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Guest Post: Malin James on Stereotypes, Identity and Roadhouse Blues

Today I get to host the lovely Malin James. Malin’s writing style has always made me a bit weak in the knees. She can convey more power and sex in 5 words in a minimalist, gorgeous voice. Her story The Green Lady was one of my favorites in Under the Mistletoe. Today she’s here to talk about her new book Roadhouse Blues.

First of all, thank you for having me, Delilah. It’s wonderful to be here.

One of the most unexpected things about promoting Roadhouse Blues is keeping track of what I talk about, when and with whom. Between interviews, conversations, emails, social media and posts, I have the constant, nagging worry that I’ve already said whatever it is that I’m going to say. One thing does seem to keep coming up though, so I figured it was worth going into in a little more depth.

One of the best pieces of feedback Roadhouse Blues has gotten so far is that it subverts certain stereotypes. My writing process is pretty organic, so I rarely go into a project with a specific mission in mind. That said, there was something that I knew I wanted to do very early on—I wanted the stories to be about characters whose inner lives don’t necessarily match their outward appearances.

I’ve already talked a bit about the fact that Styx, the town the collection is set in, creates an external pressure that binds the stories together. It’s a socially conservative place in the middle of nowhere—the kind of place where it’s often easier to just do what’s expected of you. It’s the kind of community that is so small that the consequences of challenging the status quo can be huge. So, with a few major exceptions, most of the characters don’t openly challenge it…but that doesn’t mean that they privately conform.

That’s where I go Joe, the good ol’ boy mechanic whose marriage is quietly and lovingly non-monogamous; and Liz, his boss and long term lover; and Luke, the high school football star turned diner owner who plays his private life extremely close to the vest; and Maybelline, the stripper whose relationship to sex is complicated and deeply internalized, despite the fact that it’s her job to perform an exaggerated portrait of female sexuality. In fact, that notion of performance is at the center of it all—how do we identify, and do we choose to perform that identity or keep it hidden?

That’s where stereotypes get interesting. For some characters, like Liz in “Down & Dirty”, stereotypes are a burden—something she actively chooses to defy. She owns a garage at a time when women don’t even pump gas, and she takes a deep, carnal pleasure in her body’s raw strength. She takes the stereotypical idea of what it is to be feminine, balls it up and eats it for lunch without ever compromising the complexity of her identity and sexual needs.

Other characters, like Luke in “Truck Stop”, use stereotypes like a mask. Of all the characters in the book, Luke is the one who is most conscious of the bifurcation between his public image and his private life. Because of that, he deliberately plays up the stereotype of the ex-athlete, business owning, pillar-of-the-community to shield aspects of himself, specifically that he is a gay black man in a “shit-kicking Christian town”.

Unfortunately, choosing to remain closeted is nothing new, especially since the reality is that being openly gay is still dangerous in parts of this (and other) countries. Given where he lives, Luke is instinctively aware of the danger that his sexuality could put him in, so he chooses to remain closeted…but not so deeply closeted that he doesn’t know himself.

There’s nothing delusional or stereotypically tortured about Luke’s relationship to his own sexuality. He owns his attraction to men. He’s at ease with the fact that he’s had gay sex, and that he misses it. He misses that part of himself. And yet, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what acting on it could cost him, so, unlike Liz, he uses a stereotype to protect himself. But that doesn’t mean that he owns his identity any less than Liz. He just owns it privately, which is why, every now and then, he allows himself to indulge. That’s what “Truck Stop” is about—Luke setting aside the safety of the stereotype to engage in truly hot, authentic sex with another man.

I’m not trying to imply that stereotypes can’t be dangerous, because they can, especially when we don’t question them. Stereotypes are why we have hate crimes, misogyny, profiling and pretty much every cultural phobia you can think of. Stereotypes are the illusion that we have even the first clue about a person based on how they look, and they are very often wrong.

