Are We Just Writing for Ourselves?

So, seriously guys, is it just us around here? Have the literary perverts just closed in upon themselves, telling each other stories while groping in the dark?

This question came up at the Circlet Press retreat this year (go look at #PornCamp if you want some giggles) and most of the participants seemed OK with the concept. I was not.

I'm not sure if, in a post-Fifty Shades world, we can afford to be that insular. That book is decidedly not OK with the BDSM sexuality of its, uh, hero, and yet it's being held up as a stunning success in the markets of kinky and erotic fiction. This makes me think that a lot of people are not finding us, don't know what other stuff is out there, or how to find it. That makes me incredibly sad.

Every weekday I write a newsletter, Erotica Today, just because I hope it leads curious people to where all the porn's at. It can take up to four hours to put one together, and I do it so that our erotic work can be found by people outside the community who want to read it. Recently, I added tags relating to Fifty Shades to its Livejournal community, hoping that it draws new readers in. I have no idea if it's working, or if it'll ever work.

So, can anyone think of anything we can do about this? I mean, yes, Shades has made the press, but then what?

Only Twelve Days Left to Help the Raven Boys!

Hot Excerpt: Like the Hand of Time

Like the Hand of Time: Time Travel Erotica 
edited by Bethany Zaiatz
ISBN: 978-1-61390-053-6
Word Count: 41,067
Page Count: 124
List Price: $5.99

EXCERPT FROM "A Man, A Woman, And A Time Machine" by Nobilis Reed

I’m not sure what it is about showers. Maybe it’s the white noise of the spraying water, maybe it’s the enforced isolation of standing in a narrow stall, maybe it’s the relative lack of visual stimulation. Whatever it is, my brain seems to work better in the shower than anywhere else.

Like this one shower not too long ago. I had stolen a starship, escaped from Earth, exposed a galactic-scale time-travel swindle, and I had met Bolfi. It was about the best outcome that a humble con artist like myself could ever hope to achieve.

Bolfi wasn’t human, exactly. Well, technically, he wasn’t human at all, but to my unsophisticated eyes he looked like a tall, blonde Adonis with pointed ears and a cute little ridge on his nose that did nothing to ruin his rugged good looks. His race had a sexual encyclopedia, the Pludex Gork, that made the Kama Sutra look like “Sex for Idiots.” We had spent two weeks locked in our hotel room going through it in detail.

Did I mention that Bolfi had a frankly amazing level of stamina?

On the morning of the fifteenth day, I yawned and stretched, then came fully awake when my hand bopped his head.

“Morning, lover,” said Bolfi, rubbing his eye.

“Sorry about that,” I said with a sheepish grin. “Not really used to sharing a bed.”

He leaned over and kissed me. It was a tender but brief kiss, the kind that people give when they’re completely comfortable with each other, but there’s halitosis involved. “Not a problem.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Ooh. Morning breath, however, is.”

“Oops, sorry.” He sniffed. “You want the first turn at the shower?”

“That bad?”

“I think we’re both pretty smelly.”

“Okay then, yeah, me first.”

We hadn’t tried every position in the Pludex Gork, of course, not in only two weeks, but it was starting to get repetitive. I was getting bored. There were only so many ways that two humanoid bodies could fit together. While I was in the shower, it hit me. Why did I have to be limited to two?

I finished, dried off in the instadryer, cleaned my teeth with the instabrusher, ran my hair through the style-o-matic for a nice braid, and walked back out to the bedroom. The hotel’s facilities weren’t quite as extensive as a transmogrification unit, but they got the job

done. “Next!”

Bolfi gave me a kiss on the cheek and dashed in after me. I lay back on the bed and called up the Illustrated Pludex Gork on the holographic display. There were dozens of positions in there, classified by equipment requirements, level of gravity, and number of participants. I called up the section for two male and one female and started flipping through the options. By the time Bolfi came out of the shower I was starting to get worked up again.

I turned to him and gave him my best lascivious leer. “Bolfi, I have an idea.”

He glanced to the display, and back to me, raising one eyebrow. “Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling about this?”

Then the door opened, and Bolfi walked in carrying a tray with breakfast for three. “You should hear her out,” said the second Bolfi.

“It’s a good idea.”

The first Bolfi shook his head and blinked.

“What do you say?” I said, waving my hand at the hologram.

“Want to give it a try?” The position wasn’t anything particularly challenging. It was a full gravity position, a classic doublepenetration with the female in between the two males. It seemed like a good choice for starting out.

The second Bolfi shrugged. “What can I say? She’s a persuasive woman.”

The first Bolfi finally managed to speak. “You’re not supposed to be here! It’s against the rules for us to even exist in the same time. It’s way too easy to create paradoxes. Way too easy to damage the timestream.”

“You might as well give up,” I said, standing up to put my arms around him. “The fact that he’s here at all means that I will convince you to do it. Let’s just try it out, and if you don’t like it, you can just not go back in time and the whole affair will never have happened.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said the man I decided to call Bolfi One. “This is why there are rules about these things! If we create a paradox it could create a completely separate timeline, branch us off into a separate universe. You just don’t do that kind of thing.”

Bolfi Two just sat and laid out the plates in a small triangle in the center of the bed. He knew he had no part in the conversation.

“You know me and rules,” I said. “We’re just using it for a little fun. We’re not changing history or anything. What could go wrong? And besides, what’s an alternate universe between friends? Would anyone actually notice the change?”

He shook his head. “It’s just not done.”

“Come on, sit down, have something to eat.” I positioned myself in front of one of the plates.

“I brought your favorite,” said Bolfi Two.

With a sigh, Bolfi One sat crosslegged and took a bite of a pale purple thing that looked like a cross between a muffin and a croissant.

We ate in silence until Bolfi One turned to Bolfi Two and said “Is it really worth it?”

“Oh, dude,” said Bolfi Two. “Completely.”

Bolfi One looked over his shoulder at the holographic display, still hanging in midair over the bed. “Tequila,” he said. “I’m going to need tequila.”


Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, and Weightless Ebooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

Help the Raven Boys!

New Release: Like the Hand of Time

Like the Hand of Time: Time Travel Erotica 
edited by Bethany Zaiatz
ISBN: 978-1-61390-053-6
Word Count: 41,067
Page Count: 124
List Price: $5.99

Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, and Weightless Ebooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)  

About the Book: The concept of time travel is an understandably attractive notion to the entire human race. If we could master it, we might find it possible to undo our past mistakes and hold on to the one who got away; we could freeze or lengthen that most perfect moment of climax with just the right lover; or perhaps we could sneak a peek into the future to see how long our new love and passion will really last.

Like The Hand of Time explores time travel intimately through seven all-new diverse and unique lenses. In the past, present, or future, lovers of all kinds-- straight, gay, or otherwise-- traverse time and come together to meet a long admired historical figure, help themselves get the girl, heal past wounds, and occasionally even just to pass the time in the sexiest way possible. Edited by Bethany Zaiatz, Like The Hand of Time includes stories from Angela Caperton, Julie Cox, Gayle C. Straun, Neil James Hudson, Monique Poirier, Kit Russell, and Nobilis Reed.

Hot Excerpt: The Viscountess Investigates

The Viscountess Investigates: A Dominion Erotic Mystery 
by Cameron Quintain
ISBN: 978-1-61390-035-2
Word Count: 69,044
Page Count: 204
List Price: $6.99


“Easy, Snuzzle,” the driver said, pulling back on the reins. The pony girl began to drag her feet, throwing up a small cloud of dust and gravel until the forward motion of the cart was under control.

The driver gave her human mare a few seconds to catch her breath, then brought the carriage whip down smartly across her shoulders. The pony girl moved forward at a gentle trot, lifting her legs high and making the bells on her breasts chime with each step. The small purple hearts tattooed across one buttock and down her right thigh were quite visible.

The driver steered her carefully down the gravel road and into the quarry. The cart went down the path to the punishment wheel. The guards ordered the prisoner to halt as they stared at the newcomer.

“I’m afraid I have to cut this short,” the driver’s cool, sophisticated voice said. “I have need of him.”

The prisoner felt his heart beat faster. He had known it was her from the second she had appeared, but even so, hearing her voice sent a quiver of excitement through his body.

“He belongs to you then?” the blonde guard asked.

