Freya Being Freya by Thomas Ullman

Genre:
Supernatural/Feminist

Synopsis:
Our drifting narrator is drawn to a rune stone in suburban Stockholm. He feels compelled to lick the stone which becomes female flesh. Freya, Viking Goddess of love and sex gives him a purpose in life, a few laughs, a bit of anxiety, some wholesome food and lots of lovely sex. Freya transforms the worlds of all who meet her.

Excerpt:

PRELUDE:

Michael, the story’s narrator has lured Viking Goddess Freya back to our world and has had a few days of fun, cooking and astonishing sex. But Freya has had to return to her world of Asgard. Not before she has imbued Michael with her spirit or scent (of thyme and apples...and sex). Freya is not the covetous type and has encouraged Michael to use her scent to pleasure himself and deserving women. We begin as Michael’s sister, Anna finally persuades him to go out into the city and meet people…

“Okay, so let’s go out tonight to ‘test the waters’.”

“Can we cope with going to the same places we went with Freya?”

“We can try.”

So we did.

That evening at around eight o’clock I met Anna at our nearest commuter station and we travelled the sixteen minutes into the city centre. It was a warm and fragrant night. As much as it can ever really be night at that time of year and this far north. It may even have been a warm night with the scent of thyme and apples. But that was probably wishful thinking.

“It smells of thyme and apples,” said Anna. There was no need to say more. We had been given permission.

“Do you have times when you are unreasonably confident and gorgeous, Anna?” I expected her to reply ‘always’.

“Maybe once or twice a year. Tonight is definitely one of those nights. I’m not sure what will happen or what….I can do.”

“Stay with me, will you?”

“As long as you stay with me, little brother.” Hand in hand we walked from the central train station where folk converged on the capital from near and far and braved the city night. Even here, at the hub of the nation, these people were just not as urgent as they had been six months ago. Love was still in the air.

I half expected us to be recognised and people say to us ‘weren’t you with her on that night?’ or something like that. We were not ignored as we made our progress through the balmy city streets. When we looked at other people we were very much looked at and smiled upon.

We had deliberately chosen the bar that was furthest from our starting point. We wanted to prolong the moment and were both nervous of interacting with others of whatever gender.

But there comes a time.

The bar was perfect. It was busy but not too busy, with seating in and out of doors. Anna sat down at a small round table conveniently near the entrance and equally conveniently at this early stage of our rehabilitation, with only two chairs. I had only about a minute’s wait at the bar before ordering two strongish beers in elegant green bottles. It was tempting to down a couple of whiskies before stepping outside but I thought better of it. I didn’t want to look like a desperado of some kind. Clutching the beers I weaved my way outside and even managed a watery smile at a group of unreasonably attractive, multi-cultured and multi-ethnic women standing near the door. They smiled back then nudged each other, reverting to giggling schoolgirls. Anna was still alone, thankfully, although the chairs appeared to have mated and produced two fully grown offspring.

“Here’s to you, me and one other,” I said as I placed the bottle in front of my confident, nervous sister.

“To Freya,” Anna replied, clinking bottles with me.

“I put the extra chairs here in the hope…sort of that maybe other people will sit with us. We look too much like a couple with just the two chairs.”

“Never, you’re way too old for me.” Anna kicked me. It was extremely tempting to drink one beer and move on. I even suggested we did. But Anna was made of sterner stuff.

“Those women behind you. Don’t look! Would all bite your trousers off if I left.” She announced in her best, subtle Anna manner. She downed her beer and said far too loudly.

“I’ll be back in half an hour, little brother.” I was relieved that she would be back but genuinely alarmed to be alone in this urban jungle. And, on your own in, or just outside of a bar is always slightly awkward. I wasn’t alone for long. Good and bad.

“What did you say to her?” It was one of the ‘multi-cultured, multi-ethnic ladies.

“Who?…oh that was my sister. She’ll be back in a little while.” I hoped that might ‘scare them off’. It didn’t. These were confident city women and sisters held no fear for them. I felt like saying ‘she’s very scary or I’d rather be alone’. I didn’t. I didn’t want to be alone.

