How To Give Up Short Term Sales To Get Long Term Sales (Self Publishing Authors)

Everyone loves free stuff.  An Amazon customer may not be willing to buy work from author they don’t know, but they will take a chance on an author if their work is free.   That’s why it’s important to give freebies away every now and then.

This may sound counterintuitive, but hear me out.

Giving freebies can increase sales because it hooks in new readers.  Even if you give away 100 books in one day and you gain one true fan it’s a success.  Now you have a fan who will not only buy your older titles but buy anything you produce in the future.

Amazon let’s you  promote your book for FREE for up to 5 days during the 90 day cycle it’s in KDP.  You can promote it for free 5 days in a row, or you can set it up for a couple days one month, and a couple days the next month.  Maybe you only promote it for the weekend.

When you give away something for free do it strategically.  Never give new releases out for free.  I usually give away older titles that have slid down the sales ranking.  I always notice that the sales ranking spikes up significantly after giving the book away for free, which means more eyeballs on your book thus more sales & borrows.

If you have an older series I recommend giving away the first book of the series.  If the customer loved the first book their sure to buy the rest of the series.

You should also make sure to update the front & back matter of your book before you make it free, especially if it’s an older title.  This will help direct potential fans to your most recent work.

My summer sales have been pretty slow.  Two weekends ago I decided to give away one of my older titles for free.  I promoted it for 5 days.  During those 5 days I gave away over 300 free units.  The following week my sales & borrows increased significantly.  In fact, I’ve been having my best stretch of sales all summer.

Not only have I increased sales, but the book I gave away for free has increased it sales ranking. An otherwise dead book is now revived.

If you have a big catalog in Amazon consider giving away an older title for free.  Try promoting over the weekend.  Update the front & back matter to your most recent work.  You may be surprised to see an uptick in sales.

Daddy Deflowered Me (complete FREE story)

In my last post I talked about Amazon and other book retailers cracking down on pseudo incest stories.  It was inspired from one of my latest stories being blocked by both Amazon and Pronoun.  The story revolves around a young girl (18 years of age, of course) who loses her virginity to her stepfather.

Since I won’t be able to sell the story through any retailers I’ve decided to give the book away for free.  Here it is:

I love being in the car with Cam. He rests one hand on my knee, the other firmly on the steering wheel, winding his dark blue truck through the neighborhood we’ve grown up in. It always takes me back, seeing how big his hands are splayed across my leg. He’s the starting wide receiver for the football team so I guess it makes sense, but still.

I bounce my leg absentmindedly to the music blaring from his stereo, and his hand tightens around my leg. I feel a little jolt as he does, even though I’m wearing jeans. My body is always hyper-sensitive whenever he’s around me, even after six weeks. Of course, it’s even more so right now because of what we talked about last night…

Jules, Cam had whispered, pulling back from me and holding my face gently in his hands. “Jules, I love you.”

It felt exactly how I’d heard it would feel—the swooping in my stomach, the softening of the glow of lamplight streaming into the car from the empty parking lot we’d stopped to make out in. Goosebumps erupted on my arms and I felt his eyes blaze with honesty and a little fear.

“I…love you too,” I whispered, never taking my hazel eyes from his big brown ones.

He pulled me closer to him, his mouth moving urgently against mine. One hand slipped down my loose blouse and I felt my breath catch as he worked the clasp of my bra off with one hand before moving to cup my full B cup, caressing it softly. I closed my eyes in bliss and I felt the blouse being slipped over my head, my bra straps falling away from my shoulders in a whisper of Victoria’s Secret lace. He kissed me with an intensity that was almost painful, his mouth hard on mine and his arms wrapped around me across the car’s console. The gear stick dug uncomfortably into my stomach as he pulled me towards him, and suddenly I felt his hand ghost downward, slowly, but not hesitantly, and slip inside the waistband of my jeans. I sucked in a breath and he paused, looking intently into my face. I knew what he wanted and he knew I knew, but nevertheless I froze with indecision. Reluctantly, he pulled back from me, and in the cooling air I felt my firm, round, tits tighten.

“It’s just…it would be my first time,” I said, my voice low. My voice came out a little husky; we’d been kissing for a long time and I could feel the words struggling past my lips, slightly swollen in a post-make out pout. Cam smiled kindly; I could see the wheels in his non-virgin head turning. I remember I held my breath—I knew what he was supposed to say, but did he?

“We can wait as long as you need,” he said, leaning towards me and giving me a soft, sweet kiss. He reached down and picked up my bra, my inside-out blouse. “We can also do it somewhere more special if you’d like.”

My face split into the biggest, most ridiculous grin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relieved. “Special would be nice.” He pushed my long, thick caramel-brown hair out of my face and kissed me again.

“A special night for a special girl, then.”

Cam pulled into my driveway, the friendly little ranch house I grew up in twinkly with lights from the family room and front porch. He put the car in park and leaned over.

“So…my parents are going to be at a friend’s house tomorrow night. Do you want to come over then?” His eyes sparked like a fresh-lit piece of firewood, and I knew he didn’t just mean for a movie and cuddles. I felt my eyes slide away, but took a deep breath.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” my voice came out even, if a little high-pitched. He smiled a slow, lazy smile, that didn’t really conceal the excitement in his voice.

“Awesome,” he leaned over and gave me a big kiss, with tongue. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

I got out of the car and waved as he backed out and pulled away, then turned and walked slowly into the house.

Tomorrow.

“Hello, Jenny,” Christian, my stepdad, called out as I came in.

“Hey,” I said absently, heading for the stairs.

“How was your day?” Christian isn’t really good at taking  hints. I stopped, taking the second from when Christian looked over from the couch to quickly adjust my blouse. I could only hope my bra straps were in their proper place.

“Fine. We learned about Cleopatra in history.” I’ve learned that if you give adults a specific about your day when they launch the “how was your day” question, they’re more likely to let you slink out of the conversation. It’s not that I don’t like Christian or enjoy talking to him, but he’s disconcertingly handsome and not someone I want to be talking to while thinking about Cam. They both have these intense brown eyes that linger uncomfortably on yours while you’re talking, which is great when you want to feel like everything you’re saying is important but not so much when you’re seeing your boyfriend in the face of your mom’s second husband. Speaking of.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Working late tonight at the hairdresser. Someone came in with a DIY ohmbray fail or something.”

“You mean Ombre?”

“Is that where you make your head look like there’s two different colors for no reason?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Then yeah, that.”

“Uh huh,” I eye the staircase, and Christian gives an exaggerated, but good-natured sigh. “Go on, interrogation over.” I feel my dimples flash even as I turn away, and there’s a weird ripple in the room as Christian pretends not to watch me leave the room.

I’m passing by the office on my way to my room when I pause, struck by a thought. Of course. This whole thing at Cam’s house tomorrow night doesn’t have to be nearly as scary as it seems right now. I can hear the T.V. show going downstairs and know it’s safe for now, so I go into the office and close the door quietly behind me before going to the computer on the desk. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know enough to open an “incognito” window and make sure Adblock is working before I proceed. But then, how to proceed? The Google box sits in front of me, expectant. Shyly, I push the buttons. P-O-R-N. Pause. Add a word at the beginning. G-O-O-D. ENTER.

Instantly, the screen is awash in “good porn.” The number of sites is nearly as overwhelming as the absurdity of the titles. “Threesome does 69 minutes of 69”—what?? I scroll slowly, feeling weirdly dirty, but in the way a naughty child who’s been playing outside and ignoring his mother’s calls to come in more so than a child who’s lost control and fallen into the dirt. I click a safer-looking video, if that makes any sense, and immediately a blaring moan fills the room. Shit. I scramble for the volume, wrench the dial sideways. The noise only lasted a second but even so I’m spooked, moving quickly to the door and easing it open to make sure Christian hasn’t heard anything. No noise from downstairs, and the T.V. is still on. All good signs. I close the door again and go back to the computer, fascinated. Slowly, I ease the volume up until it’s just barely audible. There’s not much in the way of a script. A totally average-looking guy dressed up like a mailman rings a doorbell, and a totally overdressed woman who I’m assuming is the “Mom” in “Mom gets railed by the postmaster” answers the door in a sheer, black lace dress that she’s literally bursting out of. I’m pretty sure it was an accident when her one breast pops out less than two seconds into her “conversation” with the mail guy about what she could possibly spend her whole day doing (ha-ha).