And yet, stereotypes persist, and because they persist, they pose an even more insidious threat, because if a person buys into the stereotype that describes them, it can flatten the glorious individuality that is every person’s right, and twist them away from their far more complicated, authentic self. Self-awareness is the answer to that—self-awareness and autonomous self-ownership, regardless of how a person defies, or uses, any given stereotype.

That’s why I wanted my characters to move seamlessly through the world they live in, while remaining aware of, and faithful to, their private realities. Sometimes, that reality manifests internally, as it does for Maybelline in “Marlboro Man”. Sometimes it’s flagrantly displayed, like it is for Liz. And sometimes it lands on a halfway point between the two, and that’s where Luke sits.

Stereotypes, identity, performance, authenticity. These are some of the basic human factors we all confront as we find our way in the world. If there’s one thing I’m proud of in this collection, it’s letting my characters navigate what the people around them think and expect, and then decide for themselves how they want to respond.

And now, here’s a snippet from Luke’s story, “Truck Stop”.

Excerpt:

Luke didn’t really think he’d see Jim again. Between the fluster and the blushing and the chemistry, it was pretty damn clear that trucker Jim was into guys. It was also pretty damn clear that he didn’t know what to do about it. Once upon a time, Luke had been the same. All red-faced awkwardness and bright, shiny eyes. He knew how rough it could be. Sometimes moving on was easier. At least, that’s what he’d told himself.

Luke spent the rest of the afternoon taking orders and fixing food. Jack was off his game, over-salting chili and under-cooking fries. Too many doubles, Luke figured. He’d have to make him cut back, but, in the meantime, it kept Luke busy, which helped him forget about sexy, bright-eyed truckers. He did a fine job too…until Jim came back a few minutes before close.

“Hey,” Jim said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked like a sheepish kid. “Ran out pretty fast this afternoon. Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” Luke said, ignoring everything south of his hips. “Here. I owe you some change.”

Luke opened the register, but Jim shook his head. “No, keep it. Call it a tip.”

“Okay….” Luke slipped the money back and quietly shut the till. “So, what brings you back?” His voice felt strong and deep in his chest, like all of him was there. That should’ve worried him, but the worry didn’t make it through the good.

Jim took a deep breath, like people do when they’re going to be brave or very stupid. “I came back to see you.”

He took off his hat, a gentleman come a-courtin’ with rumpled hair, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Luke’s pulse jumped. He was standing in a room with a fine-looking man, and the room was full of windows. Anyone could see.

Luke cleared his throat. “How about some pie?”

Their eyes met. Thick, caramel silence.

“Yeah,” Jim said. “I’d like some pie.”

Luke flipped the closed sign and locked the door. It was pretty goddamn clear they weren’t talking about pie. His hands shook as he lowered the blinds. He never lowered the blinds. He was too wary of being set up. Trucker comes in, makes sexy eyes…next thing you know, you’re getting punched in the head. Jim could be fucking with him, or trying to steal his till, or just looking to bash gay guys in the act of being gay, but Luke didn’t think so—not with the way he ran out and came back. Luke didn’t think so, and he was willing to take the risk.

By the time he got back to the counter, Jim had taken off his jacket and was sitting at the counter, tight and sharp as a wire. Luke got the coffee pot and brought over a mug. Jim touched his hand.

“Better not,” he said and smiled. “Haven’t been lucky with coffee.” His hand stayed on Luke’s, pale and rough, clean beneath the nails, as his eyes filled with a soft, silent pleading. Luke thought about all the good, wholesome, down-home sex he never got to have, and the last of his caution slip away. He leaned in, drawn by those pretty, pleading eyes, but Jim got there first.

Jim kissed him, hard on the mouth, like he making an important point. Luke stiffened—not turned off, just surprised—but Jim hesitated and started to pull away. Luke put his hands on the other man’s back and pulled him back in. They didn’t talk. They barely breathed. They mauled each other right out of words and the mind to speak.