“A poor thing, but mine own. Here are his papers. I need him hosed off and shaved as soon as possible.”

While the guards were checking his paperwork, the driver crossed over to her pony slave and pressed a lump of sugar past her bit gag. “Good girl,” the driver said softly. Snuzzle stamped her feet and gave a whinny of pleasure. She was far too deep into her Persona to respond with words, even if the bit had allowed it.

Standing still, at last, but still chained to the wheel, the prisoner heard her approach. He wasn’t allowed to make eye contact with her, but he didn’t have to. He knew exactly what she looked like. He could see a perfect memory of her face, with its moody grey eyes, and proud Roman nose. He often thought of her as an ancient queen reincarnated. She had the kind of a face that would look appropriate if carved into a marble statue, or stamped onto a coin.

He knew every inch of her. He knew the pale skin and lustrous black hair, the full breasts and shapely ass. He knew the hands with their long fingers that could so easily give pleasure and pain. She would be wearing something that both displayed and revealed her body. She would have her belt on, with the two whips, the cruel single tail called Tears-Like-Rain, and Hornet’s Sting, the wicked little flogger. No doubt Hornet’s Sting was already twitching against her thigh, anxious to be in use.

She was coming closer to him. The delicious scent of her body, sweat and leather reached his nostrils. He could feel himself becoming aroused. A gloved hand reached out and gently lifted his head, allowing him to look her in the face. She was actually more beautiful than he remembered.

“Enjoying yourself, slave?” she asked. Her grey eyes danced with merriment.

“Yes, Viscountess,” he replied.

“I’m sorry to end your vacation, but I have need of you.” She saw the expression on his face and smiled. “Don’t pout darling, you’ll enjoy this one. It looks like murder.”

An hour later the prisoner was standing in the prison yard in front of the warden’s office. He had bathed in the hose, and had been shaved. The hair on his face was gone, along with every bit of hair from his body below the neck. The guards had also given him something to eat and all the water he could drink. As he stood in the sun, drying off, his wrists were held behind his back with leather cuffs. There was a collar around his neck whose leash led to the back of the pony cart.

He had missed his collar over the last few weeks. He had to take it off, since it didn’t fit the mood of the Dominion. He had felt naked without it, which was odd, since he had been naked most of the time. Now he was equally naked, but he felt at peace with himself now that the strip of leather was back around his neck. There was a metal tag on the collar which read “My name is severin” followed by his slave registration number on one side and “I belong to the Viscountess” on the other.

The Viscountess stood in the shade of an awning, luxuriating in the waves of submissive energy that rippled off of him. She admired his bowed head, the curve of his well-marked ass, even the small, half erect cock that jutted out at an odd angle.

The warden emerged from her office with his release papers in hand. She was a squat, powerful woman with biceps the size of most people’s thighs. She had a wide-brimmed hat and was carrying her favorite flagellation instrument, strips of an inner tube nailed to an axe handle.

“I swear that boy of yours is the best buck I ever did see,” the warden drawled. “Hell, the last time he went over the wall he dammed near escaped. We had to use the dogs.”

“Escaped?” the Viscountess raised one eyebrow quizzically. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“If he didn’t escape, we wouldn’t have no reason to put him in the hot box, or stake him out for the fire ants, ain’t that right, boy?” The warden grabbed one of his testicles between thumb and forefinger and gave a hearty squeeze.

“Yes, Boss, thank you Boss,” he gasped.

The warden roared with laughter and spat some tobacco juice on the ground. Seeing it, Severin couldn’t suppress a shudder. It brought back too many memories. There were some things even he didn’t enjoy.

“Thank you for taking such good care of him,” the Viscountess said. “I’ll make sure to recommend this Dominion to all my friends.”

“I sure would appreciate that, ma’am.”

The Viscountess drew up the leash until she had tugged him very close to her.

“I suppose next you’re going to tell me that you’re too tired to run behind the cart.”

“Yes, Viscountess,” he admitted.

“Very well,” she sighed theatrically, “You may lie on the floor of the cart, face up.”

He got himself into position. She settled into the seat and placed both feet on his chest.

“Comfortable?” she asked with a faint smile.

“No, Viscountess.”

“Excellent.”

She cracked the whip and Snuzzle shot forward at full gallop. The cart went through the open gates and onto the road. Every little bump sent her heels into his chest, but he lay there, almost contented, at her feet.
As they travelled down the road, the man felt a familiar, queasy sensation. The sun seemed to go down, then come up again. Things shot past them in a blur. The Dominion of the prison work farm fell away. Everything became a jumble and they were suddenly falling, or flying, or running, because he could still hear the jingle of Snuzzle’s bells. Everything seemed to be spinning about them.

As the vertigo and nausea struck him, he reminded himself that he could turn a wheel until he was ninety and he still wouldn’t be a real pony slave. He had worn the harness and even carried some women, but it wasn’t in him to be a true pony. He could never cross that yawning void between Dominions and the Real World.
Everything became light, then dark, then light again. A world seemed to be forming around them, one piece at a time. A building appeared, then another. The wheels of the cart struck pavement. What had they been rolling on before? he wondered. He could hear car engines and smell their exhaust. They were now on a busy street. In the prison Dominion it had been midday, here it was early morning.

The Viscountess fought to get the cart back under control. They were wedged between two cars in bumper to bumper traffic. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to them.

“New York,” the Viscountess explained.

That would explain the smell. Lying on his back on the floor of the cart he had an odd view of things. He saw people on the sidewalks, men wearing clothes and speaking without permission. There but for the grace of God go I, he thought.

The Viscountess brought the cart around to a narrow alley. She gave water to Snuzzle, then drank a bit herself. When she was done, she freed his hands and tugged on his leash, forcing him to prostrate himself on the pavement before her. Her dominant energy flowed freely down the leash, sending a shudder of submissive desire through him.

To his horror he saw that dust from the prison yard had settled on her boots. Each particle of dust marred the perfection of the perfect black leather. He drew himself up to his hands and knees and leaned forward. He was so upset that he almost forgot to ask permission.

“Please, Viscountess,” he begged.

She did not answer verbally, but simply snapped her fingers and pointed. Immediately he went to work. His tongue worked its way around the tip of the boot, licking the dust away. The black leather was cool and smooth, sweet as chocolate to his hungry mouth. He felt her toes move beneath the leather, and she laughed at his eagerness.

“Tell me, slave, what do you know of the Algophilia Society?”

“They’re very rich and powerful,” he said, gulping down some gritty mud he had just taken off her boot.

“In fact they’re probably the richest and most powerful group of S&M adepts in the city. They became much more popular when people stopped taking the Hellfire Club seriously.”

“Well, what do you expect? Appearing on The Avengers is one thing, but when they let themselves appear in the X-Men comic, well…”

The Viscountess took Hornet’s Sting off her belt and with a flip of her wrist sent it hard across his ass. It was a wicked little thing and made sure to catch his balls with its moosehide strands.

“You shouldn’t criticize your betters,” she said, then added softly, “Even if you are right.”

“Thank you Viscountess,” the slave said, keeping his face close to her boot. He was working on the instep now, a delicate process that required he lie on his side.

“The Board of Directors wields a great deal of authority, and unfortunately one of them just passed away. Eric Powers. I’ve known him for a few years. He’s a collector of rare erotic artwork and a master of forniphilia, the art of human furniture. I once rented a pair of sculptures to display at a garden party, lovely girls, do you remember them?”

“No, Viscountess.” He was almost done with one boot, going across the toe a second time to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, “I was staked out in the grass and couldn’t see them.”

“Yes, that’s right. Well, at any rate, he’s passed away.”

“What happened to him?”

“That is what we’re going to find out. We have an appointment to see John Masters, the president of the Algophilia Society.” The Viscountess gave a sharp tug on the leash. “And we don’t want to be late.”

* * * *

The Algophilia Society owned a huge stone building which seemed to fill a city block. A doorman took charge of Snuzzle. The Viscountess and Severin walked up the stairs to the door. He had developed the knack of keeping his head down while still being aware of everything around him. He kept just enough tension on the leash, matching his strides to his owner’s. She didn’t have to tell him to be on his best behavior.