Once I get over the fakeness of it all, I start to pay attention. The noises, his hand, her bodies curves and arches. It all seems like a grand masquerade, with the woman in the center of it all. I start to feel a weird pit forming in my stomach and instinctively clench my abs against it. Guilt, maybe? But then I start to feel warm down between my legs, and suddenly, even though everything in my school’s sex-ed class has tried to tell me sex isn’t fun and there’s nothing appealing about it, I feel myself getting wet. I think it was when the young girl showed up and pushed the older woman away from her man. “Shelly Takes Control” or something. Whoever Shelly was, she was awesome. Almost unconsciously, my hand drifted to my own waistband. I unzipped myself and nervously poked a finger into the soft down that I kept neatly trimmed. I kind of wiggled it around a little, feeling it getting wet from myself, but then the buzz started to fade and I stopped, confused. Whenever the girls in the clips touched themselves, or when their partner was touching them, they went crazy, moaning and breathing heavy and even screaming a little. Maybe…I shimmied my jeans down a little to give myself better access, and gave myself an experimental stroke a little further down. Then a couple more. Nothing, nothing, maybe a little—suddenly, it was like a bolt a fire seared across my belly, making my abs clench and my breath catch in a whoosh. OH. The feeling was addictive, my finger explored again, earnestly, and it was a few moments but then once again, that fiery whoosh swept through me. My finger was soaked, and for the first time I understood what Cam’s nasty teammates said when they leered at the easy girls in school and said they thought they smelled them coming.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Shit shit shit. I froze, my brain launching into overdrive at all the things I needed to do, that were impossible to do, in the next five seconds. Closetheinternetwindowpullupyourpantswipeyourfingerdon’tlooklikeyouwerejustwatchingpornforfortyfiveminutes.

I’m utterly paralyzed as Christian opens the door, frozen with my hand still between my legs, my silky blue panties pushed aside by my own impatient hand, jeans caught partway down my legs, one hand crept up to my breast at some point, and I know my hair is a mess from rocking against myself for so long. He, too, freezes, and for a moment we just look at one another.

“Jenny,” his voice is harsh and odd-sounding in the silence. “Jenny what the hell—” he breaks off, looking away from me, looking back, away, back. He can’t look away. Everything about this is new to me. I’ve heard jokes about the guys who’ve gotten caught by their moms, handed better stuff by their dads, but I’ve never heard of a girl doing what I’ve been doing, let alone getting caught, let ALONE getting caught by her stepdad-who-reminds-her-of-her-boyfriend. Cam. I don’t know what Christian is thinking as he closes the door behind him, but I feel my eyes widen. A little bit afraid but actually not much. I feel alive and buzzing with an electric energy that I’ve never felt. Maybe a little at the end of one of my track races, but that’s the closest thing. This is next level.

“Jenny.” Christian’s voice is a little more normal-sounding now. “Jenny, let’s just forget this, ok?” But suddenly he’s in front of me, looking a little confused as to how he got there, and I’m turning in the swivel chair to look up at him, unconsciously employing everything I just learned from Porn 101.

I am an invitation.

His mouth opens a little, but no noise comes out. He tries again.

“Jenny, you’re beautiful, but I can’t.”

“I know.” They’re the first words I’ve spoken, and they somehow encapsulate everything. I know what I’m in for tomorrow, I know that Cam said what he had to say to get me to agree to come, and, even though I should technically have no standards because I am a “virgin,” I somehow know that it will not be very good. I feel alive in a new way, like I’ve invited a new person inside of me and we’re now jointly sharing my body, this Jenny Who Watches Porn and Old Jenny, the one who made her boyfriend wait four weeks before putting a hand up her shirt.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Jenny….”

“What?”

We look at each other, and in the stillness, I see movement.

“I think you can.” I have no idea where these words, this confidence, is coming from. Christian looks vaguely irritated, but also slightly dazed.

“How long have you been watching videos?”

“Just tonight. Cam wants to have sex tomorrow night.”

Christian’s eyes flash and I know immediately I said what I needed to say. I stand and step out of my jeans, looking up at Christian, who is standing so still, so stiff, that I wonder if maybe he will run out of the room after all. Pretend this never happened.

What never happened?

His resolve breaks when I cock my head to the side, eyebrows raised. He crushes me to him in a bone-crushing embrace, and his thick stubble scratches my face as his mouth comes down on mine, hard. His arms lift me and then he’s holding me, whispering roughly, “So, let’s see if you learned anything, then.” He’s carrying me out of the room, past my bedroom, and turning into the guest room, where he stayed when he was new around here and Mom wanted to pretend they weren’t having sex all the time. Now I get it. It was part of the game between them, and I was just a pawn. The thought brings another energy to me and I spontaneously catch Christian’s lip as we kiss, and he rears back in surprise, eyes flashing. He drops me on the bed and strips out of his shirt, tossing it to the floor before crawling onto the bed and dropping his full weight on me. Fear and energy are swirling in my stomach, but soon I forget to think anything at all—Christian is everywhere and my tits are sharp and pointy with my own insolence as he sucks and nibbles and pinches them into submission. The cries come much more naturally to me than the women in the videos, and it only just occurs to me as I feel Christian tugging my soaking wet panties off that maybe they were exaggerating. Maybe their sex wasn’t that great. But someone had to have great sex for them to try to imitate, right? I let out a reflexive shriek as Christian bends his head and flick his tongue experimentally between my legs. The sensation is utterly new and I feel my body release in a buck that puts my wholly in his face. Instead of rearing back at “the smell” though, he lets out an almost animal growl and pins me to the bed by grasping my hips firmly and pressing them into the small twin bed.

“Stay still, little girl,” he whispers throatily, kissing along the insides of my thighs. “You don’t know anything yet.”

Lights burst behind my eyes and I let out a full-on scream as he buried his face between my legs, one hand, one finger, stroking slowly, insistently, torturously, around that most secret of places that I’d only just accidentally discovered. He swirls his finger around it, lazily, like he doesn’t hear me panting and gasping, like he doesn’t feel my back arching and body writhing against his grip, his incredibly strong grip, which has me pinned to the bed and unable to escape him…

The wave has crashed, and he’s letting it ebb. Stroking me slowly, more gently, then finally, stopping. I push myself up on my elbows, looking at him in a daze. He doesn’t break eye contact as he removes his own jeans, his own briefs. He is the first naked man I’ve ever seen, and he is terrifyingly, hugely magnificent. His enormous cock is rigid and standing straight up, expectantly. He scoots to the edge of the bed, pulling me up beside him, and gestures to the floor.

“Get on your knees.” The command is simple; I can do that. Weak-kneed, I lower myself to the floor. “Show me what you learned just now.”

Cautiously, I lean forward, and flick the tip of his cock with my tongue, the way he began with me. A shudder ripples through his body. “Again,” he commands. I comply, and as his cock twitches under my tongue, the “lesson” becomes clear even as I remember the women in the videos.

“Like this?” I try to mimic his own lazy voice, and drag my tongue up along his shaft, cupping his balls in my hand instinctively, and swirling my tongue around his head in a flourish, like I’m being overdramatic with a lollipop. Another spasm ripples through him.

“Oh, Jenny…” The soft sigh is more than enough for me. I eagerly take him in my mouth, and the thought occurs to me that I might choke as he tangles his hands in my hair, pushing it out of my face so I can see what my hands are doing. They pump experimentally up and down his shaft, stacked easily one atop the other. I lick and suck on the head and he lets out a distinct moan, like a trapped animal.

“Twist, baby, twist.”

I take my hands and twist in opposite directions—again, this movement comes naturally to me. He moans again and his grip on my hair tightens. I deep-throat him, as far down as I can go, and he’s so hard that I wonder if it’s possible for him to bruise me. I play with his head, stroking the shaft and twisting experimentally, guided by his moans and ragged breathing, which is rapidly become shallower. Suddenly, he lets out a gasp and pushing me backward, onto the floor. He’s inside me before I know what’s happening, and he only pounds into me harder as my shriek of surprise turns into a scream of drawn-out ecstasy as his huge cock hits the deepest depths of me. I feel him tighten inside me, a rush of heat, and then it’s just us, tangled in one another’s fantasies that we didn’t even know about until tonight.

His mouth is at my neck, biting, and without thinking I twist up and give him a sharp nip on the soft skin just below the ear. He draws back in surprise, eyes gleaming with a fever.

“Turn around,” he growls. All at once I remember who and where I am, and who I’m doing, and that same unnamed feeling zaps my stomach. I know my eyes look wide and scared and my chest is heaving beneath him as he looks down at me.

“Don’t make me punish you,” he whispers softly. I comply quickly, rolling onto my stomach, quivering with uncertainty. I feel him between my ass cheeks, which are round and tight from four years on the volleyball team. I have an odd moment of remembering seeing Christian in the stands for the first time at one of my games last year, and distinctly remember pointedly ignoring him. I’d liked Mom’s last guy better.

He pushes between me and raises my hips up, and now I’m bent over on the ground in front of him, entirely at his mercy, when his hands begin to play with my tits again and I feel another rush of heat between my legs.