Jim dropped to his knees. Luke tried to pull him up, but the younger man stopped him with those big, bright eyes full of let me and please. Luke let him go and leaned back against the counter. Jim unbuckled his belt like a kid on Christmas day. He had no idea if the guy had even seen another man’s dick, but there was something sweet about finding out.

 

Author Bio:

Malin James is an essayist, blogger, and short story writer. Her work has appeared in Electric Literature, Bust, MUTHA, Queen Mob’s Tea House and Medium, as well as in podcasts and anthologies for Cleis Press, Sweetmeats Press and Stupid Fish Productions. Her first collection, Roadhouse Blues, is now out with Go Deeper Press. Find out more at malinjames.com.

Buy Links:

 

Guest Blog: Horatio Slice by Oleander Plume

I’m so happy to welcome one of my favorite author people to Delilah Night—Oleander Plume!  Oleander edited on my all-time favorite anthologies, Chemical [Se]X, also known as the book that almost me orgasm on an escalator. TLDR– I thought I was too cool and jaded by my own genre that I could read it without consequence in public. I was wrong. She has a new book out–Horatio Slice–which I can’t wait to read (in private).

 

A big thank you to Delilah Night for letting me pay a visit to her blog today! I’m here today to celebrate the release of my first full-length novel, Horatio Slice: Guitar Slayer of the Universe.

Someone asked me the other day “How did you come up with this book?”

That’s not an easy question to answer. I think we writers are influenced by an infinite number of things. Sometimes, an idea will fall right into our lap. At other times, story fodder is an elusive beast, a shy creature we must coax into our proximity with gentle words or perhaps a snack.

Horatio actually did fall right into my lap. What inspired it? An imaginative submission call I found on the Erotic Readers and Writers Association website.

Besides that siren song of a prompt, this book was inspired by the British comedy I watched as a teen. By every concert I’ve ever attended. By books, and movies, and even the Sunday comics. Inspiration, it seems, is everywhere, but even the most inspired erotic writer sometimes hits a brick wall.

How then, do we find inspiration again? My favorite way is with a word association game.

Using a pen and paper, jot down anything that pops into your head. Does it have to be sexy? No. The sexy comes later. For now, let’s find a starting point. I will now type the first words that pop into my head:

Classic cars, celery, elephants, new shoes, hunger, wine, tasting … wine tasting.

Wine tasting stands out for me. Let’s use a wine tasting as the backdrop for our story. Now, we need to add the players. Of the remaining words, “new shoes” sounds fun.

Let’s say our first character is wearing new shoes. How do they make the character feel?

Flirty, uncomfortable, wobbly, taller … do you see how this opens up the imagination? My first inclination was a female character wearing new high heels that hurt her feet, so she is keeping herself planted firmly in a chair. While planted, she spots a handsome character across the room.

Considering she can’t move, how will she attract this person’s attention? I’ll bet you’ve already come up with at least three interesting ideas!

Feeling creative? Would you like to win an e-book? Using the comments below, tell me how you would bring these two characters together. Feel free to keep it as brief or verbose as you would like. The one Delilah and I like best will win a digital copy of Horatio Slice: Guitar Slayer of the Universe.

Winner will be chosen on August 14, 2017. Good luck, and happy writing!

 

Horatio Slice is NOT dead.

Gunner Wilkes knows a secret. Heartthrob rock star Horatio Slice is not dead. Sure, Gunner may turn heads with his big brain, good looks, and gym-built body, but his mind is on one thing only: returning his all-time favorite rocker and secret fanboy crush to Earth.

Yes, there are VAMPIRE PIRATES

Fame and stardom were starting to wear thin for Horatio Slice, but when he was sucked through a magical portal while on stage at Madison Square Garden into a jail cell in a strange dimension called Merona, his confusion quickly cleared upon meeting his sexy, dark-haired cellmate, a vampire pirate named Snake Vinter, who filled Horatio in about life in the universe, jumping from dimension to dimension, and craftily avoiding the wrath of gnarly-mask-wearing leather queen King Meridian—a guy nobody wants to cross.

The metal ship is named Frances.