“You look like the kind of man who might need protecting…I’ll be your bodyguard.” It was a good line and made me laugh…nervously. Two of the ladies sat down on the chair opposite me. It was slightly comical seeing these mature, cultured and definitely sexy women perched uncomfortably on one small chair. It also made me warm to them. Their two friends lurked behind them. They were a little less forthright. At least for now. The words of Freya resonated this night…’women of all kinds’. It was tempting to imagine that these four ladies had been divinely ordained by her. I would have felt a little rude in asking ‘who are you and what’s your ethnic origin?’ but I was intrigued. I would have been intrigued even if there wasn’t a hint that they had been placed there by Freya’s hand. The woman who had first spoken to me was of middle-eastern, possibly Lebanese origin. She was small with hair as black as pitch and eyes as brown as a shiny chestnut. Her name was Zaina and she was beautiful. Her fellow percher was a classic Nordic lady. She was tall with blonde hair which, if let loose would have reached to her bottom and with blue/grey eyes that were bottomless. Her name was Helena and she was beautiful. The two standees’ names I discovered a little later. The one on my left was mixed race…black and white with hair in corn rows and deep brown eyes offset by her light brown skin. Her name was Lydia and she was beautiful. The one on my right was what I think of as ‘English’ looking…lovely English looking with brown hair in a ponytail and green flecked eyes and looking like she could be easily embarrassed. Her name was Louise and she was beautiful. Zaina and Helena had a good routine. Zaina was the warm slightly scatty, chatty one and Helena was the cool slightly aloof, and less chatty one, or at least at first.

“Why do you think I need protecting?” I asked.

“Because you are alone and these days…some women can be dangerous,” said Zaina, as I saw my reflection in her eyes.

“How long have these women been dangerous?” It was a strange question but fielded well by Zaina and Helena.

“Helena and I have always been dangerous.”

“No, Zaina has always been dangerous. I have only been dangerous for six months or so.” I knew their names but I needed to know more.

“What happened six months ago?”

“We were here, in the city and…we learned that we are beautiful (Helena blushed a little) but also we are powerful and that our kind of power, I mean women’s power is what this godforsaken world needs.” She spoke with passion and would have perhaps frightened some men away. It would perhaps have frightened me away a year ago. Of course I was sure I knew what or rather who had empowered them and was tempted to say ‘so you saw Freya’. I didn’t. I was feeling pangs of guilt about being with ‘other’ women and distinct longing and fear for Freya. The mention of her name in the presence of these women seemed…just not right. I must say that the attention of these lovely ladies was flattering and they were fun to be with. I did feel outnumbered though. Thankfully, help was at hand. Anna returned.

“Hiya little brother.” I was glad she had said ‘brother’ but wished that she had left out the ‘little’.

“You seem to be coping without me quite well.” She continued and smiled at my ‘coterie’. I noticed that my sister was not alone. Not only was she not alone, she was in the company of ‘don’t ever speak of our one night stand’, Tom…who apart from his intimate knowledge of Anna was also one of my best friends.

“Where did you find him?” I asked, rather inelegantly and really rather rudely.

“I didn’t. He found me. I was walking innocently down on the strand when there he was, walking innocently down on the strand coming towards me. Tom was thirty, forty metres away and our eyes met. There was no escape.” She laughed.

“You look like you need some help,” said Tom, indicating the ladies with his eyes.

“I think I might…although I know you and Anna like to be alone sometimes.” I couldn’t resist it.

“Maybe later,” said Tom, coping admirably with my cheek…but out of Anna’s earshot. And then Tom kissed me. Just a peck on the cheek. He was the ‘anti-Judas’. Where had that come from?

“Where did that come from?” I asked.

“From me. I…we know that you’ve been feeling low lately and I’m just glad to see you out and about and thriving.”

“Thank you, Tom, that means a lot.” It did. I realised how much I had missed him and my other friends and the company of men. And Tom was a good man. Tom was also different in that he did a ‘real’ job. None of this sitting around with computers and number crunching or trying to be thoughtful to thoughtless or hopeless people kind of work that the rest of us did. He had hands that said that he worked for a living. He had muscles gained not through hours in the gym, but through honest toil and sweat. He worked on construction sites and lifted bricks and drove noisy, heavy vehicles and could justify drinking heavily and eating fatty foods. He had earned it.