Touching the doorbell produced a cute, college-age girl in a very short maid’s outfit. It didn’t quite come up enough to hide her pierced nipples, and the skirt wasn’t low enough to hide the fact that she was completely shaved. She was balancing precariously on eight-inch heels, the shoes held on with small padlocks. Although her wrists were free, her elbows were chained behind her back. She had managed to get the door open, but for the most part her arms could do nothing but flop around like the tiny forelegs of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Apparently they had interrupted her in the midst of dusting, or at least attempting to dust. A bright red ball gag about the same color as her lipstick was buckled between her teeth. The front of it had a hole, and into that hole had been inserted the end of a feather duster. She had to dust using only movements of her head.

No doubt when she failed to do a good enough job, she would be subject to some exquisite punishment.

“I am the Viscountess. I’m here to see Mr. Masters.”

The maid made a sort of murmur from behind the ball gag and nodded her head. She backed away from the door with careful steps and led them over to an elevator. She moved like someone on stilts.
She took them to a small elevator and nodded towards it, holding up the fingers of one hand.

“Fifth floor?” the Viscountess guessed. The maid nodded.

The Viscountess did not thank her, but merely stepped into the elevator, followed by Severin. The maid shuffled back to her duty. She was engaged in dusting a group of small, delicate-looking bottles that were on a low table. Viscountess winced at her clumsy attempts to dust as the elevator door slid shut.

“What do you think?” she asked when they were alone.

“So this is how the other half suffers,” Severin mused, glancing around the polished brass and mahogany elevator. He saw his naked body in a mirror on the ceiling. There were also rings set in the walls so slaves could be secured in a variety of positions.

The elevator was almost silent until it reached its destination. They found themselves facing a long hallway with plush carpet. Heavy oak doors lined the hall and there was a secretary at a desk guarding the largest and most impressive door.

The secretary was a well-built ,middle-aged woman with a blouse stretched very tightly across her large breasts. Her lipstick was subdued, but her long fingernails were fire-engine red. Her hair, a shade too red to be natural, was pulled into a tight bun. She wore glasses with cat’s eye frames perched on her nose. She looked vaguely like a school teacher or librarian from the 1950s. It was a good look for her; somehow she seemed to be both conservative and smolderingly sexy at the same time. The little sign on her neat desk read, “Miss Fellatrix.”

“Yes?” Miss Fellatrix said, glancing up from her computer. She looked at them as if they had just tracked mud across the carpet.

“I am the Viscountess. I have an appointment to see Mr. Masters.”

“One moment please.” She lifted the phone and pressed a button. “Sir, there’s a Miss Viscountess and slave to see you. Yes sir.”

Miss Fellatrix rose from her chair with some difficulty. She had to take the arms of her chair and pull herself to her feet. Once she was standing the reason for her problem was clear. There was a dildo of no small size permanently mounted onto her chair. There was no way she could sit without impaling herself on it.
The secretary steadied herself on her black patent leather pumps and smoothed the tight skirt across her well-rounded ass before leading them to the door.

“This way,” she announced, opening it for them and following them in, apparently to see if her boss needed her to take dictation or something.

John Masters was the perfect image of an alpha male dominant. He was an imposing figure while seated and when he rose it was with the power and grace of an ex-athlete. Although he was casually dressed, everything he wore was very expensive. The diamond on his pinky ring was so small it was scarcely noticeable. His face was handsome, but not too handsome, rather it looked rugged and a bit worn, perhaps from sailing around the world on his yacht. There was a touch of gray at his temples, as if to remind visitors that he was both older and more powerful than them.

“Viscountess,” he said, taking her hand and expertly kissing it. “It’s an honor to meet you. Please call me John.”

He was making sure that she didn’t have to call him by his title. It didn’t take a genius to guess that in his club he was always called Master, which was both his title and his last name. By allowing her to use his given name he was accepting her as an equal.

In front of the desk there was a comfortable seat for her and a circle of bare floor for her slave. Viscountess settled into the seat and made a circular motion with one hand, indicating that Severin should sit rather than kneel.

As Masters took his seat the Viscountess was aware of his gaze on her. He was admiring the swell of her breasts as they rose from the silk corset, and her legs in the tight leather pants. A current of sexual desire flowed out of him. She accepted this as the compliment that it was and made sure to give no sign either verbal or nonverbal that she reciprocated.

“I don’t know about you,” Masters said. “But I haven’t had my morning coffee yet. Would you like some?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“And your slave?”

“Nothing,” Viscountess said.

Miss Fellatrix had been standing at attention waiting for orders. He glanced at her and nodded. She bowed slightly and left the room.

“This is quite a place you have here,” Viscountess glanced around the office. “Is your organization entirely male dominant?”

“Not at all. We have several dominant female members, and a few switches of both sexes.”

The Viscountess nodded. She had the feeling that he was one of those dominants who saw submission as a sign of weakness. In the privacy of the club men might submit to the power of a woman, but it was all in good fun, not like the complete submission demanded from the female slaves.

Since no one was paying attention to him, Severin looked around the room. For the most part it could have passed for an office at any business. Even the rack of whips and canes was discreet and tasteful. Nipple clamps were on a silver serving tray. Everything gleamed as if recently polished. There was a magnificent view out the window, plush carpet everywhere but the circle he sat in, and wood paneling on the walls. It looked like what it was, a very old and wealthy men’s club.

Several pictures on the wall intrigued him. There was a lithograph from one of the original editions of 120 Days of Sodom, and a signed, original Bishop. Several framed photos dotted one wall. There were pictures of Masters with a few celebrities, some of them in leather, others in bondage.

Interestingly, many of the pictures were of Miss Fellatrix. There was a shot of her naked, on her knees looking dazed and exhausted surrounded by a roomful of nude men. Her body looked as if she had taken a bath in semen. She had a slender crown on her head, and a banner pulled across her chest read “Blow Job Queen 1989.” There was another shot of her and Masters having a vanilla wedding. She looked radiant in her gown, and equally radiant in the next picture where she was wearing only her bridal veil and having the letter M branded into her right buttock.

The door opened noiselessly and Miss Fellatrix herself entered the office. She was accompanied by a maid, a human serving tray, and a woman wearing only a collar and a waist cincher. The maid was dressed much like the one downstairs, but her hands were free, and she had normal heels instead of the cruel spikes the other one wore. The woman who was the serving tray was naked from the waist up. Below that she was wearing stockings and a garter belt and high heels. She was a big girl and her large breasts with the prominent nipples swayed with every step she took. Around her ample waist she had a serving tray with a half circle cut out of it that hugged her tightly. It was supported by chains that went around her shoulders. The tray contained a silver coffee pot, two cups, and a bowl of sugar.

“How do you like your coffee, ma’am?” the maid asked, making sure she did not make eye contact with the Viscountess. She was a pretty thing, dark-haired and slender, breasts the size of grapefruit visible above her uniform.

“Light, with two sugars.”

The maid poured the coffee, added the sugar, then carefully positioned the china cup and saucer on the tray. Taking one of the woman’s breasts in both hands, she squeezed, sending a thin stream of milk into the cup.
After a quick stir with a silver spoon, the maid knelt and held out the cup of coffee in both hands. The Viscountess did not take the cup right away, but made the maid kneel motionless.

Miss Fellatrix did not need to ask how Masters took his coffee. She made it with expert precision and placed it on his desk. Only then did the Viscountess take the cup and saucer from the maid, who remained kneeling. The nearly naked woman immediately went to the side of the Viscountess’s chair and dropped to all fours, offering her back as a table.

“I always find that a little oral service is the best way to start the day.” Masters announced. “Would you care to join me?”

“Please don’t go to any trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, we’d be honored,” Masters smiled graciously.

The way he phrased it, it would be impolite to refuse. The Viscountess glanced at the maid, still kneeling, but looking at her with eager anticipation.

“Very well.” The Viscountess carefully placed the saucer on the waist cincher of the human table and unbuckled the front of her own pants, revealing the hidden zippers. The pants could be turned into a pair of chaps. The maid’s face positively glowed at the sight of her, she glanced up, making sure she had permission before leaning in and applying her tongue.

Meanwhile Miss Fellatrix was making herself comfortable underneath the desk. She fit so easily under there that the desk had to have been built with this purpose in mind. All that was visible of her was the back of her head bobbing up and down as the sound of sucking and slurping filled the room.