And on Snake’s metal ship live eight identical blond Humerians, who proudly display their cocks and assholes in carefully crafted trousers, as well as a wild assortment of untamable, cock-hungry travelers and stowaways. But someone has hacked into Frances’ mainframe, demanding that Snake and crew deliver Horatio Slice to King Meridian, or feel his wrath.

All the zany magical comedy of Mel Brooks, an adventure not dissimilar to Indiana Jones meets Barbarella, and men, men, horny men, of all shapes and sizes, Horatio Slice, Guitar Slayer of the Universe is wild, fun, pornographic fiction for anyone who loves the masculine, the feminine, and all identities in between. Even more so, it’s for cravers—for aficionados—of big, hard, pounding cock, and anyone who can handle laughs that won’t stop coming.

 

Oleander Plume lives in Chicago, Illinois, with her husband, two daughters and a pair of obnoxious cats. While she writes in many genres, her favorite is m/m. Or m/m/m. Or m/m/m/m, or … who’s counting, anyway?

Horatio Slice: Guitar Slayer of the Universe (published by Go Deeper Press) is Oleander’s first, full-length novel, but her short stories have appeared in anthologies by Violet Blue, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Shane Allison, Alison Tyler, Neil Plakcy, and F. Leonora Solomon.

Oleander also edited a self-published erotic anthology, titled Chemical [se]X, featuring stories centered around the theme of aphrodisiac chocolates.

For more information, please visit her at poisonpendirtymind.com.

Blog: http://poisonpendirtymind.com

Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Oleander-Plume/e/B00OALVFGS/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1500393524&sr=8-2

Go Deeper Press media page: http://godeeperpress.com/media-page-horatio-slice/

Go Deeper Press shopify: https://go-deeper-press.myshopify.com/products/horatio-slice-guitar-slayer-of-the-universe

Twitter: https://twitter.com/OleanderPlume

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/OleanderPlumeAuthor

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/OleanderPlume/boards/

Horatio on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35558974-horatio-slice

Book trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-56xGmu27g

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Guest Post: Corbin Grace (Under the Mistletoe Author)

Today we welcome Corbin Grace, author of one of my favorite poems in Under the Mistletoe–Frosty.

Let me tell you about how I came to love my lizard. This isn’t a story about reptiles. It’s about craft. It has to do self-perception and creation.

I’m a dabbler. I have a lot of interests: photography; drawing; writing; painting; photo retouching and creating book covers. I have an intense focus but it flits from interest to interest, emptying my wallet but filling my days.

So yeah, back to the lizard.

My wife and I have taken a number of metalsmithing courses: specifically making jewelry from copper, silver and titanium. In one class, we learned the process of etching copper in a salt water solution. I don’t want pretend I’m Mr. Science, and I certainly don’t want to scare you into desperately clicking on the exit button. Basically, the process involves photocopying a black and white design onto a sheet of acetate. Then an iron is used to transfer the image from the acetate onto sheet copper.  Trying not to get electrocuted, you run an electric current through the salt water. The bare copper gets slowly eaten away while the parts covered in black, a resist, remain unchanged. After I’d etched the pattern onto the copper, making certain parts raised while others were recessed, I cut out the shape of the gecko that I had used as my image.

Then, I used another process: enameling. I covered my jewelry piece with green powdered glass which I melted at very hot temperature in a kiln. The melted glass coated the copper. Next, I used a girding stone over the entire jewelry piece. The raised parts returned to bare copper, the recessed parts retained the green color. Then, as a last step, I melted a second layer of clear enamel to seal the piece, preventing tarnishing and protecting the skin of those who might have a copper allergy.

Here’s the finished lizard:

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I’ve struggled for years—and to tell the truth, it’s been decades—with depression and anxiety. When I make jewelry, or engage in any of my hobbies, I focus on entirely on the process. I forget all else for a time. It’s almost magical.