“I might take him home later,” said Anna, in her inimitable way. It broke any remaining ice between the three of us.

The night was turning out better than we could have possibly hoped. I was able to communicate with the world again. And the world was not too bad, populated as it was by a great friend, my magnificent sister and four other women who were smart, attractive and funny and by their very existence served to emphasise that racism is the cesspool of humanity.

“You can all come back to my apartment, if you’d like to,” said Louise. She didn’t look at all embarrassed either. I looked to Anna and Tom for some sort of guidance. Anna, whilst still speaking to Tom just nodded ever so slightly. So we did.

“Are you…a bit English, Louise?” I asked, because I like to know these things.

“How English would you like me to be?” she replied in English.

“Anything from zero to one hundred per cent is fine.”

“Well then, I guess then I’m fifty per cent English. My mum is from England. Or no, I can’t be fifty per cent as I was born here. How does twenty five per cent sound?”

“Perfect. You must be a blend of Nordic sensibleness with a hint of English unpredictability and creative genius.”

“Nah!...it just means I can drink a lot.” I liked Louise.

“I’m fifty per cent Lebanese,” Zaina butted in amiably.

“Which half?” I replied.

“Just look at me…can’t you tell?” Before I could reply, Zaina replied for me.

“If you add up my lustrous hair, my chestnut eyes, luscious lips and my gorgeous ass that makes the fifty per cent.” Fifty per cent was more than enough. I liked Zaina.

Louise, Zaina, Lydia and Helena had become something akin to a four headed beast. A warm and funny beast though. I had no desire to slice their heads off.

“I think that I am forty three per cent Senegalese,” said Lydia, cheerfully mocking Louise and Zaina.

“What is the fifty seven per cent?” I asked.

“The rest of the world.” She shouted joyfully. I liked Lydia.

“And you, Helena?” Helena looked thoughtful, as if she had known the question would come and she had to get her answer right.

“I am of the ice and snow and sunlight and darkness and pine trees and bears and wolves… But mostly meatballs and IKEA.” Helena threw back her head and that hair and laughed like a squeaky mouse. I liked Helena.

Louise lived in one of those buildings built in the 1920’s that have small lifts with a black metal gate that you pull closed before you can rise or fall. The lift was worth the rent alone

The apartment was suitably small and bijou, well appointed, tasteful and expensive to buy or rent. Mind you, compared with some cities it was a bargain. Louise did not need to be paid a ludicrous amount for her part in ruining the economies of the world and throwing those who do the ‘real work’ into poverty to be able to live there. She might even have done some good in the world?

When we had all squeezed ourselves into Louise’s tasteful living room or only room really, Tom stood up and proclaimed, bottle in hand.

“Here’s to my great friend, who is back…here’s to Anna who is real marriage material (he meant well, though I was not too sure Anna would agree) and here’s to Louise, Zaina, Lydia and Helena. They are…goddesses who give life a meaning.” Did Tom really say that? He had. Anna looked as uneasy as I’m sure I did at that moment.

“We are extraordinarily lovely, Tom but we will never be goddesses. We saw a real goddess once and she had everything we have…just more of the everything we have…and the power and goodness to change the world.” It was Louise who had spoken, taking up the mantle in her own apartment.

“To someone like me who spends his days looking at the bum cracks of hairy builders…let me assure you girls that you most definitely are goddesses.” Tom being Tom had lightened the mood with his characteristic charm…and he was a handsome devil!

The rest of the night was…fun. That’s the word. The seven of us drank a little more. Louise decided at two thirty in the morning that heating up soup was a good idea. It wasn’t. The soup was cheerfully under-appreciated, spilt and generally mocked. And we all talked, with humour, irreverence, seriousness, arrogance and modesty. Nothing physical happened other than the ‘four headed beast’ being far too impressed with the fact that Tom had rough hands and Lydia braiding one side of Anna’s hair. I knew that this would lead to the gorgeously preposterous belief that this gave her ‘ethnic credibility’ in certain parts of the city…and Helena saying.

“How do you manage to smell so…bloody lovely?” Helena’s ‘default’ appearance was that of unapproachable ice maiden. After a few drinks when she had relaxed she became gloriously blunt and a little ditzy.