“Good girl.” He plays with me, rocking back and forth and I moan feeling him inside me. Abruptly, he releases my tits and forces my head to the ground, pumping harder and faster, holding only my hips for leverage and leaving me to scrabble against the ground against the force of his thrusting.

“Oh!” I lose traction and sprawl onto the ground belly-first, but there’s no escaping the giant inside me, greedily taking me for himself and growing tighter and harder than I’d have thought possible. My back arches with one last orgasm a moment before he comes too, in a burst that leaves both of us shaking and panting for breath.

For a few minutes, we just lie there, him splayed over me, almost protectively. Then, he helps me up, kisses me once, on the head. We dress silently and close the door behind us on the way out.

I’m not sure if Cam knows what’s coming for him tomorrow.

Want more stories?  Go to my Author’s Page 

A Warning To Erotic Authors

Beware about publishing in the pseudo incest genre (stepfather – stepdaughter; stepbrother – stepsister etc.)  I recently, tried to published a pseudo incest story and it was blocked by Amazon.  Then I tried to publish it through a book aggregator called Pronoun.  Blocked again.

I haven’t published much in this genre (only three books).  Out of those three books two have been blocked.

I find this strange since I often see book with titles like “Daddy’s Little Slave” or “Daddy Punished Me” in Amazon top 100 erotica list.  I knew that writing incest was a big no no, but thought pseudo incest was still acceptable, until I got this message:

  • Depictions of incest and pseudoincest are prohibited. Biological incest, bearing witness to a sexual situation involving a biological relative, or pseudoincest between step-parents and step-children are all prohibited.
  • Pronoun has a zero tolerance policy for erotica with characters under age 18. Any depiction or description of an underage character in a sexual situation, bearing witness to a sexual situation, or thinking about a sexual act is strictly forbidden. If you publish a book that violates this guideline, your account will be suspended indefinitely.
  • “Barely legal” erotica is prohibited if the characters have speech or mannerisms that imply they are younger than 18. In general, we discourage publishing any “barely legal” erotica on Pronoun, as it can be reviewed and removed from sale at any time.

I don’t know if any other erotic authors out there have had the same problem.  It doesn’t really bother me much since I never cared for writing in this genre anyways.  The main reason I even wrote a pseudo incest story was an attempt to branch out into other genres.

Figured I would give a heads up to any other writers who were thinking about writing something pseudo incest.  Amazon is always changing what they deem acceptable or not acceptable.  They may be trending in the direction of banning anything closely relating to pseudo incest.  Don’t say you weren’t warned.

Beast Me: The Caretaker (Bigfoot Erotica)

My name is Dara, and I’m a writer. What does that mean, exactly, you might ask? Well in my head, in my imagination, that means I am a creative genius, an artist, feted and celebrated wherever I go, with a string of literary prizes, awards and accolades to my name, as well as a best-selling biography and the occasional Oscar-winning screenplay.

In a parallel universe, successful Dara has three homes: a chic apartment in New York, a luxurious mountain-top cabin in Denver and a cute little villa on Lake Garda. I spend my time jetting between these residences, occasionally penning critically acclaimed novels, poetry and journalism, giving interviews when I get to give the world the benefit of my thoughts, and seducing whichever attractive man or woman I feel like seducing.

So much for the fantasy. In reality, I lived in a horrible apartment in downtown New York, existing on a diet of noodles, green tea and value-brand chips. The noise in my apartment was almost constant and included barking dogs, jaw-shuddering metal from the Slayer fan in the next apartment, and all the screeching, wailing, shouting cacophony that comes with living in a city with no money. Oh, and did I mention the damp? And the cockroaches?

I was a writer though. I could cling to that. I even earned some money from it, occasionally. Most of the time I ended up writing 500 word marketing pieces on subjects such as ‘How to Re-engineer your Online Vision’ or ‘What is the future for B2B in the tech space?’ My reward for ploughing through these tedious, soul-sapping paragraphs was maybe $0.01 a word, if I was lucky. Then there were the businesses offering the chance to write in return for a mystery currency called ‘exposure’.  I still had enough dignity to turn those down.

I lived alone. There had been a boyfriend, some time back, though I lost him, inevitably, when I quit my admin job to be a writer. We were drifting apart anyway, but I could see the pained look on his face when I told him what I was going to do. I told him it was going to be great, I would be free, but he didn’t seem to think it was that great, particularly when I told him that I might be short of money for a little while.

I got that right. Having lost Dan, I couldn’t make my rent, so I lost my apartment. I also lost my cat, Oscar. That was probably the worst loss of them all, but there were no pets allowed in my new place, and it was that, or live on the street. I had to hand him over to my neighbour Betty. Two weeks later she wrote me to say that Oscar had been hit by a car. I cried for two whole days, compared to the afternoon of sobbing that marked the exit of Dan from my life. All in all, I think it’s fair to say my writing career was not a success.

So I was open to offers. Any offers. That’s when I came across an advert in the Times. I was sitting at Dino’s, trying to make my espresso last and studying the classifieds, expecting to find nothing. It was one of those filthy January mornings: chilly, wet and grey and I was feeling even more desperate than usual, so I was reading all of the classifieds, even the weird ones looking for cult members or a third wife.

‘Get away from the city. Apply to be a cabin minder. Pay and expenses. Short term work.’

That was it. That was what I needed. Get away from New York and be paid for looking after a cabin. I could write, I could recuperate, it would be perfect. I had enough credit left on my phone so I dialed right there and then. Spontaneity isn’t usually my thing, but poverty and desperation can bring that out in a writer.

Turns out the application was a three minute phone call, in which I explained who I was, how old I was (27) and when I would be available to start (like, yesterday). The only downside was that I would need to get myself to the Catskills on the following Monday morning. Scribbling the details frantically, I said that wouldn’t be a problem.

I was right about that too. Hurrying back to the apartment, I ran into the Slayer fan in hallway, and I mentioned the Catskills. There and then he offered to take me. Turned out he had a car, and was driving his elderly mother to Buffalo early Monday. I nearly hugged him, though I managed to restrain myself.

By the time Monday came around, I was having second, and third thoughts. It seemed like such a long way, such a reckless thing to do. I had my belongings packed, such as they were: A bulging sack of clothes, my beat-up laptop, a few bits of make-up and that was it. The Slayer fan, who was called Matt, knocked on my door early, and, still half-asleep, I followed him down to his car.

It still felt crazy when I sat, tense in his passenger seat, surrounded by fast food wrappers, empty drink cartons, music magazines and general debris. We crawled a few blocks, picked up his mother, who demanded to know whether I was his girlfriend repeatedly, before falling asleep, and then we headed out of the city.

Over the next two hours, as city become suburbs and suburbs became hilly countryside and hills steepened into tree-cloaked mountains, I became slowly acquainted with Slayer’s back catalogue, though Matt’s mother slept soundly throughout. Eventually, we arrived at the Fir Lodge Trail, the place where I was supposed to stay. I thanked Matt and offered him the sum total of my money, which was around $42, but he turned me down and wished me luck, before performing a risky U-turn and tearing off into the distance, blaring the opening track of ‘Reign In Blood’ into the mountains.

The starting point of the Fir Lodge Trail was a typical touristy building: a log cabin with gift shop and café, with a small office at the rear. The place was locked, so I hauled my bag around the back and banged on the rear door. Eventually it opened and I was met by a bearded man wearing a grubby t-shirt and uniform pants.

“Yeah?”

“Er, hi. I’m Dara. I’m here to mind the cabin.”

Recognition dawned on his face, and was followed by an expression that I didn’t quite like the look of. I saw him looking me up and down and I flushed.

“Yeah, you’ll do. He’ll like you. Wait there.”

The door closed again. What did he mean, he’ll like me? Who will like me?

After a few minutes, the door opened again and the man emerged, buttoning up his uniform.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the cabin.”

“What did you mean, when you said ‘he’ll like me’?” I asked, hurrying to keep up with him.

“Did I say that? Just an expression,” he said, striding ahead.

We walked for what seemed like hours, following the hiking trail up the mountain, winding through dense fir forests and the occasional meadow of wild grass. At first the surroundings were uplifting, and I savored the smell of the leaves and the forest, but after a while my calves began to ache and I began to weary of trudging after him. The further we walked, the colder the air became, and the more I began to feel unsettled, as though we were not alone, as though something in the trees was watching us.

The cabin stood in a little clearing, at the crest of a slope. In the distance loomed the shapes of bigger mountains, all shrouded darkly in trees. I stood for a moment, looking back down the trail, breathing in the fresh mountain air, until my moment was spoiled by the looming shadow of Martin, who was impatient to be on his way.

He showed me around. It wasn’t much, in terms of luxury, but compared to my apartment, it was a palace. There was a pretty bedroom with a grand double bed, a kitchen, bathroom, and a living room. Martin ran through how everything worked, explained that I could order groceries and he would have them brought up to the cabin every two weeks, and told me to lock the door and stay inside if I heard a bear.