Viscountess was not surprised to find that the maid was quite skilled at her job. The woman ran her tongue up and down the length of her lips, teasing the clitoris slowly to life with long broad strokes. As the Viscountess lifted the coffee cup she noticed that her hand trembled slightly.

“This is excellent coffee,” the Viscountess said, adjusting her position on the chair. She draped one leg over the maid’s shoulder to give her better access.

“It’s grown at a plantation in South America worked entirely by slave labor.”

“So it’s sort of unfair trade coffee?”

“Yes, ah,” Masters made a noise that sounded more like pain than pleasure. Miss Fellatrix’s head was bobbing up and down so fast that it was a blur. “We send a few girls down every year for some hard labor; the locals love it.”

“I can imagine,” the Viscountess let out a soft moan. The maid’s tongue was now moving in deft circles around her clit. Obviously further conversation was going to be difficult…

Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, and Weightless Ebooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

New Release: The Viscountess Investigates by Cameron Quintain

The Viscountess Investigates: A Dominion Erotic Mystery 
by Cameron Quintain
ISBN: 978-1-61390-035-2
Word Count: 69,044
Page Count: 204
List Price: $6.99

Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, and Weightless Ebooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

About the Book:
The regal Viscountess and her partner Severin are not your typical detectives, nor your typical mistress/slave pair from the BDSM subculture. They inhabit the magical and kinky world hidden by the powerful spell known as the Blindfold, and they travel from the Real World into magical Dominions that reflect every kink fantasy humans can dream of. When the powerful leader of the Algophilia Society is murdered, their path to track down the killer brings them through a Victorian London that never was, where “fox” hunts involve no animals, and a feudal Japan where a mysterious Jade carver creates terrifying magical dildos. (Think: if Elric’s Stormbringer were a dildo instead of a sword.) Their loving bond as owner and slave is tested–and reinforced–as they whip, suck, and Scene their way to unraveling the mystery and confronting the culprit.
Packed with sf/fantasy film, book, and gaming references, The Viscountess Investigates is both a romp through BDSM subcultures and a geeky fantastical delight.

About the Author:

Cameron Quintain is a quiet librarian by day and a swashbuckling superhero by night. He is already at work on his next Erotic Dominion mystery.

Hot Excerpt: The Drag Queen of Elfland

The Drag Queen of Elfland and Other Stories
by Lawrence Schimel
ISBN: 978-1-61390-051-2
Word Count: 47,500
List Price: $5.99

As if eager for the sight of him naked, the fronds of Glenn’s potted palm poked around the shower curtain to drink in the splashed droplets as he shaved his legs beneath the warm spray. They drank in the timbre of his voice, a smoke-husky contralto splashing against the tiles in a cascade of notes:

I asked an old man, what is love…

Glenn paused suddenly, listening. He shook the water from his ears, and again listened for the strain of music he had just heard. He had thought, at first, that it was a melody running through his head, but he was certain now it had been coming from outside somewhere. He had never before heard the tune, and it ran counter to the song he’d just been singing; he’d never been able to summon a melody while singing or listening to another. Glenn cut the water and strained to hear the music again. Silence. No… there it was. Like a trill of flutes, or perhaps voices in falsetto. He listened to them for a moment, before they dropped away once more. Glenn wondered who might be singing or playing. He gave a mental shrug and turned the water on again. He began to sing once more, running the razor upward along his shin toward the knee. He wanted not to need to hurry. He had always hated needing to get dressed in a hurry; his transformation was a process that shouldn’t be rushed.

Glenn frowned at himself in the dressing room mirror and forced himself to yawn, trying to pop his ears. There’d been an almost-constant ringing in his ears since he sang his first set upstairs, a ringing that sounded just like that odd snatch of notes he’d heard at home when he was in the shower. Only it was no longer a melody, but a constant nagging whine. Glenn began to wonder if something were wrong with him. He hoped it wasn’t an ear infection; he didn’t feel any pain or dizziness, just heard flutes. He’d been perfectly fine until he began his first set. But by the end of the first song, the trill was there, distracting him–and now alarming him. He’d thought at first that he was again imagining that same song he’d earlier heard, or had thought he heard. Only it didn’t go away. Glenn stretched his jaws wide again and breathed through his nose. What if he--

There was a knock at the door, interrupting his train of thought.

“One moment,” Glenn called out. It was always best to make them wait, even if you were ready for them. He looked himself over in the mirror and pinched his cheeks to give them more color.

The door opened anyway, ignoring his command. Richard slipped in and crossed quickly to where Glenn sat.

“You were wonderful,” he whispered, nuzzling Glenn’s ear, one hand massaging either shoulder.

“Why, thank you. How sweet of you to say so.”

“No, it’s you who’s sweet.” Richard began to nibble his way down Glenn’s pale neck. He sucked the flesh where the muscle met the collarbone.

“Mmm. Don’t. You’ll leave a mark. I’ve got another set tonight.”

“I know. That’s why I came back. The Landis Project is due tomorrow and I’m afraid I’m going to have to run home now and get back to work on it.” He lightly kissed Glenn’s shoulder again, and looked up at him in the mirror. “But, save this for me for later?”

“Sure thing.” Glenn gave his boyfriend a peck on the cheek, leaving a perfect lipstick mark.

“I’ll never wash again!” Richard cried, cupping one hand over his cheek. Glenn swatted him on the ass with one elegantly gloved hand.

“It’s no fair. You get to leave a mark.” Richard crossed to the door. “Just you wait until later.” He disappeared into the hallway before Glenn had the chance to respond.

*** 

Glenn stared at his reflection again, wondering what to do? If you can’t beat ‘em, he reflected glumly, join ‘em. He began to hum, trying to match pitch with the noise in his ear.

Glenn shook his head vigorously, trying to dislodge the ringing in his ears. His wig began to slide off; he hadn’t bothered to change before leaving the club, wanting only to go home and sleep and hope the sound was gone in the morning. But he’d promised Richard he’d come over–which was why he was sitting on the steps of a brownstone, trying to get a better grip of himself before continuing on toward Varick Street. Glenn didn’t really feel like going to bed alone tonight, anyway. He was afraid he might need someone there, if something really were wrong with him. And he wanted someone to hold onto. Maybe sex would take his mind off those damned flutes. Or voices. Or whatever they were.

Glenn began to sing “I’m Nothing Without You,” hoping to drown out their constant ringing by concentrating on a different melody. It didn’t help. In fact, it made things worse. The ringing redoubled in volume. Glenn kept singing out of spite, refusing to let his body do this to him; his voice was his biggest comfort in life, not to mention how he earned a living these days. He would not let anything take that pleasure away from him.

And then Glenn was holding onto the song because he saw shadows approaching quickly from behind him. Fear made his stomach clench, ice-cold.

Don’t run, he told himself. It will only make things worse. If they thought he was a woman, they might want to rape him. If they knew he was a man, they were probably out fag-bashing. Or maybe they meant to rape him anyway, their irrational homophobia leading them, or giving them the excuse in their own minds, to perform those very acts they abhorred. Resolutely, Glenn kept singing, but he was alert and on edge, adrenaline racing through him.

Suddenly, they were around him. Tall. Aryan blond.

“The Queen is dead,” one said.

“You’re her heir,” another said.

There was nothing Glenn could do to stop them; they had him outnumbered, some sort of cult from the sound of it. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t resist quipping to himself, “I’m certainly having a bad heir day.”

One of them grabbed him.

The ringing in his ears rose to a deafening pitch. Of all the times for his ear infection to act up! The world around him dissolved into vertigo; waves of black, then gray, then white.


Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, Fictionwise, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, Weightless Ebooks, Trapezium, and Rainbow eBooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

New Release: The Drag Queen of Elfland

The Drag Queen of Elfland and Other Stories
by Lawrence Schimel
ISBN: 978-1-61390-051-2
Word Count: 47,500
List Price: $5.99

Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, Fictionwise, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, Weightless Ebooks, Trapezium, and Rainbow eBooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

This Circlet title from 1997, part of the Ultra Violet Library imprint for queer fantasy and science fiction, is now available in digital format for the first time. The Drag Queen of Elfland is a collection of fantastical stories imbued with a refreshingly queer sensibility. These seventeen stories feature a lesbian werewolf taking back the night, a gay vampire discovering the perils of going to the gym (too many mirrors, for starters), a young lord's son undertaking a quest to obtain a magical sword and win the heart of the boy he loves, and much more. Sometimes funny, sometimes moving, sometimes sexy, and always imaginative, these stories show readers the secret worlds that lurk beneath the surface of our own.