“That’s just me, Helena.” I half lied.

“No it’s not. You have been…blessed.”

“Yes, you’re right, I really have been blessed.” ‘Blessed’…Helena had said it all. I resolved from that moment to stop feeling sorry for myself and use my blessing as best I could, which had a myriad of possibilities. We swapped phone numbers and hugs and laughs and then Tom, Anna and I slipped into the cool and warm night air. The air was thyme and apples.

I wondered if Anna really would take Tom home with her. She didn’t, although they held hands as we walked through the city and their goodnight kiss was full of future intrigues. Then again, my hug, and ‘man’ kiss with Tom was also full of future possibilities. Handsome as he was, they did not include kissing him in any other places.

Tom drifted away. He did drift. One moment he was very much with us and then he moved to the left as if turning off at a motorway junction and was gone. What a guy.

“Shall we walk back?” Anna asked.

“It seems the right thing to do.”

“It will take us three hours or more, if we go to yours.”

“We can do it. We will have…help.” We both knew where the help would come from and we both believed in it. Anna as a ‘prepared’ woman had swapped her heels for a pair of flats so on we walked. It was mid -May and only a month before the summer solstice.

“When is midsummer day this year?” I asked.

“Not totally sure, but it’s either the twenty first or twenty second of June…usually.”

“That’s when I or we will get a sign that she is coming back.”

“I hope so,” said Anna simply. So did I. In a three hour walk through the northern reaches of the city centre, past the enormity of the huge cemetery, past the expanding modern beauty of the world renowned hospital and past countless people asleep in their well-designed houses and apartments we strolled, happy with our pasts, presents and futures…and we talked.

“Who are you going to sleep with first?” Anna asked as Anna does. It was a question I did not want to answer or really even think about and certainly not discuss.

“I don’t want to have sex with any of them.”

“Yes, you do. And Freya wants you to.” I both liked and disliked Anna’s use of the present tense as it suggested that Freya was not gone forever but also that if I did sleep with one of them it would be an act of infidelity.

“I know she said that but do you think she really meant it?”

“Freya says what she means. I think it might even cause her a little pain but she does mean it.” Anna continued in the present tense.

“In that case; whoever calls me first. If any of them do”

“Oh, they will call. But that’s too easy, you have to choose.”

“How do I do that?”

“Well, if I go through them now, one by one, you can discover your favourite…and I will enjoy your unease.”

“Okay, but only if we talk about Tom afterwards.” Anna smiled.

“What about Zaina?” I decided to be cool, calm and efficient.

“Zaina is fun, beautiful eyes and skin…and I imagine she has beautiful dark nipples.”

“Good start bro…and lips to die for.”

“And Helena?”

“Helena is super cool, fabulous hair and with legs I would like to explore.”

“This might not be easy. And Lydia?”

“Lydia is…exotic and also sexy as hell.”

“And Louise?”

“Louise is…pert, pretty and I imagine wilder than she looks.”

“Maybe just wait to see who calls you first. But you must promise me, for your and their sakes that you will not now or ever suggest some kind of male fantasy fivesome.”

“It had never crossed my mind.” Time to change the subject.

“What about ‘don’t mention our one night stand, Tom?” Anna smiled in a slightly scary older sister kind of way.

“I really like Tom. I wasn’t sure before tonight. But he is handsome, has rough ‘proper man’s hands’, is funny and if I don’t get him, one of your ladies will.”

“What about him being my friend?”

“It mattered six hours ago. Now it means nothing. Actually it means that I don’t have to bother with that ‘introducing him to my disapproving little brother stuff’…and he’s good in bed.”

“Careful.” I smiled.

“It also means that I can tell he really has the ‘hots’ for you. I’ve known Tom for a long time and he looks at you with ‘I have respect for you…and I’d like to get you into bed’ eyes…and sorry for sounding pretentious and pompous but I have grown up a bit and can even contemplate the fact that my sister might have sex with someone. Better it is someone I…and you like.”

“That was some speech. Thank you.”

We had nearly made it back to mine. It looked like Anna and ‘handsome, manly’ Tom were to become a serious ‘item’ and my fate was in the lap of the telephonic gods…or more likely goddesses.