But then, the difficult part: Am I happy with what I’ve created. Do others like it? With my lizard, I wasn’t happy. It looked okay, but I hated the shade of green. But everyone else in the class loved my piece, as did others I showed it to. Many said that it was their favorite of all my jewelry pieces. I got over myself and learned to love it.

So in the end, what lesson did I learn? That I’m too self-critical? Or that I value my work on how well or poorly it’s received? Maybe the lesson is that I should leave the “terrible lizards” to Michael Crichton (RIP), who made a mint off of them.

In any event, as I’d mentioned, I also enjoy writing. I have my first published poem in the new Christmas charity anthology: Coming Together: Under the Mistletoe. It’s available in print and eBook formats. I hope that you’ll support the charity Project Linus by purchasing it.

As for my contribution, I like a poem with a bit of humor, and that’s what I deliver in Under the Mistletoe. Here—to give you an idea of my sense of humor—is a little rhyme of mine:

The Riddle by Corbin A. Grace ©2016

Oh Elfin maiden! lithe and fair,

Let not my riddle cause despair:

 

A giant’s handful, all aflame,

The tip is warm, the shaft the same.

‘Tis used in darkest cavern deep,

In blackest night, whilst others sleep.

 

“A torch,” my lord, “to light the way;”

He doffed his pants: “Sweet lady, nay”

 

So what’s next for me? I’ve just learned that a short story of mine has been accepted for publication. I’m also revising a vampire/detective hybrid called Gunmetal Grey Sky that I’ve designed a cover for:

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(The crime scene tape portion of the image is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license by Tex Texin)

I hope that everyone has a great holiday season. Merry Christmas!

– Corbin

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Guest Post: Sonni deSoto (Under the Mistletoe–Tugging Reins)

Have Yourself a Kinky, Little Christmas!

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I love holiday stories. From The Grinch Who Stole Christmas to the corny Hallmark made-for-TV movies, nothing feels more like the season than when every story you see comes complete with jingle bells and snow. Every story seems filled to the brim with love and endless miracles. Those stories, sappy or corny or mushy as they are, seem to showcase the best of the world. In a culture obsessed with the grittiness of stories that tell you how it is, they are shining beacons of what could be.

And, I think particularly for kinky people, Christmas just lends itself to really fun encounters. From being obsessed with getting our hands on the latest, greatest toys to, as my story “Tugging Reins” explores, all the fun pervertable toys that can be made out of the many, omnipresent yuletide decorations, there’s just unlimited merriment to be had for a kinkster with a creative mind. From tinsel whips to jingling restraints, Christmas really knows how to dress-up a scene! I defy you read my story and look at an oversized candy cane decoration the same again. Can’t be done.

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This time of year makes everything feel wondrous and possible and can’t help but inspire the undeniably seasonal wish to get what you really want. So often, we’re afraid to ask for or go for the things we desire. We worry about what people will think or how it’ll change our lives or even fear that we don’t deserve our own desires. I wanted my characters, Chris and Danielle, to embrace their own personal Christmas miracle of turning what seems like impossible fantasy into a sexy-as-hell reality.

Especially, with BDSM, it often seems daunting to make our kinky dreams come true—we can’t all expect suave, broody billionaires under our trees. But there are definitely safe, sane, and consensual ways to explore hidden desires that feel possible and fun. When you’re just starting out, it can feel awkward trying to navigate a way into this world. There are so many rules and norms that people in the community just seem to know. Made worse by the fact that, outside the pages of books and in reality, the kink community tends to attract…well, the nerds of the world. The overthinkers and the often socially odd; how is it that so many of our fictional stories are executed flawlessly? We’re normal people; we make missteps and mistakes. We say the wrong thing and doubt ourselves. Yet our stories rarely get to explore the often awkward yet exciting learning curve; I wanted to give those highs and lows a voice.

And, even in this post-Fifty Shades world, I think there’s still the misconception that kink and heart-warming, Hallmark-esque romance can’t go together. I wanted to show that they definitely can. That, sure, BDSM can be broody and lush, but it can also be sweet and fun and quirky, even on a low-budget; after all, we call it play for a reason. I wanted to write a story that would take all that tinsel and bells and holiday cheer and invite my characters—and my readers—to, well, play.