Lawrence Schimel has published over 100 books as author or anthologist, including The Future is Queer (Arsenal Pulp), Things Invisible to See: Lesbian and Gay Tales of Magic Realism (Circlet), Two Boys in Love (Seventh Window), and Fairy Tales for Writers (A Midsummer Night's Press). He has twice won the Lambda Literary Award, for First Person Queer (Arsenal Pulp) and PoMoSexuals: Challenging Assumptions about Gender and Sexuality (Cleis), and has also won the Spectrum, the Independent Publisher Book Award, the Rhysling, and other awards. He lives in Madrid, Spain, where he works as a Spanish->English translator.

Hot Excerpt: Virtual Girl

Virtual Girls: The Erotic Gems of Evan Hollander by Evan Hollander
ISBN: 978-1-6139-0052-9
Word Count: 16,500
List Price: $4.99

Excerpt from Virtual Girl by Evan Hollander

Stan Karl stepped through the front door of the Virtual Girls Salon at exactly 5:30 p.m., just as he’d done every Friday afternoon for the last five months.

“Hi Stan,” said Thal, the lithe, dark-skinned beauty who manned the salon’s front desk. She was dressed in a white spandex jumpsuit that left little to the imagination

“Hello.”

“Who would you like to try ?” She gave him a sly smile, knowing full well that he was only interested in one of the Virtual Girls’ programs.

Every Friday after work Stan asked for program 0004, Tamara. while plenty of Virtual Girls customers often repeated their favorite programs, this would be Stan’s seventeenth straight time through Tamara. devotion to the one program was even more curious considering Tamara ‘t all that popular with the salon’s other customers. Most of the clientele opted for oral sex programs like Candy Kisses Lolly Pop, big-tit programs like Big Bubbles Double Bubbles. Tamara just a basic full-figured, mature woman program without a real gimmick.

“You know, Stan,” said Thal. “Variety is the spice of life and we’ve got over a thousand programs to choose from… including one called Thal.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with Tamara.”

“All right,” said Thal, running Stan’s debit card through the computer. “But don’t mind me asking, what’s so about that program?”

Stan stood there thinking about it, then said, “It’s just that I’ve come to know her… I mean it well. You know… almost like a real lover. I know what it likes, and it knows what I like. It’s like we’re a perfect match.”

Thal shrugged her shoulders and handed him a key. “Salon seven. Enjoy.”

“Oh I will,” said Stan. “I always do.”

Stan walked down the hall to the green door with a stylish number seven painted on it. He slid in the key, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

After getting undressed and hanging his clothes on the back of the door, he left the dressing room and entered the VR salon. A comfortable chair sat in the middle of the room, a skull-cap on the table next to it. wires hung from the arms of the chair. When he sat back in the chair it shaped itself to fit the contours of his body. After making himself comfortable, he adhered the various touchpads to his skin, taking great care to make sure they were properly positioned. Finally, he slipped the stim-sheath over his penis and strapped the skull-cap to . When both were snug, he pulled down the skull-cap’s visor.

“Begin program,” he said … And he was suddenly lying back on a king-sized bed in a bedroom decorated in shades of red and blue. There was a woman on the bed next to him.

Tamara.

She was an older woman, but still quite attractive with a devilish smile, flowing red hair, luscious thighs, and a more than ample chest.

As always, she was wearing a black lace teddy, black thigh-high stockings and a pair of black heels. She began the program by lying down next to him on the bed, whispering to him while she caressed her body with long, gentle strokes of her fingers.

“I’ve been waiting for you all day,” she said, running an index finger into the deep chasm between her breasts. “Waiting all day for you to suck on my tits.”

She pulled aside the cup covering her right breast and the fleshy orb fell free, the dark nub of her nipple standing stiff and erect in its center.

“Don’t you want to suck on my tits?”

Stan answered by twisting his body around and taking the nipple between his lips. He licked it gently at first, then sucked it deep into his mouth. As usual, her breasts felt big and soft against his mouth.

“Oh, that feels so good,” breathed Tamara. “Worth waiting for.”

Stan sucked on Tamara’s nipples for several minutes while she stroked her clit through the thin fabric of her teddy. “You know what else I’ve been waiting for you to do?”

Stan shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to… lick my cunt.”

No matter how many times he heard Tamara say that it always turned him on. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt all day too,” replied Stan.

“Well, then,” said Tamara. “Let’s get it your mind and onto your tongue where it belongs.” She rose up, undid the teddy’s snaps and lowered her exposed pussy onto Stan’s waiting mouth. First he kissed and sucked on her vaginal lips, then teased her swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. With that, she began to grind her cunt harder against his mouth. “Fuck me with your tongue,” she cried.

Stan complied with her wishes, extending his tongue and sliding it as far up her hole as he could. She shuddered against his touch as nectar-like juices began to flow down around his tongue and into his mouth. Tamara let out little screams of pleasure as she readied herself for orgasm… then stopped herself just on the verge of climax as the built-in default of the program automatically denied her an orgasm until the user had been completely satisfied.

“Do you have something for me suck on?” she asked, climbing off Stan and nestling down between his legs.
Stan didn’t answer, knowing the program would continue just as well without a response.
And then, like a woman who’d been starved of cock for years, Tamara began licking and sucking his pole. This was the part Stan enjoyed most, the part that kept him coming back time after time.

She began by sucking on just the tip of his cock, then took all of it deep down her throat. She licked it from end to end, then kissed every throbbing inch. The pattern continued for well over twenty minutes, stopping when the program sensed Stan was ready to come.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked, and kissed the tip of his cock for the final time.

“You know I do.”

“Oh, lover.” She climbed on top of him and lowered herself onto his cock.

Stan knew he didn’t have to move, that Tamara would do all the work if wanted, but tonight had been especially good and he was fucking her harder than he’d ever done before. Each time Tamara lowered her body down onto his, he thrust up to meet her, marveling at the exquisite grip and control of her muscles as they brought him closer and closer to climax.

Then, sensing he was about to come, the program sent Tamara into orgasm. She arched her back, grabbed at her lolling breasts and clamped down tight on his . “Fuck me, lover!” she cried as her body was wracked by spasms. “Fuck me hard!”

Stan thrust again and again…

“Wild me!” she screamed.

…until he and Tamara came together in a perfectly timed simultaneous orgasm.



Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, Fictionwise, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, Weightless Ebooks, Trapezium, and Rainbow eBooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

New Release: Virtual Girls

Virtual Girls: The Erotic Gems of Evan Hollander by Evan Hollander
ISBN: 978-1-6139-0052-9
Word Count: 16,500
List Price: $4.99

Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple's iBookstore, Fictionwise, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, Weightless Ebooks, Trapezium, and Rainbow eBooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

“Evan Hollander pokes a hole in the wall. On the other side are regular people getting it on in irregular ways. Virtual Girls is a provocative peep show.” – Amarantha Knight, author of The Darker Passions

“Evan Hollander gives you pulp sex with an SF slant. A virtual roll in the hay with Virtual Girls is T&A with G-force!” – Kyle Stone, author of The Citadel

This Circlet title from 1995 is now available in digital format for the first time. Virtual Girls collects the very best of Evan Hollander’s unbridled sexually fantastic fiction. By combining erotic writing with science fiction, Hollander creates unlimited possibilities for erotic fulfillment. His characters use time travel, zero gravity, voodoo, and virtual reality to achieve states of sexual bliss, for themselves and for the reader.

This collection contains the stories “Artistic License”, “Virtual Girl”, “Night Vision”, “Sex In Time”, and “The Zero Gee Spot”.

 Evan Hollander is a prolific Canadian writer who has published dozens of erotic short stories in a variety of mass-market men’s magazines and anthologies. His work has appeared in such publications as Gent, 40+, and Sugah, as well as in the Circlet Press anthologies TechnoSex: Cyber Age Erotica, Of Princes and Beauties, and Selling Venus. Virtual Girls is his first collection.

