opening in the trees, the sweet scent of expensive whiskey on his breath. He pressed himself against me and I felt the distinct impression of something firm and rod-like at the small of my back. My pussy tightened automatically.

“I’ll count to one hundred.” His lips grazed my ear.

“Oh. Okay,” I stuttered. My breathing was erratic. I swayed against him as though my body needed confirmation that his erection was real. It was. He slid a hand down my arm, across my belly and slipped it deftly into the waistband of my shorts, giving my entire pussy a squeeze and slight fondle. I gasped.

Shane emitted a low, animalistic growl before withdrawing his hand and hissing, “Now, get.”

He smacked my ass and sent me sprinting into the darkness, my right butt cheek smarting and the rest of me horny as all hell.

My legs carried me through the woods faster than they’d had to in a very long time. I ran as far into the canopy as I could before the density of the trees forced me to turn on the flashlight. Fumbling with the on/off switch, I paused for a moment and crouched low, listening.

There was a slight breeze, but not enough to muffle any significant disruptions to the natural stirrings of the forest. My pounding heart reverberated through my chest and up into my head as beads of sweat dripped down from my hairline. I heard nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no snapping twigs. He was probably still counting.

I took a deep breath and pressed on, hoping I’d placed enough distance between us that he wouldn’t be able to see the glow of my flashlight in the dark. I wondered what would happen if he found me. Scratch that, when he found me.

I ran, dodging prickly shrubs and exposed, gnarled tree roots. I recognized the thick trunk of a sycamore as though I were traversing the route from memory, and dove behind it, shutting off my flashlight and taking a second to catch my breath.

The only sounds I could make out were the soft buzzing of mosquitoes, frogs chirping in the nearby creek, and the water’s quiet gurgling. For a moment, I wondered if Shane had been too drunk to navigate the darkness alone. Maybe he’d lost his footing somewhere and tripped over a fallen log or protruding root system. I considered going back.

About forty yards behind me, I heard the sharp crackle of a pinecone being crunched underfoot.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

There was just enough moonlight piercing the canopy that I could make out the thin, glimmering line of the creek about twenty yards away. I had to try.

Love Slave: Heatwave is now available from Amazon, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and other online retailers.

LoveSlaveOrg

Earlier versions of this story have appeared on RachelWoe.com and Literotica.com.

Read an Excerpt from “The Art Teacher” at Simply Sxy

BestWomensErotica2015The folks over at Simply Sxy are featuring an excerpt from my short story “The Art Teacher” this week as one of their Sexy Reads. This story is just one of many scintillating erotic tales found in Best Women’s Erotica 2015.

Here’s a nibble to whet your appetite:

Mr. Thompson answers the phone at a normal volume but then begins to speak in hushed whispers. I hear footsteps and then the sound of a heavy door creaking and latching. I turn and see that he has closed the door to his office. At the same time, I notice a quarter-sized hole beneath the knob. The door must have featured a lock at one point but, for whatever reason, it was removed. I debate the ethics of grasping this opportunity to spy on him and my curiosity is far more powerful than any sense of morality. Before long, I’m removing my gray flats and slinking towards the door.

I crouch, hovering just above the floor with my eye to the peephole. I can barely make out his side of the conversation and am both affronted and intrigued by what I hear.

“Of course I’ve thought about you since August. How could I not? That was some of the best damn head I’ve ever gotten.”

He is talking to a woman. I know this because the tinny, unintelligible voice coming out the other end of the phone sounds high-pitched, feminine. His own voice is low and guttural, deeper than I’m used to hearing in class. I’m both insanely jealous and eager to hear more.

SimplySxy-e1400608948200

Want a bigger bite? Click here.