* * * *

Michael has a brief and highly erotic relationship with Louise. But he needs Freya and she definitely needs him. Michael returns to the rune stone from where he first enticed Freya…

There were three weeks to Midsummer. It was when Freya would come. Enhanced senses and the soul of Freya told me this. And the soul and knowledge of Louise had told me this.

Three weeks to prepare for what?

How do you prepare for what was going to be the defining moment of your life? My tactic, if I had a tactic at all was to walk a lot It helped in three ways; it passed the time, helped me think and kept my weight down.

The rest of the time, I spent with Anna and Tom. We had all matured enough to be able to cope with the fact of their ‘couplehood’. And it was great to have a little role reversal. Where I had been the only male in the brief Freya, me and Anna triangle; now I was one of two males in this new triangle. Tom and I enjoyed making fun of Anna and Anna being Anna gave back as good as she got. She also prepared for me a suitably understated outfit for the great reunion and promised to personally give me a perfect haircut. Whilst Tom and Anna appeared to be in that blissfully happy early stage of their relationship involving giggles, conspiracies and endless sex, I was aware that Tom had never met or even seen Freya.

“Do you think we’re mad with all this…stuff about Freya?”

“Yes. And I’m filming it all so I can sell it to a T.V. show and then never have to see either of you again.” What Tom had said almost sounded more rational that what I had done and was about to do.

“But apart from that?”

“I’m not a fantasist…about that kind of thing anyway…although Freya is about the kind of thing I do fantasise about…so my rational side tells me that you are all a bit mad…and lovely with it. But my other side, which is larger, knows that it’s true.”

“Really?”

“Well yes. Anna and you are a bit annoying and ‘brother and sistery’, but not mad…but that night I met Anna and then you and then the ‘beautiful, four-headed beast’ there was something in the air. It must have been magic or something strange that made Louise and her sexy friends be all over you.”

Anna was not present for this chat. She had matured enough to let her brother and boyfriend talk without her needing to listen in.

“Anna has tried her best to explain what Freya is like. The first time she did we were naked and her description of Freya had quite an effect, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I know…I really know.”

“Of course you do. And of course Anna knew the effect of describing Freya would have on me. She loved my embarrassment and arousal…you’re her brother…enough.” I had matured enough to know that Freya's sexuality or talking about it was something I could not control.

“Don’t say any more but I know exactly what you mean. Anna is mean to use Freya as an aphrodisiac. But I bet you had the best sex ever that day…don’t tell me.”

I was enjoying this chat with Tom. I continued.

""Sorry to be really patronising, I hope you can just be glad to be part of this…and it’s great to have you back as a friend and ‘brother in law’.”

Tom asked a pertinent question:

“When you meet Freya…what’s going to happen?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea, other than that I have to meet her…and I love her and have to help her if I can.”

“And a lot of sex too.”

“If possible.” Whilst the sexual aspect of Freya was important, it was really not what I was thinking of at the moment. I just had to see her, hold her, speak with her and for Freya to give my life a purpose.

Tom made a pertinent point.

"You said you love her. I've never heard you say that."

Time passed. It always does.

It came to Midsummer’s Eve, the 21st of June.

My day was akin to that of a boxer before a big fight. I tried to sleep, I walked, didn’t eat too much, used the toilet too often and was coached by Anna and humoured by Tom. I was glad that Anna had cut my hair a day or two beforehand as I didn’t want to look like I had tried too hard…as if Freya would really care.

I was very aware that I would have to try very hard to sleep to bring Freya’s calling into my brain.

Before I had the chance to ask, Anna and Tom had told me that they had to leave this task to me and me alone. I still had the faint hope and fear that Louise would appear to ‘hold my hand’. She didn’t.

I slept easily.

I dreamt easily.

If it could be called a dream. What swirled in my senses that ‘darkless’ night, were scenes of anger, shouts, screams, pain and the flight from danger. The visions were distinct and then not. What was apparent to me was that Freya was in danger.

She was coming.

It was not the time for wispy thoughtfulness, so I had left my car as near as possible to my house. I drove to the bumpy car park next to the stables and walked at a good pace to the rune stone. As it was Midsummer, the chances of meeting other mortals were rather more likely than on any other morning of the year. But I was alone. Any bonfires had been long since extinguished, beer cans gathered, lovemakers satiated and pagans had worshipped.