Hot Excerpt: Chocolatiers of the High Winds

Chocolatiers of the High Winds
by H.B. Kurtzwilde
ISBN: 978-1-61390-049-9
Word Count: 122,000
List Price: $6.99

Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Fictionwise, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

Chapter 3: Salvage

Mayport was deeply into a study of Cully’s rutters when the sound of a siren whooping high above the warehouse broke his concentration. He knew what it was from hearing it all over the ports when he was traveling. This was the first time he’d heard an anchor-line warning in the still of the countryside.
He put the books away as a high-pitched alarm descended somewhere out in the fields. The strobe threw crazy patterns against the walls, then the light and noise ended in an anticlimactic thud. He hurried to the window. With the anchor strobe cut off, he couldn’t see where the ship might be beyond the trees.
He opened the window and leaned out as he heard the thrum of the anchor line drawing taut. A disk like a pale moon slowly descended from the skies. In its glow, he could just barely make out the shape of a salvage barge hovering on the edge of the trees.

Mayport grabbed his coat and hurried down to the front door. He was halted by an arm catching him mid-stride. “Friends of yours?” Cully asked over the roar of the barge coming in to anchor.

“He might still be, if I’m nice enough to him,” Mayport said. “I guess we’ll see. It’s only a barge, so they’ll need rooms. I guess they’ll just have to live with the mess too, while they’re here.”

“Your buddies have scared the daylights out of the farmers, and probably the cows too,” Cully said.

“You ought to be singing praises to Heaven. You’ll be going home, if I have my way. This little hidey hole might be a treasure trove, but it’s no good to me out in the middle of nowhere.” Mayport pushed his way to the door and hurried out ahead of the captain.

He ran to the edge of the trees and climbed atop the stone fence as the flat-bottomed airship came to rest on the grass. The red and black bladder of the sail began to lose volume as soon as the barge was on the ground. A familiar figure leaped over the side and hit the ground running.

Mayport ran to meet Thiervy halfway, hardly protesting when he was hugged near to breaking. He had half-expected awkward greetings and apologies. Instead he had the warmth of a trusted friend in his arms.
“I brought the craftsmen you need,” Thiervy said. “The cost will be something else again. Father will take that barge back from me if I show my face in New Amsterdam after this. I’ll have to squeeze you for all you’re worth, or he’ll beat me to a pulp for taking off with it.”

“I hope you do,” Mayport said, and leaned in tight against his thigh.

“I will, but later,” Thiervy said. “Is that your captain? I thought he would be all tan and… um…”

“He hardly leaves the house,” Mayport said. “No guests or occasions. I don’t know why he leaves the light on. You’re the first one to visit since I’ve been here.”

“He must be quite mad, after being alone in this wilderness for so long,” Thiervy said. “Anyway, it’s too dark to show you my treasures. Is dinner over already?”

“No,” Cully said before Mayport could answer. “Young Master Titus’ guests will soon be welcomed in style. Would you and your crew like a beer while we wait, Mister…?”

“Thiervy,” he said. “Joseph Thiervy, pilot first class, but here as a shipwright. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“You’re too young for a pilot,” Cully said. “Where did you certify?”

“Charlottesville,” Thiervy said. “I was at a rustic kind of school when I met Master Titus, but Father didn’t like me coming home smarter than him. He brought me out and apprenticed me instead. Either way, I’m not much younger than most pilots. I’d better be a good one by now, or Father will have my hide for a coat.”

“Don’t call me Master Titus,” Mayport said, not liking the teasing tone. “Why don’t you both go ahead and see about beer? I’ll stay and bring the crew on.”

Thiervy let go of him but reluctantly. Cully turned and marched away into the shadows, with Thiervy tagging at his coattails and chattering a mile a minute. Mayport shook his head in amusement over his friend. The crew came down in good order, and were glad to hear news of beer.

Cully had thrown open his second-floor lounge and had lined the bar with foamy glasses. Thiervy was leaning against the bar looking quite satisfied with himself. Mayport went over to get his own beer.

“Victory already?” Mayport asked.

“Within hours at most,” Thiervy said. “Or would be, if I wasn’t preoccupied. Don’t worry for him. He’ll get his turn if he wants it with me.”

“He’s much in need of it, I think,” Mayport said. “I have to be as lonely as he is. I would have taken after the locals by now, but they’re mostly milkmaids and think too much of me. Where’s the fun in that?”

Thiervy laughed, and slid closer to Mayport’s side. “So. What do you need a shipwright for?”

“I don’t need one,” Mayport said. “I’m a spoiled brat and want one. Who’s going to stop me?”

“You’re fooling nobody,” Thiervy said. “You’ve had me haul out supplies and craftsmen for a Hollander class vessel. You’ve found your lost ship somewhere around here. I didn’t see her on my way in.”

“She was never lost,” Mayport said. “She’s been completely disassembled, or so our captain claims. We’ll have to sort through the junk Father left behind and get what value we can from it.”

“Then you’re not really just being a spoiled brat,” Thiervy said. “You’ve got plans. I know you’ll go back to New Amsterdam even if you’re facing a judge. Cully might not let you go home if he knows the truth of what you’ve run away from.”

“He’s no more than a merchant, trying to get his cargo and head home,” Mayport said. “I know he’s as suspicious of the chairman as I am. I can’t prove I’ve been robbed if I don’t go back to make my case. If I manage to remain a free man, I’ll need Cully more than ever.”

“I’m sure he’s open to persuasion,” Thiervy said. “Better let him alone for a while, so he can get curious about what we’re doing.”

“You’re the one that has plans for him, not me,” Mayport said. “Happy hunting.”

Thiervy ambled away to meet up with Cully again. The two of them stayed close through dinner. When rooms had been prepared, Cully personally conducted Thiervy to his quarters.

Mayport stayed up to play host to the rest of the crew, glad to make them feel at home. Cully certainly looked better for the company and the attention he was getting. Thiervy was sure to be better company than
Cully had been getting in recent weeks.

Mayport made sure all the little details on their guests were handled, then went back to his own room. Only then did he realize he had spent all evening with his buttons undone and hair in a mess, with his pencil and pen shoved in among the tousled locks.

“You look as crazy as you are,” Mayport told his reflection.

“You look delicious,” Thiervy said from the bed.

Mayport tried to hide his surprise. “Finished with Cully already? I thought you had stamina.”

“He only wanted to tuck me in,” Thiervy said. “He’s a gentleman. I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Good thing I’m not one,” Mayport said. He pulled his shirt off and turned to face Thiervy. “I hope you don’t expect me to behave.”

Thiervy lifted the blankets back, revealing his perfectly nude body. He had gained quite a lot of muscle since the last time Mayport had seen him like this. He smiled at that familiar invitation and peeled out of his pants. He dove into his soft bed and wrapped himself in Thiervy’s embrace.

He leaned in and claimed a deep kiss as he slid his knee between Thiervy’s legs. Thiervy moaned into their kiss and rode eagerly against Mayport’s thigh. Thiervy grasped at Mayport’s ass, dragging him closer until his cock snugged down into the narrow curve of hip.

Thiervy tried to push Mayport over onto his back. By pure strength, there should have been no contest. Mayport stiffened his spine, then sucked hard on Thiervy’s lower lip. Thiervy’s whole body relaxed into Mayport’s arms as he was pushed back against the pillows, letting Mayport have the control he wanted.
Mayport plunged his tongue into Thiervy’s mouth again and again. He thrust his cock in a steady tease until Thiervy grasped his ass and pulled him down harder. Mayport laughed into their kiss and rode faster.

“I’ve never seen you so desperate,” Mayport panted against Thiervy’s lips. “Should I flip you over and make a proper welcome? You feel like you’re on fire.”

Thiervy worked a hand between them and clasped their cocks together in a rough grip. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Do you think of it often?”

Thiervy’s thumb curved around the head of Mayport’s cock and toyed with the slit until Mayport yelped and twisted his hips. He leaned down hard and held still until Thiervy quit messing around, and began to stroke in earnest. Then he leaned in and caught Thiervy’s ear in his teeth, holding him still for the ride.

“Do I think of you squirming on my cock?” he growled. “Sweating, just like this? Begging for more? Desperate to satisfy me?”

“Yesssssss,” Thiervy hissed as he arched his hips up and drove harder against Mayport’s shaft.

“It never once crossed my mind,” Mayport lied.