Sonni deSoto

If you enjoy “Tugging Reins,” please check out my story “Make Me Believe,” which also features Chris and Danielle, in The First Annual Geeky Kink Anthology. To find more about my novels, anthologies, and general thoughts on all things romance, sex, and kink, please visit my website sonnidesoto.blogspot.com.

Thanks for reading and happy holidays!

 

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Guest Post: Sheryl Collins (Under the Mistletoe–All I want for Christmas is Sex)

Sheryl Collins

Sheryl Collins

A present Texans at this moment.  A single mother of  a college student who has retired from her present place in the workforce pursing her long life dream. One of those dreams was to be a songwriter and author.  Sheryl had a long journey to finally Under the Mistole which includes from high school creative writing class to being honorable mention in  college creative magazine at the city state college. Sheryl has many short stories submission that did not make the cut for publishers on Wattpad.com. She also completed a YA book with some help and influence from her daughter which is now found on Wattapad.

“ Life influences me. Many people ask life? Every person I  meet can become a story and every experience can be a song. I have wrote lyrics to poetry since I was a little girl as a journal. It was therapy for my soul, a person ticket out of Texas to anywhere I wanted to go. My family influences me a tons. Great list of writers which maybe an endless list. I always felt that I could never be good enough for this stuff . I wrote and no one would understand me. I was a bunch of nonsense written on a page. If getting one book recognized by a great number or one song that can be heard on the radio, I know that it was not trash at all.” reply Sheryl.

Sheryl writes everywhere. That includes her car, at work in past, on vacation, fishing, in church etc. “You never know where a great story or song will hit you. I find myself sometime driving singing. I dreamed of singing in my sleep and waking up trying to remember.” laughs Sheryl.

Sheryl next project is finishing up one or a few children songs for a EP. She might also do a pop or blues EP. Sheryl next book at the moment is for her children EP called “ Clueless Sucks.“ A song she is working on for a merch. “My previous work with some help from my daughter being a teen, did not get the passion I wished to see from YA crowd. Did I expect a publisher yes but I will not say millions. I wanted to draw young people and artists to writing in story and music.” she add.

“ I am a jumper. I never know will I sit one a side and start doing another project. Who I might pick up? While I was working on Love Story EP and fabric design, I was trying to create a beat than a song came out.  I found myself back at a project for middle readers for children story that encourage music. Erotic writing at this moment I don’t know since I put down my patterns and sewing thing for gowns. The big break for an short story or stories did not happen. I have a goal to at least have a thousands of fans around the world who enjoy my creativity.”

Guest Post: Maria Duendí (Under the Mistletoe–Hush)

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I hate New York City. I have lived here for nearly eight years and I have never gotten into the cutesy “love/hate” stage most people do after a while. I hate it. I hate the smell (in the words of Han Solo, “What an incredible smell you’ve discovered!” Every day. Many times a day). I hate the lines of people that could rival Soviet Russia’s (sometimes I stand in a line just so I don’t possibly miss something.). I went to a Wegman’s in Pennsylvania, near Penn State, and I forgot to get something before I got in line. “Take your time, honey,” the cashier said. Take. Your. Time.

What I especially hate about New York, however, is the noise. Right now, there is construction being done on a new luxury building on our block (thanks, gentrification!), and we are being assailed with beeps, grinding, knocking, yelling. At night, the cement mixer sounds like it’s fucking. More power to you, man

 

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One evening, my husband and I came home close to midnight. I stepped out of the car, and I felt the ambient noise vibrate through my body. There was a whooshing sound—-the sound of cars getting off and on the FDR drive. There was a general growl from the electricity running in so many homes. Panic hit me at the back of my throat. “It’s never going to stop, is it?” I asked my husband. Day and night, the machine ground on.