I turned off the track, beloved by hikers, runners, dog walkers, cross country skiers and horse riders and skirted the allotments. I turned the last corner and there I saw it.

The rune stone.

A few Midsummer garlands had been left around and adorned the stone. Freya would have approved.

My recent visions had most certainly banished any thoughts of sex from my brain, so I hoped Freya could be roused rather than aroused.

I placed both my hands on the stone. It was warm. Not just Midsummer warm but flesh warm. I kissed the stone. I kissed the stone with unmoving lips and waited.

Something was coming.

The rune began to shake and rumble in a way it had not done before. This was anger and fear and definitely not lust.

I kept kissing for as long as I could hold on.

I stepped back as many paces as I could so that my back was against the wooden fence, which tried to define private and public places. Nature grew all over the fence whether on the private or public side. Something wild was heading my way.

And then there she was.

It was a ‘she’ but it was not Freya. Or was it…was it a younger Freya I had roused?

“Hello. Pleased to meet you,” If it wasn’t a younger version of Freya, she was certainly cut from the same cloth and of course had just burst through a rune stone.

“Pleased to meet you. But don’t talk. Just keep kissing” She said this with a great deal of urgency. I’m not often good with urgency and thought she wanted me to kiss her. In very different circumstances that was a distinctly appealing prospect but not now. I looked at her.

“Not me, the stone, portal bridge thingy.” She pointed behind her to emphasise her point.

I kissed again.

Although I was shaking, the stone rumbled and shook as I had hoped it would. Just at the right moment I jumped back, helped by a rough tug from behind.

And there she was.

It was a ‘she’ but it was not Freya. This time I knew it was not Freya. It was another younger woman. Freya's daughters.

My need for Freya had never been greater.

“Should I start kissing again?” I asked, showing the two women who was boss.

It was them.

“Shh! Let us listen will you. I think you’ll have to wait a little while.” I thought of asking if a little while was in mine or their timescales. I decided against that question. I decided on another.

“You are the daughters of Freya?” I was pleased with my boldness.

“Keep your ear against the stone,” one of them ordered me. But I understood their anxiety. They were newly flung refugees.

“We are her beautiful daughters,” the other one said. They were undeniably beautiful…if a little arrogant. I wondered if they had their mother’s sense of self-deprecation too.

""Please just do your job.""

“What is my job?” I dared to ask.

“For now it is to sit and listen to the…stone and admire our beauty.” So I did.

I sat back, did not relax but I did observe. The girls (their behaviour so far did not merit a more mature status) had sat down a couple of metres from me and waited to be admired. The first thing I noticed or couldn’t help noticing was that they both had the ‘hair thing’ going on. Their hair changed almost constantly from blonde to flame red. They were scared. I thought I should question Freya about what she had said about her daughters…’strong women’? I had to abandon that thought.

Still, they reminded me of someone.

Their faces were slightly more angular than their mother’s. This served to add to their haughtiness and their slight sense of being ridiculous. Freya had never been ridiculous. Freya had also never suggested that her girls were twins so I assumed that one was older than the other. I couldn’t tell. They both wore robes similar to Freya’s, though with rather less subtle stitching and with brighter colours…and they remained linen and not a sort of sheer spider’s web. The robes did not become transparent. In the circumstances that was a good thing.

We could hear distant rumbling. Without the girls’ bidding I stood and kissed the rune…a little harder this time. The rumbling and shaking increased. I had to concentrate hard to keep my lips on the rune stone.

I held on for as long as was possible before the daughters dragged me off. I fell back. I fell back in what was a slapstick fashion; crashing through the fence and stumbling for a little way…and my lips were bleeding.

I stood up. A small price to pay.

And there she was. And it was Freya. And it was every inch Freya…except there were more inches.

Freya was pregnant.

* * * *

Freya and her two daughters move into Michael’s house. There Freya gives birth to William, the unexpected but welcome result of Michael and Freya’s time on his sofa. When Freya is able she encourages Michael to talk and think about the four gorgeous women he met with Anna. For both Michael’s and her benefit...

Freya returned to her favourite subject.