Thiervy gave a surprised laugh, then pushed Mayport off him. He pulled the blankets down and Mayport stretched out on his back. He got comfortable against the pillows and tucked his hands behind his head, watching Thiervy in a rare moment of indecision.

Mayport spread his thighs and rolled his hips, letting his cock wag this way and that. Thiervy pounced like a starving man, pressing his wide-open mouth to Mayport’s balls and licking all over. Mayport groaned and rocked his hips higher, chasing the heat of Thiervy’s lips and tongue.

Mayport kept his gaze fixed on Thiervy’s mouth as it turned red and puffy with his suckling. Thiervy lapped at and kissed every inch of Mayport’s shaft. Then he dabbed his tongue at the head, lapping up the drops of fluid there.

Mayport reached down and fisted his hand into Thiervy’s thick, dark hair. He tugged only a little, and Thiervy opened wide to take him in deeper. He kept steady pressure on Thiervy’s hair while Thiervy bobbed his head up and down, swallowing and gasping as he licked and sucked.

“Come on, you can take it deeper. You out of practice or something?” Mayport arched his hips, thrusting his cock in a little deeper into Thiervy’s mouth. Thiervy yelped in a muffled sort of way, but managed to take what he was given.

Thiervy wrapped his hand around Mayport’s balls and tugged gently, easing their tension as Mayport thrust deeper. Mayport held Thiervy’s head steady and fell into their familiar rhythm. He thrust just deep enough to feel it was too much, but not so rough as to overwhelm that generous mouth.

Mayport gasped and moaned as his cock seemed to swell and throb. Thiervy squeezed less gently at his balls and Mayport yelped. He twisted them both over onto their sides and hooked his leg over Thiervy’s shoulder, pinning him easily for the taking.

“Touch yourself,” Mayport said, breathless as he drove faster into the yielding grasp of Thiervy’s throat. “Let me see. Do it!”

He felt Thiervy shift around, then his cock was vibrated by a lusty groan. He lifted his head and could see Thiervy tugging roughly at his cock. Thiervy was staring up at him, though his eyes were glazed with pure and burning need.

Mayport reached down and traced the curve of Thiervy’s lips with his thumb. The tender flesh stretched and relaxed as Mayport slid in and out. Thiervy groaned, then somehow managed to smile around Mayport’s thrusts.

Mayport groaned in answer, whole body going tense as he pushed in deep, then froze as raw pleasure welled up in him. Thiervy swallowed and swallowed, throat milking Mayport’s cock. His balls quivered then he howled out his satisfaction as he came.

Mayport jerked and jolted as he poured all his need and lust down into Thiervy. “Swallow it, oh fuck, so damn good!”

Thiervy groaned as he gulped, then his whole body shivered between Mayport’s thighs. Thiervy broke out in goose bumps all over as he pumped his come onto the sheets. He leaned back, releasing Mayport’s cock with an obscene popping noise.

Thiervy kept his mouth open, and Mayport saw the last of his seed being swallowed down. Then Thiervy grinned, extremely pleased with himself. Mayport pulled him up onto the pillows again and dove in to kiss that swollen smile.

They clung together for long, breathless moments. Then Thiervy sat up and made to crawl out of the bed. Mayport caught him by the arm and tried to pull him back down.

“I can’t,” Thiervy said, and pulled away.

“But we were just getting started,” Mayport protested.

“I agree,” Thiervy said. “But for tonight, we’re done. My crew is here. I have to be in my own bed if they need me.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Mayport asked. “Why would they care?”

“They wouldn’t,” Thiervy said. “You’re the one that seems to care so very much. Don’t be so demanding. You don’t really want me to sleep here anyway.”

Mayport pulled the blankets up and got comfortable against the pillows. “I wasn’t planning on sleep.”

“I know you’re not, but I am,” Thiervy said. “There’s work tomorrow, even if you sleep through the whole morning. That wreck of yours will never fly if you keep me preoccupied.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so practical,” Mayport said. “You’re more fun when you’re being irresponsible.”

Thiervy finished pulling his clothes on and came over to kiss Mayport. “I promise to be extremely impractical with you very soon.”

Mayport felt his mouth pull down into a pout. “I can tell I’m going to have to compete with a boat for your attention again. I should have remembered that before I had you come out here.”

“Yes, you should have,” Thiervy said. “You’ll understand better once you have one of your own. Are you sure you’re not interested in telling me where we’re going?”

“New Amsterdam to start, but I hope it’s only a beginning.”

Mayport rolled over onto his side and propped his head on his hands. “Apparently, there’s a place called May Port somewhere in the south. I could show you on a globe, but that’s the most I know about it. There’s something there that my father knew about, hence my ridiculous name.”

“I never thought your name was ridiculous,” Thiervy said. “It sounds nice to me. Like a safe haven, someplace I’ll always be welcomed.”

Mayport smiled. “You’ve got that much right. I’m glad you’re here. I need somebody to be practical for me, even when I fight against it.”

“Don’t count on me for that,” Thiervy said. “If my working hours weren’t at risk, I’d have you tie me to that bedpost and carry on for the rest of the night.”

New Release: Chocolatiers of the High Winds

Chocolatiers of the High Winds
by H.B. Kurtzwilde
ISBN: 978-1-61390-049-9
Word Count: 122,000
List Price: $6.99

Circlet Press digital titles are also available at the Amazon Kindle Store, B&N.com, Smashwords, Fictionwise, and many independent booksellers via Google ebooks, as well as specialty ebookstores like All Romance eBooks, to name just a few! (Please let us know if your favorite source for digital books does not carry this title and you want them to.)

This gay steampunk romance follows the globe-trotting adventures of young Mayport Titus, the sole scion of the Titus Chocolate fortune. Mayport’s father, an adventurer and entrepreneur, established the intercontinental chocolate trade using sugar from India, cacao from South America, and a factory in New Amsterdam, before he and his wife were lost when their airship went down over the ocean and left Mayport orphaned. Now determined to make his own way in the world, Mayport attempts to resurrect his father’s old airship, The Dutch Process, with the help of Thiervy, an intimate school friend who happens to be both a pilot and an engineer. Together Mayport and Thiervy not only rebuild the ship, and revolutionize the moribund chocolate industry, they bring a new way of doing things to the world.

But their partnership will be tested. Love between men is not sanctioned in society, punishable by death for airshipmen, and kept behind closed doors in the genteel Confederate society that they enter when centering their new business in the American South. And both men are haunted by their fathers’ legacies of madness and violence. What sacrifices will Mayport make to protect those he loves? And what will he find when he finally flies his ship to that worn spot on his father’s old wooden globe?

Chocolatiers of the High Winds is a rollicking romance in classic adventuring style, punctuated with passion and sweetened with chocolate. The ebook edition collects all 50 chapters of the web serial that ran on circlet.com from 2010-2011, and also includes one bonus chapter featuring a new erotic scene between Mayport and Thiervy… and more chocolate!

H.B Kurtzwilde lives in the wet, sticky, mosquito-ridden depths of Florida. When not busily avoiding alligators, he scribbles out futuristic and paranormal fiction, as if this is any way for a grown person to behave. His works include Phoberia, Guide to Survival, and Sea Turtle Inn, among others. Drop by his Livejournal or his personal blog at hbkurtzwilde.circlet.com to say hello, or to make a donation in support of his artistic efforts.

Circlet Retreat 2012: The Arrival

I have arrived in the USA! Well, actually I've been here for about eight hours, but now I'm safely tucked away in my motel. One more sleep before the Circlet Press Editors and Writers Retreat!

I'm exhausted. Ten hours on the road is just stupid. But I figured I'd get a head start on tomorrow's newsletter, and read the copy of  Newsweek I picked up on the way. You know, the one where Katie Roiphe talks about how working woman clearly just want to be submissive. Because, you know, Fifty Shades of Grey.

I'll be honest, I only managed to read the first hundred pages of it, but I wasn't that impressed. I'm happy that an erotic series is wildly popular, but I hope that it leads people to read other, perhaps better, erotic literature. *crosses fingers* I'm also hoping we talk about this phenomenon this weekend. I want to hear what my fellow smutsters think about it, and if they think it will do our industry some good.