“Do you get many bears?” I asked, nervously.

“Not many,” he said. “They don’t like to hang around in this area.”

“Why?” I asked.

He smiled, but didn’t answer. I had more questions, but Martin seemed keen to go, and soon I was standing alone at the door of the cabin, completely isolated in the wilderness, wondering if I was doing the right thing.

It was already after lunch, so I fixed myself something to eat, tidied the cabin, made the bed and then wandered out onto the front porch. I breathed deeply. It felt wonderful. The tranquillity washed over me. I was completely alone. I could do anything I wanted. I could walk around naked if I wanted to, I thought. So I did.

It felt so good to strip out of my clothes and stand there alone, free. I wandered to the front door of the cabin and peered outside. I knew that there was no-one around, but instinctively I was reluctant. At the back of my mind, in my wilder moments, I had envisaged walking around naked, bathing in a mountain stream, but when it came to it, I wasn’t quite ready. Besides, I told myself, it was a little cold.

So I wrapped a sheet around myself and wandered into the bedroom. The bed looked so inviting. I lay down and as I lay there in the silence, I lazily ran one hand over my body, feeling my right breast. Instantly my nipple began to harden, but I was more tired than I had realized because soon I fell asleep.

I woke to the sound of an unearthly roaring. I jerked upright on the bed, immediately feeling cold. It was dark. Outside there was another roar, and a deep, ominous grunt.

Bears!

I ran out of the bedroom to lock the door but as I reached the living room, the main door of the cabin was flung open and the doorframe was filled with something large and dark. I froze, terrified to move, as the bear moved inside, treading heavily and bending low to pass under the doorway. With horror, I realized that the bear was walking on its back legs, and then, as it stood inside the room, it dawned on me that this was no bear.

It stood at least eight foot tall, maybe more and was covered in matted dark hair, much longer than a bear’s, and tangled up with twigs and leaves. It had heavy paws that appeared to end in black claws, but although it was dim and gloomy in that room, I could tell that the creature’s face was not at all bear-like. It didn’t have a long nose, but instead was flat-featured, with a nearly human face, though its nose and eyes were grotesquely proportioned and its mouth seemed to bulge.

Rooted to the spot, I wondered if it had seen me, and if I could escape. It seemed to be sniffing the air, as though it relied on its smell rather than its sight. I took a half step backwards, but the floorboards betrayed me and the creature turned to look in my direction. As it looked, its mouth opened slightly and betrayed gleaming white teeth that glinted in the moonlight. I wanted to scream, but I was too frightened to make a sound.

The creature shuffled closer. It seemed uncertain and was huffing and grunting a little as it stepped across the bare wooden floor of the cabin, drawing closer and closer. I tried not to breathe, not to make a sound. I’d heard that was the only possible way to survive a bear attack, although this creature was no bear, but what else could I do? I couldn’t run, all I could do was close my eyes and hope for the best.

It drew closer until I could smell its dank fur, its animal dampness, until I could practically feel its steaming breath on the top of my head. It towered above me. Even in the dark, I could sense its shadow.

In that moment, when I was so quiet I could hear my own breathing, I felt a roughness on my arm and then felt something close around my bare skin and instinctively I screamed, at the top of my voice, then I screamed again, making my throat raw. The creature relaxed its grip and seemed to shuffle back a few steps. I stood, trembling, uncertain what was happening. The creature had tilted its head, as though it was studying me, watching.

As I stood there, I realized that although I was practically naked in the middle of nowhere, completely defenseless against this powerful creature, I was not afraid. The fear was washing out of me. I looked at the creature, standing uncertainly nearby, snuffling and grunting, as though trying to communicate something.

Without quite knowing why, I stretched out my arm, which looked pale in the moonlight flooding through the window. It hesitated, and then, reached out towards me and suddenly grabbed me by the arm. This time, though, I began to breathe more heavily, I calmed my nerves and let it pull me towards it. It leaned in and began to inspect me, snuffling its nose against the top of my head, pressing down on me, but not too heavily that it hurt. At the same time, I felt it rubbing its paws over my shoulders and my neck and then I gasped as my blanket slipped from my body to the floor and I stood naked, helpless in the grasp of this strange, powerful, but gentle creature.

I felt its paws slide down over my chest, catching roughly on my left nipple, at which I breathed in sharply. It seemed to react, lightening its touch. I tentatively held onto one furry arm as it slid its paw down my body, crossing my stomach, and then, with a start I felt it slip between my legs, roughly pawing at my pussy. I gasped but clung onto the arm, and held it there. I didn’t want the creature to stop.

I could feel it breathing heavily, and I knew that if it had wanted to, that powerful creature could have hurt me, maimed me, killed me even, but it was treating me gently. Its movements were slow and deliberate and its tentative touch between my legs was already making me moan. The sound of my voice seemed to fluster it, confuse it, and it withdrew from me, taking its paw away and shuffling backwards.

At that point I was feeling so aroused. It was incredible that I seemed to have a power over this creature. It was in awe of me a little. I smiled at it, and then, walked slowly out of the room, towards my bedroom. I could hear the creature’s footsteps following me, causing the floorboards of the cabin to creak as it trudged in my wake. I wandered into the bedroom, feeling so sensual, such feminine power and stood at the end of my bed, waiting, breathlessly for the creature to reach the doorway.

As I saw that doorframe filled with its powerful body, the feeling of vulnerability and forbidden sexuality was so strong, it was almost overwhelming, and this time, as the creature approached, I looked down to see that it had a cock, proportioned like a human cock, only much, much larger. It was ten, eleven inches long and standing proud as he walked, glistening a little in the light through the window.

I was breathing heavily as he approached, and this time when he touched me, when he placed his paws on my body, he was a little less gentle, a little more forceful. I gasped as I felt a powerful fury arm slide around my back and pull me close to him. With his other paw he reached down and found my moist pussy. He began to rub, stroking me and the rough sensation sent spasms of pleasure through my body. I moaned and whimpered, locked in his embrace, yielding my body to him, wanting him.

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Summer = Slow Sales

Summer is the worst time to be a self published erotic author, or any self published author for that matter.

My sales have dropped off significantly since May.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised the same thing happened to me last summer too.

For anyone new to the self publishing game don’t stress it too much.  Yes, the summer months are slow, and it can be discouraging at times but remember things will pick up once September rolls around.  November through February is the real sweet spot.

Use the summer time to relax.  Don’t try to push out more stories to match previous month’s sales totals (I did this last summer).  You will burnout and your writing will suffer.

Save that energy and creativity for the Fall & Winter months when you’re stuck inside because of the cold.  You don’t have to totally abandon writing for the summer but you may want to lessen the workload a bit.

Beast Me: The Jersey Devil (Monster Erotica) Excerpt

My name is Marcia. I’m a chemistry grad student from New York, and Elena is my best friend. I would say my only friend, but that is not quite true. I have the occasional conversation with April, my lab partner at the faculty, and a kind of on-off acquaintance with the elderly Armenian woman who sells flowers near my apartment. But neither of them would ask me to go to their school reunion, like Elena did.

Technically, it was also my school reunion. She wanted to go and so I tagged along, which is how it had been since kindergarten. My parents tell me I used to follow her everywhere as a toddler. I don’t remember that. I do remember hiding behind Elena’s shoulder at parties, being the third wheel on four dates, and being the butt of endless jokes from Elena’s crowd: the kind of people who thought that nose piercings and black hair dye conferred on them a social superiority. School sucked, obviously. I couldn’t wait to get away to college, despite the fact that I was terrified of New York.

Elena and I had nothing in common. We don’t even look as though we’re from the same species. She’s short and feisty, with perfect lips, perfect curves, high cheek bones and immaculate short dark hair. I’m tall and gangly with a wiry, wavy auburn mop and no chest. . We irritated each other. I hated that she was impetuous, lazy, unreliable, and laughed at the stupidest thing. She said I was uptight and neurotic, and that I just needed a good fucking or a dose of antidepressants. So why did we still hang out?

Well, because she called me every day. She listened to me pouring out my anxieties on a regular basis. She always stuck up for me in school too. My most vivid school memory is of Elena, bent over Lotte Summers on the girls’ restroom floor, a fistful of Lotte’s hair in her hand, screaming into her face because Lotte had drawn a cartoon of me on the chalkboard before history class, with the word ‘Lesbyan’ underneath.

The reunion was her idea. Last year I had pretended to be sick and the year before that it was my exams, so I had run out of excuses. So there I was, on that cold dark March evening, sitting in the passenger seat of the car, silent, as she drove us back to New York.

You see, the other thing about Elena is that she never checks her messages. After two hours on the Garden State expressway to Pleasantville, followed by another hour beautifying herself at the Pleasantville Inn, while I tried to tame my hopelessly out of control hair, we drove across town to find that the Christie Memorial Hall was closed. There had been a plumbing incident. Elena hadn’t read the text.