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My husband is a city boy, so of course he told me I was exaggerating. “Everywhere is like this,” he said. But I remembered sleeping out in the desert when I was 20 years old, nothing but clear, dark, sapphire sky, the sound of the wind brushing the trees like a thin film over it. Even in a more populated area like State College, most people’s concerns are not about how kinky the construction equipment gets. There are escapes out there—-soothing oases to clear your head, to change your mind.

“Hush” stemmed from my fear of noise going on in perpetuity—-the grinding, growling, crackling noise of the city amplified by a mysterious force. The residents of the city in the story have no escape—-they’ve been hemmed into the city and they have a curfew. The only conduit to escape is a boy who really, really likes a girl, and we can’t (and wouldn’t!) blame the girl for accepting his invitation.

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 “Where are we going?” I asked, when it was quiet enough for him to hear my words. I added, “Do you know?”

He turned to me, shocked and amused, as if he had been alone and he had only been driving with his beer and my thighs holding it. “Yeah,” he said. “I know a place.” It was the first time I had heard his voice—deep and gravelly.

“Why aren’t you already there, then?”

A foolish grin came across his face. “Uh, travel ban?”

I laughed. “You broke that without thinking. How did you—”

“You wanted to go, right? Away from the Noise?”

I breathed in. The Noise lingered, but I could feel relief from it through the cold window. The man opened the window and there was an admirable silence. I breathed it in and out and my tongue was no longer unhinged. I let out a big whoop—a blade of sound piercing a soap bubble. The man chuckled to himself—at the twinkling of quiet stars, at me.

We stopped just a few blocks down from a stoplight—quiet blocks with shabbily genteel shrubs in front, a porch swing here or there. We approached the most run down of them. The wood of the porch had not been repainted in a long time—patches of brown and wincing tan peeked through the gray. There was a porch that was low to the ground and a balustrade wrapped around it.

The man reached over me to open my door to the car. I inhaled his clean scent, his body hovering me warm compared to the cold outside.

“Why me?” I asked, in his shadow.

He opened the door and removed the bottle from between my thighs, his eyes suddenly looking into mine. “Because you said yes.”

 

About Maria Duendi:

Maria Duendi resides in the New York City. She enjoys an almost obscene obsession with perfume and an addiction to Star Trek: Deep Space 9. This is her first publication.

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Guest Post: Ashe Barker and her new book

Hello lovely readers. I’m so sorry I haven’t been posting–I’ve been editing all the amazing stories and poems you’ll read in Under the Mistletoe. Today I’m thrilled to have Ashe Barker, a fellow Totally Bound author and contributor of a sizzling hot story in Under the Mistletoe, guest posting about her new release, Resurrection.

 

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Hello, and thank you so much for inviting me over to talk a little bit about my latest paranormal/time travel erotic romance, Resurrection.

I have always loved time travel romances, and in particular I’m intrigued by the stories where a character comes forward in time. As a writer it’s a dream to imagine all the wondrous and terrifying things they would encounter and to weave those into some sexy and occasionally hilarious scenes. Resurrection has a lot of that. Imagine for example a fifteenth century noblewoman let loose in a twenty first century shopping mall. Or her first encounter with a fast car. Or modern plumbing. Throw in a sexy vampire Dom and my joy is complete.

I am often asked about the inspiration which sparks an idea for a story. No spoilers here, but readers will be aware of the amazing event which took place in the current century and which stripped away five hundred years of accepted wisdom about one of our most infamous historical characters. Richard III was vilified by the Tudors, most ably abetted by one William Shakespeare. In Resurrection Richard is a relatively minor character but still manages to hold his own as a towering figure who influences much of what happens, and makes an amazing reappearance at the end of the story.

Resurrection is both contemporary and historical, paranormal and an erotic romance with the BDSM themes I love to write. I hope readers enjoy this mix of genres as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 

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The past is only a heartbeat away

Right from the start she knew it wasn’t about love.