Has anyone here read the whole book? Or the whole series? Is it just that I've become a snob? I know I really need to finish reading it, but in the meantime your opinions would be greatly appreciated. Just, don't expect an answer until the morning: I can feel my brain switching off.

Back into the Swing

As it were.

I promised myself, and apparently Twitter, that I would write more this year, and this is my first attempt to keep that promise. After basically writing off the last half of December, now it's time to get back to work. On today's schedule: betareading a fantasy adventure serial, and editing an erotic fantasy novella.

The first can be found at TheWizardsProphecy.com. It's a labour-of-love type project, with the writer, editor, and artists working for free, because we all believe in this story, and want people to read it. Check it out.

The second is my latest project for Circlet Press. It's a gorgeous, lyrical tale starring selkies, which are pretty much at the top of my list of favourite fantasy creatures. I meant to have this turned in at the end of December, but the holidays and some personal drama ate my brain. I'm gonna get my hustle on now, though, because I'd really like to get this one on the market soon. I've been lucky lately in that I've been receiving manuscripts featuring Celtic mythology. Princes of Air was the project before this, another beautiful book that I was desperate to get out there. Do me a favour and read that one too. I promise you'll thank me.

Honestly, writing Cecilia Tan to beg her to take me on as an editing-slave was probably one of the best creative moves I've ever made. Circlet has a collection of wickedly talented authors, and I'm almost embarrassed at how lucky I've been to work with them.

Princes of Air Cover

Lookit! The beautiful cover of Princes of Air by Elizabeth Schechter! I can't wait until this comes out. :-D

Meet the Authors: Whispers in Darkness

It's official! The stories for Circlet's upcoming Lovecraftian erotica anthology have been selected at last! Here's the line up for this deliciously twisted new collection.

Angela Caperton
"Sheik"

Angela Caperton’s eclectic erotica spans many genres, including romance, horror, fantasy, and what she calls contemporary-with-a-twist. Look for her stories published with Cleis, Circlet Press, Drollerie Press, eXtasy Books, and in the indie magazine Out of the Gutter. Visit Angela at http://blog.angelacaperton.com

Kannan Feng
"A Reflection of Kindness"

Kannan Feng lives next door to Lake Michigan and her current interests
include mushroom recipes, deconstructing superheroes, oracles and the
Byzantine Empire. She has been previously published in Strange
Horizons, Alien Skin, Ruthie's Club and Oysters and Chocolate. She
will welcome great fortune and love in the new year (in bed) and her
lucky numbers are 5, 8, 22 and 19.

Annabeth Leong
"The Artist's Retreat"

Annabeth Leong's erotica has appeared in Every Night Erotica, Oysters and Chocolate and in Cleis Press's Girl Crush, Passion, and Lesbian Cops anthologies. Visit her blog at http://annabethleong.blogspot.com/ or follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/AnnabethLeong.

Bernie Mojzes
"Ink"

Much to his embarrassment, Bernie Mojzes has outlived Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, Janice Joplin and the Red Baron, without even once having been shot down over Morlancourt Ridge. Having failed to achieve a glorious martyrdom, he has instead turned his hand to the penning of paltry prose (a rather wretched example of which you currently hold in your hands), in the pathetic hope that he shall here find the notoriety that has thus far proven elusive.

Should Pity, or perhaps a Perverse Curiosity move you to seek him out, he can be found at http://www.kappamaki.com.

Alex Picchetti
"When the Stars Come"

Alex Picchetti knows that a good superhero must always be wary of villains, and so cannot reveal her day job. She lives near Toronto with her three spoiled cats.

Monique Poirier
"The Flower of Innsmouth"

Monique Poirier lives and works in Providence, RI. Her works also
appear in Circlet anthologies Like Clockwork, Like a Prince, Like
Butterflies in Iron, Like and Iron Fist, and Like Heaven and Hell. She
can be reached at Poirier.Monique@gmail.com.

Elizabeth Reeve
"Dreams in the Laundromat"

Elizabeth Reeve lives in the Sonoran Desert with her husband, a pair
of standard-issue writers’ cats, an extremely belligerent parakeet,
and a backyard full of wild-growing nightshade. She's never had a
problem with rats in the walls--human-faced or otherwise--but predicts
that if she did, the cats would be completely useless. The parakeet
could probably kick Brown Jenkin's ass, though. You can find her
(Elizabeth, not the parakeet) online at http://elizabethreeve.com

Peter Tupper
"Koenigsberg's Model"

Peter Tupper is a journalist and writer in Vancouver, BC. He studied history at University of British Columbia and journalism at Langara College. His publications include "The Innocent's Progress and Other Stories", a collection of steampunk erotica stories published by Circlet Press, and "21st Century Neo-Gothic" in "Inside Joss' Dollhouse", published by Benbella Smartpop. He's also the co-founder of Metro Vancouver Kink, a non-profit BDSM community organization.

Celebrate the End of the World with FURIOUS Masturbation

Hey, it makes sense, right? If the world's gonna end during National Masturbation Month, it's obviously meant to be. Circlet's press release follows.

* * *

NO BETTER TIME THAN THE PRESENT? End of the World Erotica Anticipates the Rapture

(Cambridge, MA) -- According to some religious sects purchasing billboard advertising across the US, this Saturday is Judgment Day.

In case the end of the world really does come on May 21st, Circlet Press has put their anthology of end-of-the-world erotic science fiction, Apocalypse Sex, on sale for one cent.

Apocalypse Sex features four stories of sudden sex in the face of doomsday. With their own demise staring them in the face, the characters in the book all come to the same conclusion: it's time to have the best sex of their lives. Inhibitions are cast aside and fantasies are fulfilled as the doomed chase down their deepest desires. The book includes stories by J. Daniel Sawyer, Elizabeth Coldwell, Elizabeth Schechter, Beverly Langland, and David Hubbard.

The one cent offer is available through midnight Eastern time on May 21st only on circlet.com. If the world is still around after that, or to console those of us left behind, the book will then be 99 cents for another week before reverting to its normal $4.99 price. Read a sample or download the book from Circlet Press.

Serendipity

One of the ways I keep in touch with the erotica publishing world is The Erotica Readers and Writers Association email loops. I don't pipe up much, but I like to lurk there, and I've met some of my favourite industry contacts there.

However, the best thing that's happened to me there so far was blundering onto an email posted by Elizabeth Schechter, a writer I love and who's worked for me before. She posted that she'd had a novella rejected by a big digital publisher. So, of course, like a tool, I jump in and start bitching about this big, successful, completely professional publisher, only to be dog-piled into silence by the saner members of the group. (This would, of course, be the reason I shouldn't post there.)

Luckily, I also wrote to Elizabeth privately and asked for a copy of the manuscript, which she was kind enough to send me even after witnessing my temper-tantrum. What I received was a book called Princes of Air, a collection of three linked stories based on Celtic raven-tales.

So, this book. This book. It's gorgeous and sexy and dark and capital-r-Romantic. It's beautiful and haunting from beginning to end. I am the luckiest editor in the world to have blundered upon it. Circlet bought it (I would have fought for it, but they love Elizabeth as much as I do), and it's what I'm working on today.

I guess, if there's a moral to this story, it's that wasting time online often leads to awesome. Right? Yeah, that's totally what it means. Also, as I often am forced to reflect, I have the best job.

Reading Whispers

I've been reading the submissions to Whispers in Darkness today, and I can already tell this book is going to make me work.

The stories that stand out all have a certain ambiguity and uneasiness, just as you would expect of stories set in Lovecraft's backyard. However, what this means to me, as the editor, is that I'm going to have to cope with being unsettled and challenged all the way through the process. These authors have not held back, have not left any aspect of Lovecraft unexplored. I've read stories that deal with alienation from humanity, and unease with racial differences. There are stories that feature demonic triumph over sex-negativity, and ones that throw all the rules of sexual definition out the window. I love this stuff. This is where I live; but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy to wrangle all this into a coherent mass and deliver it to you, bound and polished and ready for exposure.

I am going to have to make a lot of tough decisions with this collection. In the end, it'll be the stories that serve the whole that get chosen, and I know that means I'll have to leave some good, haunting stories out. I love working as a professional fangirl, but it's days like today that remind me that I have to earn that by making the difficult calls.

I'm planning on announcing the final line-up in early June. As always, I'll post the authors, their bios, and the titles of their stories, just to tease. :-)