She didn’t say anything at first, which was usually a bad sign. She bottled it up until we got back to the hotel. Then she lost it.

“All the way fucking down here and you whining every fucking mile.”

“I haven’t been whining!” I said, which wasn’t strictly true.

“I don’t want to spend another fucking second in this shitty town.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m driving back tonight.”

“What? It’s after nine now. Can’t we just stay here and go back in the morning?”

Elena scooped her clothes into a plastic bag and snatched her coat.

“I’m going home.”

She stormed out of the hotel room. I ran after her. 

Elena was silent as we drove. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to awaken the beast, but I noticed that she had turned off the Expressway and taken a country road. So I suggested that maybe she was going the wrong way.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I’m just saying…”

“Do you want to fucking drive?”

“No, and there’s no need to swear.”

“I’ll swear if I fucking want to,” she said, and then let go of the wheel. The car veered violently to the left. “Do you want to take over?”

“No, for god’s sake El!”

She grabbed the wheel again and hunched over as we sped through the dark. I said nothing for a while. I felt foolish, sitting there in my prissy reunion dress. It felt like the night my Dad drove me home from the prom because Ethan turned up with Heather instead. Elena wasn’t there that night. Elena would have punched Heather. Elena wasn’t there, so I rang my Dad and he fetched me and we drove back through Pleasantville in the dark.

“Where are we?”

“Who the fuck knows. Bass Forest river forest or some shit like that.”

“Is that the Pine Barrens?”

Elena shrugged.“I guess.”

The unlit road seemed to be getting narrower. The forest either side of the road was a gloomy homogenous mass of black, a wall of impenetrable darkness.

“Is it…is it safe?”

Elena frowned, and her mouth hung open. “What kind of shit are you on about now?”

“I just meant, the road looks kind of narrow. And there are no lights. I’m not sure this road goes the right way.”

“Jesus, will you shut up already! I’ve driven this way like twenty times or more.”

I said nothing and looked out of the window. The endless expanse of the forest, the sense that it goes on forever knotted my stomach as it always did whenever my Dad drove us through the Pine Barrens to see our cousins in Long Island.

“Wait, is this about the Devil?”

“What?” I said, feeling a shiver run through me at the word.

“The Devil. The Jersey Devil.”  She shook her head.

“No,” I lied.

“You’ve been on about that shit since kindergarten. The Devil? Seriously? I thought you were a scientist.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were the one that believed in it, not me.”

“Oh I do believe in it. I’m just not shit-scared like you.”

“Okay, whatever,” I said. “I’m not having this argument.”

She smirked. “You know where the Devil came from, don’t you.”

“El, I’m not in the mood.”

“An old, dried up hag witch. She gave birth to it and when it was born it was so fucking hideous she cursed it and it killed her and ran into the forest.”

“El, stop it.”

“It slaughters sheep and cattle and bears and anyone who gets lost in the woods. The government has been trying to catch it for years. I’ve seen the pictures. You should see what it did to that tramcar at Haddon Heights. It just rips sheep to shreds. Blood and intestines everywhere…”

“El please!”

She smirked. Then without warning, she turned the wheel. The car pulled over and slowed to a halt, crunching over the gravel and riding up a little on the grass.

“What are you doing? Why have we stopped?”

I had a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, the kind I always felt whenever I thought El was about to pull a prank. She reached over and before I could stop her, she grabbed my phone, which had been resting in my lap. Then she pressed the window button and threw my phone out into the darkness.

“What the hell!”

She smiled. “What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem? You threw my phone out the window? You’re…you’re crazy.”

“Aww, you almost said a swear word.”

“Elena!”

“All you have to do is get out of the car and fetch it.”

“You fetch it!”

She shrugged. “It’s not my phone.”

“Why did you do that? Why would you?”

“Because you’ve been such a pain in the ass and I’m sick of you.”

“Well I’m not getting out.”

“Fine,” she said, firing up the engine.

I started to panic. Everything was on that phone. My whole life, such as it was.

“Okay,” I said, “Just wait.” I cranked open the door just a crack. I could see the phone, but it was beyond arms reach.

“Come on!” she said, revving the engine.

I pushed open the door and stepped out onto the road. Instantly I felt the cold air on my bare calves. I took a step away from the car and in that moment I heard the engine roar. “Wait!”

I saw Elena lean over and close the passenger door as the car pulled away. “Wait! Please!”

I tried to run after her, but it was no use. The red lights grew smaller and smaller and then disappeared into the gloom. I was alone.

She would come back. I was sure of that. She would definitely come back. This was a situation, but she would come back.

I stood by the side of the road, trying not to think about the Jersey Devil, about the drawings of a hideous creature with wings and claws and antlers, about the story that scared me so much I dug a hole in the sand behind our house and buried the pages a foot down.

I called Elena’s cell phone. Of course there was no answer. She would be back, I was sure of that. She always came back.

I knelt at the side of the road, trying not to notice the cold breeze on my shoulders or the horrible sensation that I was being watched. I hugged my arms around myself and tried dialing Elena again. Nothing.

The scream caught me by surprise. It faded so quickly I wasn’t sure whether I had imagined it. Then I heard it again. A horrible, caterwauling, inhuman scream.

I stood up, mouth open in horror, body tensed, ready to run. In the woods opposite I saw movement. A shape, a darker mass, moving in the gloom. Another scream echoed out from the woodland and I gave an involuntary yelp. A fourth scream. Closer than the others.

My legs started moving before I had worked out where I was going. I stumbled and ran across the brushy tussocks of wild grass by the edge of the road and into the musky darkness of the forest. I passed a few trees, than I turned and knelt, kneeling behind a trunk. I peered through the gloom.

I was sure that I could see that shape in the woods across the road. It was moving again, and it was getting bigger. I thought I could try staying still, close to the road and hope that whatever it was, it didn’t see me. But that required bravery and steely resolve and I had none of those qualities. I wanted to run and run and never stop running, and with another little yelp, I pushed myself off from the tree and ran into the darkness.

Covering the ground wasn’t easy. My heels were flatter than Elena’s, but they picked up all manner of leaves and grit and dirt, and my thin black dress snagged on branches and trunks and bushes. After some time running aimlessly, I stopped and rested against a tree. I tried to think clearly. I had a rough mental image of where the road was and came up with an optimistic plan to circle back around and join the road further up. But it didn’t work. My mental map was completely inaccurate and whichever way I walked seemed to lead me further and further into the dark. The tears that had been welling up in my streamed down my face as I stumbled on, hopelessly lost.

From time to time I tried to get a hold of myself. I leant on a tree trunk and practiced my Zen breathing techniques. But every time that I began to calm down, I heard another eerie forest sound, a distant screech or a chatter or a scraping noise that propelled me forwards in blind panic, wandering through the endless pine forests, lost and tearful. I would have given anything to see Elena again, anything. I replayed this thought in my mind as I ran, replayed it over and over again. I would have given anything to see her again.

After what seemed like hours of hopeless wandering, I crashed through a thicket of saplings that scraped across my face. I closed my eyes as I pushed through the spiky branches and when I opened them again, I was standing at the edge of a clearing.

The clearing was bathed in moonlight, which turned the grass a sickly, dark shade of green. I took a few wary steps into the light. Looking up I could see the edges of clouds skirting the moon. The bright white orb shone pure and straight into this eerie space.

Then I saw it. A movement in the trees. A dark shape, a mass in the trees opposite. I knew I should run. But the light in that clearing was a relief after the depths of the forest, and I was exhausted. My dress was stained with mud and dirt; my feet ached. I couldn’t move.

The dark mass emerged from the trees and as its shape entered the clearing, I felt my skin prickle with horror. It, whatever it was, moved with the muscular power and ease of a centaur, though it seemed to have a hunched back. It had four legs, but there was something strange about its front legs and as it moved into the light, I realized with horror that the legs were scaly. The head of the creature seemed twisted and deformed and bore two giant, cruel antlers that gleamed in the light. The shadow of the forest clung to it, then I realized that the shadows were wings. Giant, leathery wings, half-spread. It was the New Jersey Devil. It was real and it was looking right at me.

I was struck motionless with terror as I watched the creature move easily, languidly towards me. As it lifted its front legs alternately to step through the grass, I could see that they ended not in hooves, but in claws. I felt a wave of revulsion. I stumbled backwards a few steps, but I was too scared to turn my back on it. As it walked, the shape on its back unwound and slipped off, dropping onto the grass and standing upright. It was a human. Whoever it was walked towards me, and I could see that she was a woman. Short, with wide hips, naked, her full breasts gleaming as she strolled through the moonlit clearing. It was Elena!