As the youngest daughter of a wealthy family in medieval England, Lady Jane of Acton has been betrothed to Gerard Twyfford, the son of the Earl of Roseworth, since she was a baby. A dynastic marriage such as theirs is about power and property, not love but even so Jane desperately yearns for her husband’s approval. But Gerard’s rare visits to her bed are for the sole purpose of producing an heir, and she’s even failed at that. How can Jane win Gerard over when she cannot even be the wife he needs her to be?

Would one last chance be enough? Could he make things right, even now?

Ged Twyfford doesn’t know what he’s missing in life. A powerful vampire, he’s lived for close to six hundred years and seen a lot during his time but his past still haunts him. On a whim, he purchases Roseworth castle, the keep he used to rule as lord. Mostly in ruins now, Roseworth is a shell of what it was when he was still a mortal but Ged is determined to make it his home again. Maybe this is what he’s been missing, maybe he needs a place to belong at last.

When a woman emerges from the lake beside his castle, looking and sounding a lot like the wife he lost over five centuries ago, Ged assumes she’s a witch out to dupe him. But what if she is who she claims to be? Ged finally realizes just what he had, and just how precious to him was the wife he betrayed all those hundreds of years ago.

Do they really have a second chance or is it just too late to start over?

And of course a sensuous and hot excerpt…

 

“So, are you ready to lay yourself across my lap, Jane?”

“Will you hurt me?”

“Of course, though not so much that you won’t be able to stand it.”

“What if I want you to stop?”

“This is a punishment spanking so it’s over when I say it is. If you start to feel overwhelmed and want me to pause for a moment though, you need only ask.”

“And, after…?”

“And after, I shall hold you until you stop crying, and I’m sure that all’s well between us. Then I shall fuck you. You should be aware, Jane, I intend to make a better job of it this time.”

He was pleased to see a delightful flush creep across her cheeks. Time to pinken her buttocks to match.

“Jane?” He patted his lap.

She stepped to the side then leaned across him, lowering herself into position.

“Further forward, if you please. Lift up your bottom for me.”

Jane obliged him, pushing herself up onto her toes to present her beautiful heart-shaped arse. Ged admired the pretty curves, leaning to his right to catch a peek at her pussy lips just visible between her thighs. He contemplated asking her to spread her legs to afford him a better view, but decided against it. He had plenty of time and would explore her sweet little cunt soon enough. For now he opted to concentrate on the spanking. It was no hardship, he couldn’t recall an occasion when he had ever anticipated administering a punishment with quite so much relish.

Jane jerked hard when he laid his palm on her upturned buttock. He caressed her skin, felt the muscles tighten beneath his hand as she clenched in anticipation. He circled her soft cheeks with his palm, first one, then the other, saying nothing. He continued to caress her until she softened, her body relaxing, ready for him.

The first slap was soft, but still she gasped. He stroked the sensation away, then dropped another spank onto her sensitive behind, harder this time. She let out another soft sigh, but didn’t shift her position. He continued to slap her soft cheeks, peppering her behind with spanks which became harder, sharper, more intense. Soon she was wriggling on his lap, rubbing hard against his erection. She could have no doubt of his arousal, and he was acutely aware of hers.

As he ramped up the punishment her pussy lips glistened, then moisture started to trickle. She dampened his jeans, though he would swear she was unaware of her physical response. Her head though, that was another matter entirely. He rifled her thoughts shamelessly, and knew the moment, even before her body went limp, draped across his thighs in absolute surrender, that he had her. She was his, to do with as he pleased.

 

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About Ashe Barker

USA Today Bestselling author Ashe Barker writes erotic romance and spanking romance in a variety of genres including contemporary, BDSM, paranormal, historical. ménage, gay romance and time travel. She is a #1 Amazon Bestseller and all her stories feature hot alpha males and sassy submissives, often with a lot to learn. Kink abounds, and there’s enough dirty talk to satisfy the most demanding smut lover. However dark and dirty the setting, love always emerges triumphant, and her stories never fail to deliver a satisfying happy ever after.

 

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