“Elena! Run!” I half-shouted, half-whispered. The creature tilted its head as though listening. Elena was getting closer, but she didn’t seem to be in a hurry. She was smiling, as though she was in a daze. The creature began to move again.

“Elena, run!” I said.   

“Run,” she smiled, “Why would I do that?”

She stopped maybe ten feet from me, and the creature was now level with her, its massive bulk towering over her. She smiled up at it. She was gazing at it, adoringly. Then she pressed her lips to the leg of the creature. She kissed its rough hairy body, running her hands over it before turning to me, smiling and beckoning me to join her.

I shook my head.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” she slurred.

The horror of it was too much. I snapped. I turned and ran, headlong back to the forest. But I wasn’t quick enough. I heard rumbling behind me, then a gust and a creak of those great leathery wings. As I stumbled forwards I half-turned in time to see the body of the creature loom over me. I screamed but my screams were muffled as a sudden, overwhelming weight pressed me into the ground.

I struggled, trying to free myself from the crushing weight on my chest. After a second or two, it lifted, but still I couldn’t move. Something had me by the wrists. The creature loomed over me, a shadow blocking out the moon.

“There’s no need to run,” said Elena’s voice.

I looked over to see her hands gripping my wrists, pinning me down.

“Let me go!”

I tried to struggle but it was hopeless. She had always been stronger than me, and now her strength seemed superhuman.

“Just relax,” she purred, her head close to mine.

“No, no, no,” I said, my voice cracking.

The creature’s shadow was over me and it’s scaly legs were planted either side of my body. I saw a sharp claw glint in the moonlight, and I screamed, closing my eyes. There was a ripping sound and I felt cold air was across my body, and when I opened my eyes, my dress was ruined and lay in shreds around me, while my bra had been ripped in two.

“No!” I tried to struggle again but Elena held me down.

“Shh,” she said, “It will be okay. It will be wonderful.”

The creature lowered its head to me. I saw a hideous brown tongue slip out of its mouth and felt a thick, abrasive sensation on my leg, bruising my thighs with the force of its licking. The drool glistened in the moonlight and I felt dampness on my skin. I struggled again, as the creature took another step, and its rough tongue dragged across my exposed chest, my breasts, my hardening nipples. It’s long hideous head with a scaly black nose and a mouth full of cracked, broken teeth hung over my face. I closed my eyes and tensed myself. But it did not lick my face; instead I felt a clammy sensation as its drool dribbled onto my chin and my lips, trickling down my neck.

I don’t know what that drool was. It was a strange chemical compound that started to heat my skin. I could feel my whole body was growing warmer. I was feeling numb, relaxed, woozy, drunk, and something else. I realized with horror that I was beginning to feel aroused!

My nipples were standing proud and then I felt something brush over them. Elena was kneeling by my side. She was no longer holding me down, but I didn’t want to run anymore. I watched, mouth open, throat dry as Elena kissed my nipples, one after the other, as we lay in the shadow of that grotesque creature, its front legs planted on each side of my knees.    

Elena kissed all the way up my body, and stroked my neck. She cradled my head and lifted me up, pressing her lips, coated in drool, onto mine. I felt her tenderness, and the drool seeping into my throat, filling me with warmth, and I pressed my tongue against hers. I realized that I wanted to kiss her, to kiss her and never stop kissing her, but then she pulled away, suddenly. She smiled at me, and patted the ground. I shuffled onto my knees next to her, our hips pressed together. The creature trotted forwards until it was directly over us, and then I saw it.

I gasped. The creature had human genitalia. Its massive cock emerged from the shadows and hung just inches from our faces. Elena reached out, wrapping her fingers around it though she could barely encompass half of its girth. The creature snuffled and snorted. Looking over at me, Elena ran her tongue over the head of the cock. I watched as she explored the swelling cock with her tongue, at first fascinated, then overwhelmed with desire, until I could bear it no longer. I had to have that cock. I reached forward to grab it, wrapping my fingers around it as best as I could. Then I leant forward and took it in my mouth…..

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Teaching Her A Lesson

“Zachary, Joshua. That’s enough.”

Two brown-haired heads reluctantly turned towards me.

“Sorry, Miss Gates,” the blue-eyed one, Zach, said. He flashed the deep dimples that had the senior girls practically mauling each other to say hello to him when he walked the halls between classes. Josh, his willing sidekick at just an inch or two shorter and only one dimple in his right cheek, gave me a quiet smile-apology. I was so used to the routine of correcting them that their fresh-faced handsomeness almost didn’t affect me anymore. Almost.

As I turned away, I unconsciously smoothed my black pencil skirt, making sure that the sky-blue blouse was tucked neatly into it. I heard my own heels click away, and knew the silence was because they were watching me now, if not listening.  I became a teacher because I didn’t really know what to do with myself after graduation. I went to a decent state school, did the sorority thing, had my sisters, had my flings, and graduated without a ring only because the Delt I was dating cheated on me with my Big and I found out about it when I walked into her room drunk-crying because the asshole hadn’t texted me back, only to discover him in her bed. So it goes.

After graduation, I jumped into a graduate program for education, took the first job I could find teaching English Lit, and shouldered my way into the social hierarchy of high school teaching. It’s my sixth year now and I’m finally working with the oldest students; there’s something cathartic about being able to pick out which ones will be which types of college kids—the future PhD who does groundbreaking research and gets invited onto talk shows, the gay fraternity brother who will be the first to marry, the quiet girl who hasn’t discovered that alcohol can make you beautiful and popular if you drink enough. And so forth.

“So, as I was saying. Does anyone have any idea why someone from the time period Jane Auston wrote in might prefer Bingley to Darcy, even though Darcy has more money?” Zach put up a lazy hand.

“Because Darcy is boring and doesn’t do anything except bitch about things. He’s lame.”

“Zach…”

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, he doesn’t do anything except complain.”

“So what you’re saying,” I press him, “is that money and influence can only take a man so far in life?”

“Well yeah, I guess. It’s not like Bingley is poor, though.” Interesting.

“That’s true. So, what about Bingley makes him the more engaging of the two?” Blank stares from everyone, including Zach.

“What I mean,” I pause, thinking. “What I mean to ask is, how is Bingley more interesting than Darcy?” The class was quiet, and I nervously fingered the light blue beads that rested on my neck, just above the swell of my pale breasts. I always get hyper-aware of my body when a class is being unresponsive, and my body never fails to respond to this attention by warming to an uncomfortably hot temperature. I pace the room slowly, feeling my dangling earrings brush, cool and plastic, against the skin on my neck. Come on, guys. It’s not that hard of a question.

Finally, one of the girls in the back raises her hand. “Well, Bingley actually likes to go out and do things. He dances and he knows how to talk to girls without being awkward.”

“Very good,” I say, gratefully. I feel the boys’ eyes on me and wonder if it’s just me or if they’re far more attentive right now than usual. I check my skirt again casually to make sure it hasn’t ridden up. Nope, all good. But still, their eyes are watching everything I do, and I can see Zach’s ex-girlfriend running a cost-benefit analysis of fighting me right here, right now. She’ll go to a big state school and be a DG or a Tri Delt. I ignore her.

“One of the points Austen makes about domestic society with both men is that there are differences even within the same types of people. Both Bingley and Darcy occupy the same social sphere, but there’s something about Bingley that draws people towards him, just as there’s something about Elizabeth that draws Darcy to her, despite the differences in their personalities.” I let my gaze rest on Zach and Josh and feel a satisfied flare in my belly when they can’t meet my eye. I’m ten years older than them and have had things done to me and done things to men who are very different from me more than they likely ever will; in my experience, women are the more adventurous ones. I give myself a mental shake as I turn away though. Rein it in, I tell myself sternly. Stop tormenting the poor kids.

The rest of the class passes slowly, but steadily, with participation floundering and lots of silences for me to fill with babble about Pride and Prejudice. When I was younger I always swore I would never be one of those teachers that repeated the same syllabus over and over, year after year, but I’ve made an exception for this book because I love it so much; the irony and satire speaks to me in a way that a shrink would probably tell me is unhealthy, but I’d argue that it’s healthier to repeat one book every year than accept advances from my male students, which has happened a lot. Every year, it gets harder and harder to resist, and as class winds down into the final minutes, I find myself once again slipping into a naughty fantasy about Zach and Josh. How easy it would be to close the door and just remind them to be quiet while I made them watch what I can do to myself, and then to each of them, with just my imagination as a guiding force.

There’s a weird feeling in the air as the bell rings and signals the end of class. I know the others feel it too because the girls hurry out with pursed lips, notebooks pressed to their chests, and all of the guys except Zach and Josh bustle out looking bemused and a little dazed. I pretend not to notice that Zach and Josh are dawdling in their corner, packing up their bags slowly as if trying to telepathically agree on something before leaving.

In the hall, the dull thundering of hundreds of students making a break for lunch acts as a white noise for my mind, but it seems nothing can calm the warmth in my belly. Suddenly, I hear the door click shut and the lock flick, and I look up, genuinely surprised and jolted out of my reverie.

Zach and Josh are advancing toward me slowly but purposefully, a strange-but-familiar hunger in their eyes. Looking into either of their faces is like looking at the foaming sea or the sky at high noon, and I realize I don’t know where to look or what to do. I take an uncertain step backward and bump into my desk, causing the little flower vase to rattle like a warning that I ignore the same way I ignored angry ex-girlfriends. They reach me together and Josh leans in to whisper in my ear.

“Not a sound, Miss Gates.” I feel my blue eyes flash even as I open my mouth to respond hotly—if they think they’re going to enact some little fantasy of theirs on me, they have another—suddenly, Zach grabs me and turns me roughly around, pushing me so that I’m bent over on my desk like some lazy porn star in a second-rate video.

“Hey!” I protest. Josh claps his hand over my mouth and leans in while Zach arranges himself behind me, slowly, leisurely. I feel his hands stroke along my sides, pressing the silky blouse into my skin and making me shiver despite the roiling waves in my mind. This is so wrong, this isn’t actually supposed to happen! The rational part of my mind is yelling, but it’s fading into white noise like the footsteps outside, which have subsided in the past couple minutes.

Zach cups both my asscheeks in his hand and gives an appreciative squeeze, I give a small gasp—my ass is huge but his hands are splayed comfortably across the spread in my black skirt. Lazily, he trails a hand down and brushes the sensitive skin just below the end of my skirt while Josh whispers in my ear.

“We’ve been watching you, and we know this is something you want.”

The words send the strangest mix of sexy thrill and genuine fear through me, something feels wrong but Zach is working my body into a furnace with his stroking and teasing, and I’ve never felt so conflicted.

“This…this is wrong,” I whisper, and my voice comes out in a rasp like I haven’t just been using it in teacher mode for the past fifty minutes.

“No…well, maybe a little. But I –we—think you’ve been a bad girl before.”

Suddenly Josh yanks me by my long brown hair, up from the desk, while Zach takes a step back so Josh can shoulder his way in front. Now I’m standing between them, looking up at Josh while I hear an almost-sinister unzipping behind me. My skirt? Zach’s jeans? I feel the fabric fall away from my hips and have my answer. Zach makes a noise of appreciation as he takes in my beautiful, round, high ass, and I know that the white lace is doing what it’s designed to do as well. Josh leans in and whispers in my ear as Zach begins to play with the fabric of my panties, snapping it playfully, and suddenly I feel something like teeth graze the edge. Oh my god….

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Trailer Park Girl (Forced Lesbian Submission) Excerpt

People often say, when they’ve done something dramatic or reckless that they didn’t know they had it in them. Sometimes it happens that way. You think you’re one kind of person then you end up in a situation that you didn’t expect and you shock yourself.

That’s what happened to me. I’ve changed. Boy how I’ve changed! The woman I am today is not the woman I used to be. And it was all down to one person, one time, one place. Her name was Billie. The time was about a year ago. The place? A small town just outside of Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

I’m Karen, and I was born, raised and destined to forever remain in Omaha, Nebraska. My Dad owns the second or third biggest chain of carpet wholesalers in the mid-West, so when I got my business degree it was kind of inevitable I would go into the family business. I’d sit in on meetings, I’d make snotty phone calls on my Dad’s behalf, and sometimes I’d travel across the country to sign things.

I will be honest. I was unbearable. I was rude, I never apologized, I treated all of Dad’s employees like dirt, and I pretty much got everything I wanted. I was also bored, utterly bored. I lived at home and I rarely went out. My parents had been picky about the friends I made at school, and by the time I was at college, I’d become the kind of person you wouldn’t want to spend time with anyway: judgmental, rude, demanding, selfish and completely oblivious to other people’s feelings.

Oh and then there was Brian. My fiancée. The Methodist minister who thought that the no-sex before marriage rule extended up to and including touching. We kissed, occasionally, but most of the time he talked about the church. He talked, I listened and I tried to appear attentive. My parents loved him, the whole neighborhood loved him; he was the darling of Omaha. I was going to marry Brian, and spend all day every day baking, looking after our children and doing dutiful church things.

So yes, looking back, although I was undoubtedly a stuck-up, uptight, prissy little thing, I was, deep down, bored. Some days I was so bored I wanted to scream, usually while I was sitting in our dining room listening to Brian talking about the church.

Like I said, one of my jobs, probably to give me something to do, was to travel to other parts of the country, sign things or sit in on meetings. It was dull, but it got me out of Omaha, and whenever I could, I would drive at least part of the way. I loved to drive, loved the feeling of complete freedom that came with hitting the freeway and letting rip.

Last summer, my Dad was doing business with a company in Mississippi. It was something to do with imported carpet materials or vinyl squares, I really don’t remember. But it meant I had to go to Hattiesburg, Mississippi, listen to a presentation, make notes and shake hands. The company wanted our business, so it was up to them to impress me, not the other way round. I guess if diplomacy was called for, he wouldn’t have sent me!

I took a flight to Jackson and picked up the hire car, a Mercedes. Having complained about the color of the interior and argued my way to a discount that I didn’t need, I headed out on the road to Hattiesburg. It was an easy drive all the way down, that is, it would have been if I hadn’t turned off too early and ended up on a country road. It took me a mile or two until I realized I had gone the wrong way, but the Sat Nav was still pointing me down this road so I carried on. The road got narrower and dustier and there was nothing but parched looking trees in all directions, so eventually, I pulled over and restarted the Sat Nav.

“Perform a 180 degree turn and rejoin 49.”

I screamed in frustration and started up the engine. There was only a scraping sound.  tried it three times but with no joy, and then, because it was always my instinct in such circumstances, I banged my fists on the steering wheel repeatedly. That didn’t help.

So I called the hire car company. They asked me to tell them where I’d broken down but I couldn’t, not exactly, and I recognized the woman I was speaking to as the receptionist I had been rude too earlier. She was laughing as she hung up. I was just about to scream again in frustration when I saw an elderly couple walking along the track towards me. I sighed and got out of the car as they approached.

“Morning dear,” said the woman.

“I broke down,” I said, ignoring her greeting. “I need help to get to Hattiesburg.”

“We’re just on our way to church, young lady,” she said.

“Great. I need to get to Hattiesburg.”

“Oh well Hattiesburg’s that way,” said the man, grinning.

“I know that,” I said through gritted teeth, “How am I going to get there?”

“Well if you broke down, you need Billie.”

“Who is Billie?”

“Billie fixes all the cars round here.”

I sighed.

“Fine. What’s Billie’s number.”

“I’ll call for you,” said the man, fumbling in his pocket for his cell phone. When he finally extracted it, it was the oldest phone you can ever imagine, like seriously, from 1994 or something. He dialed and then had some kind of bizarre conversation that I couldn’t follow properly because of his accent, while his wife looked on grinning.

“Billie’s coming,” he announced, triumphantly.

“How long?” I asked.

“Be about twenny minutes,” he said.

“But I have to get to Hattiesburg in the next half an hour. I have a meeting.”

“Well,” he said, rubbing his chin, “I reckon you’re gunna be late.”

I closed my eyes in frustration.

“Goodbye now,” said the elderly woman, still smiling, and they shuffled on into the dust. I slumped back against the car and sighed again.

Turned out I didn’t have to wait that long for Billie. About ten minutes later a red pick up trundled down the track. The door opened and out stepped Billie. Billie was wearing a red cap, a red lumberjack shirt, jean shorts, and had long, tanned, smooth gleaming legs. As Billie walked closer, I could make out the tail of a tattoo snaking a little way down her thigh.

“How are you Miss,” said Billie.

I looked at her. She was a little taller than me, she had the tanned skin you get from a life spent outdoors and shoulder length dark curls, bleached at the ends, tumbled from under her cap. It was just my luck to get the woman mechanic. In Nebraska, we generally learn that there are some things a woman can do and some things a man can do and I didn’t have time to indulge in political correctness.

“Can you fix my car?”

Billie looked me up and down. Then she smiled.

“Sure. Ah can fix pretty much anything.”

I shrugged.

She brushed past me and I caught a sent of roses and oil that was pungent but sweet and lingered around my nostrils. Billie tried to start the car. Then she cranked the hood and sauntered round to have a look at it. After a couple of minutes during which time I gazed forlornly at the dust, she waved me over.

“See that there?” she said. She was bent over and her tight shorts were bulging with the round of her ass. I tried not to look at it.

“What?”

“Your oil tank’s empty. Jammed up completely. Must’a sprung a leak somewhere.”

“That’s impossible,” I replied, “I only hired it this morning.”

“Well, they borrowed you a wrong ‘un,” she said, standing up and wiping her hands on her jeans. The taught blue denim was smeared with black oil prints. I think I may have shuddered at the sight.

“How long will it take you to fix it?”

She shrugged.

“I guess three or four hours.”

“I need to be in Hattiesburg in twenty minutes!”

She slammed the hood down and the sound made me start.

“Well that ain’t happening.”

She stood in the dust, altogether too close to me for my liking. I was conscious how weak and weedy I looked, in my pastel cardigan, my prissy blouse, my pale violet skirt and heels that were already picking up dust.

“But don’t worry. Ahll be done quick as I can. Hop into the car an ahll tow yer.”

I think I may have pouted a little as I stood there, but Billie was already walking back to the tow truck. So I sat in the front seat of my hire car, sulking. After a few minutes of fiddling with ropes and cables, she gave me a thumbs up and I sneered back at her as I watched her preposterous ass in those ridiculous little shorts wiggle back to her cab.

We set off down the dusty track, then we turned a corner onto an even dustier, bumpier track. The car was jolting along and at every lurch I swore under my breath, because, well I wasn’t the sort of girl to swear out loud. After several long minutes of this we pulled up outside the most ramshackle garage you’ve ever seen. The courtyard merged with the road, and there were weeds everywhere. Five cars in various states of repair were parked in a chaotic arrangement next to a rickety looking building. Off on one side was a garage, the doors of which were wide open, showing an interior that was a mess of parts and junk. Billie was already unhooking the car.

“You can wait in the office if you like,” she said, without looking at me.

I didn’t have much choice. I stepped out of the car into the midday heat and walked with some trepidation to the office. As soon as I entered I was met with an unholy stench of oil and coffee and sweat. There appeared to be three rooms in the place: a tiny cramped office with a rickety chair and table, a slightly bigger room with three threadbare, filthy armchairs and an unspeakably vile toilet.  I was still standing, aghast, when Billie came in.

“You wanna take a seat, Miss,” she said, smiling at me.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t sit on those!”

“What’s wrong with em?”

“They’re filthy! Seriously, don’t you have anywhere for customers to wait that isn’t like something out of a hillbilly horror movie. I mean, really. Customer service anyone!”

Billie looked at me while I gave my little speech. This sort of thing usually worked in most places, from hotels to gyms, but it didn’t seem to work with Billie. She stood without saying anything, arms folded, but when I’d finished talking, she smiled.

“Yeah sure. I got a better place,” she said brightly.

“Well that’s more like it, I thought. Elitism never failed.

“Just follow me,” she said.

She walked to the back of the office and opened a wooden door onto what appeared to be an overgrown back yard. I followed her along a dirt track through grass that was strewn with rusted car parts and debris. My heels were wobbling with every step and I swore I could already feel insects biting at my bare ankles. Eventually we rounded a corner in the edge of the forest and stood in front of a ramshackle wooden cabin.

“Is this it?” I asked.

“Sure is. Why don’t you judge it from the inside?”

I shook my head and followed her inside. It was at least clean. Off to the left was a kind of living room with a couple of wooden chairs and a table.

“You can wait here if you like.”

“Fine,” I sighed, “but I expect a discount. And I want a glass of water.”

“Sure, missy. I’ll get that for you.”

I looked around the place, forlornly. Was I really going to have to wait here for three hours. It was like a nightmare.

“There you go,” she said. I turned round to see Billie pointing a gun at me.

My blood ran cold. I suddenly realized what was happening. I was alone, in the middle of nowhere. I was driving a Mercedes. Of course she was going to rob me.

“What do you want? I don’t have any money on me.”

Billie smiled.

“Oh I don’t want nothing like that honey,” she said. “Now put this on.”

She handed me something. It had a black strap with a pink rubber ball attached.

“What is this?”

“It’s a gag. You put it round your head and fasten it at the back. Now put it on.”

“You want me to put this on? Why?”

“Because even though this is the middle of nowhere and ain’t nobody gun hear you if you start screaming, if I have to hear your goddam whiny Mid West voice any more I swear I’m gonna go batshit crazy.”

Whiny? I didn’t even have an accent!

The gun was lifted straight at me. I could clearly see the rim of the barrel.

“Put. It. On.”

My hands were shaking a little as I fumbled with the gag, but I managed to fasten the buckle behind my head. The ball felt enormous in my mouth and the strap was squeezing my head because Id fastened it too tight. My mind was leaping ahead as the situation caught up with me. She could just shoot me. My handbag was in the car. She could take the Mercedes. The situation was catching up with me.

Still, Billie didn’t seem to be in a hurry. She walked around behind me. Then, out of nowhere, I felt her fingers in my hair.

“You’re pretty. You’re an uptight pain in the ass, but you got a pretty face. And a cute body. I like you.”

That was weird, I thought.

It got weirder. I felt her breathing close to my ear, and then, suddenly, I felt her hand on my ass, squeezing, stroking. She took her hand away, then a second later, I felt a stinging slap on my right ass cheek. I yelped through my gag. I was more terrified than when I thought she was going to shoot me.

“Please,” I tried to say, repeatedly. “I’m not a lesbian. I’m not a lesbian. I’m engaged.”

Of course, all of this wasted and turned into random noise by the gag. Billie was still standing behind me. I felt her ample breasts pushing into my back and I looked down with horror to see her hands stroking and squeezing my thighs through my skirt, sliding up slow.

I was horrified. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I tried to pull away.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said. “You ain’t going nowhere.” She held me tight with her left hand and in her right hand appeared a length of rope. I realized that she must have put the gun down but I was too slow to react and anyway she was much stronger and taller than me. She wound the thin rope around my wrists with expertise and tied it tight, so the rough material dug into my skin.

“There.”

She wandered round in front of me and stood there for a while, tilting her head to one side like she was admiring a sculpture she’d just made. The heat and the fear were getting to me and with my hands tied in front of me it was harder to balance in my heels, so I swayed a little as I stood. Then, she pulled off her red cap. Her hair was released, and for a second I completely forgot my situation, because her hair was so beautiful wavy and rich and dark, like curls of chocolate dipped in ginger.

“Now what could we do with you? I bet you got a rich daddy, ain’t you. Maybe ah could get rich off a girl like you.”

She walked over towards me again and I tensed up. Her face was close to mine now. I could feel her hot, sweet breath close to me, see her sun-burnt, freckled skin, her clear blue eyes, her perfect nose and lush lips.

I felt her fingers brush across my blouse, and beneath I could feel my nipples stir. Oh God no! I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer to apologize for the blasphemy. Her fingers didn’t stop, then I felt an increase of tension in my chest before a sudden release. I opened my eyes in alarm to see that she was unfastening my blouse.

“No! Please! No!” I urged but I couldn’t make myself heard through the gag.

My blouse was wide open now, all but the last two buttons. With both hands, she began to squeeze my breasts. At the first squeeze, I yelped and tried to wriggle free but it was hopeless. She squeezed and kneaded me hard through my flimsy white lace bra. I could feel my nipples hardening, but I told myself that was just involuntary, that it meant nothing.

Her face was close to mine now and as her lips drew closer, I closed my eyes. I thought somehow, if my eyes were closed, this wouldn’t be happening…..

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It’s Been A While

It’s been a while since I’ve posted.  I’ve been busy with writing and life, and I must admit, a little lazy as well.

I want to get back into posting on somewhat of a consistence basis.  In the up coming weeks I plan to post short excerpts from my new stories as well as tips and tricks to help other erotica writers out there.  So stay tuned.

I also have a handful of stories on deck ready to be released covering a number of different genres, from dubious consent to monster erotic to lactation.

FREE BOOK! ROUGHHOUSE

I wrote this erotic short story a few weeks ago.  It’s about a stepsister who tries to seduce her stepbrother.  It’s what you would categorized as FORCEFUL SUBMISSION, DUBIOUS CONSENT, ROUGH SEX.

Although the book is HOT and DIRTY it’s not any more provocative than my other works.  That is why I was confused when both Amazon and Nook Press blocked the publishing of it. I guess it was just to HOT to be self published…Anyways I decided to give this book away to my readers for FREE!  Please Enjoy

WARNING:  Adults only.  This book contains FORCEFUL SUBMISSION, DUBIOUS CONSENT, ROUGH SEX.

 

Roughhouse_FREE

ALSO CHECK OUT MY NEW RELEASES

RANsom

RANSOM: OWNED BY CRIMINALS  ADULT LISTED BY AMAZON

Rocked

ROCKED: OWNED BY ROCK BAND (Fist of The Naughty Reckoning)

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DEEP WOODS: OWNED BY WOODSMEN 

LongHardShaft

LONG HARD SHAFT: TAKEN BY GOLF PRO  (My alternative Pen Name)