“Seeing as you didn’t actually do this, I will have to do it for you. I will leave Louise out. But Lydia, Zaina and Helena are there with you. They can imbibe my soul from within you.” Freya nimbly removed her light green night dress. It was beautifully made, not of this world and modest. Maternity wear perhaps. Freya’s hair was changing from auburn to flame red, natural flame red. Michael removed his underwear.

“I know those women would not be shy and would put on a show for you…and I know what you like. Lydia is wearing black boots, black stockings and a short dress, Zaina is all in red. Red shoes, bare legs, red shorts which show off her beautiful backside and a tight red tee-shirt that just about contains her wonderful breasts…and those nipples. Helena is in an electric blue dress which goes halfway down her thighs, her hair is loose. When she squats down her hair touches the ground, her legs part slightly to reveal her white knickers.”

Freya was good. She had also taken hold of Michael with her cool and warm hand. With her thumb she gently massaged its tip, helped by how sticky he had become.

Michael was not idle. With one hand he held Freya’s lower back, just where it met her buttocks. With the other he covered the whole of Freya’s sex. He left his hand still for around a minute and then his middle finger moved, slowly at first the length of Freya’s vagina. Freya was very aroused. Her eyes told him what to do. He loved that about her. Tell a man what you like and he will do it…easy. His finger gently moved inside of Freya. She shifted a little so that it went deeper. He was able to feel the slippery bumps and ridges within her. His finger moved with purpose. Michael knew to concentrate on the spot about two inches inside Freya and at the top where he could feel the pressure of her pubic bone. This spot would bring Freya to orgasm. Stopping momentarily to adjust his hand and to tantalise Freya, he was able to firmly caress the top of her vagina and at the same time rub on her clitoris. As she came, Michael could feel his finger enveloped by violent muscle spasms. He wondered if she might break it. He didn’t care. His finger was not broken but, his hand, wrist and arm were soaked in Freya’s juices. Apples and thyme and the smell of sex. Freya collapsed on top of Michael, exhaled and laughed.

“Shh.” Michael laughed with her.

“I didn’t get to finish my story.” Freya moaned.

“Can you save the rest until another time?”

“Sure honey.” Freya replied in a faux American accent. She was a lady with a great sense of fun and surprise.

She surprised him again by taking a lock of her flame hair. She tied it around the middle of Michael’s penis. Freya held it tightly in place with her right hand whilst her left thumb gently massaged his sticky tip. She had a malicious smile on her face. His cruel mistress held him tight and massaged him for nearly five minutes. Until she let him, he could not let go. He wondered if he should just stay in this kind of sexual heaven and hell forever. No, he would need to relax.

Freya removed her thumb whilst holding the hair tightly in place. She knelt over him. Michael imagined her wet sex exposed as she bent down. He could feel her breath on his tip and then very gently the end of her tongue… round and round. Freya looked up at Michael with green eyes and sat back. She wanted to see what she had created. She removed her hair from Michael’s penis and he was able to let go. His sperm at first flew straight up, hitting the purple and green lampshade; then as he laughed with pleasure it spattered his stomach, his chin, the bed sheets and Freya’s arm. What seemed like about a minute’s ejaculation was in reality only about twenty seconds. Even with Freya he had never done that before.

They lay in a sticky, sexy and satisfied embrace.

About the Author:

Thomas Ullman has flitted between Sweden and England for the last twelve years. He now lives in a lovely red house in rural Sweden surrounded by horses and cats, none of which are his. His book, Freya Being Freya was written very early on almost endlessly dark mornings when summer seemed a long way off. 

He has a partner and irreverent 14 year old son. 

Freya Being Freya is the first in a trilogy of books about Freya, her daughters and her son. Freya Being Freya is definitely erotica but also fun and inspirational.

My Review: 

What makes this erotic novelette really stand out is that it has a strong theme of feminism throughout. Erotica could often be criticized for being anti-feminist; however, Thomas has completely turned the tables with Freya Being Freya. Throughout this book Thomas shows how strong, empowered women are sexy. Thomas even manages to present his point without sounding preachy, and actually uses a quirky voice. It initially took me off guard, but ended up winning me over by the end of the story because it matched this quirky book perfectly. I was initially curious as to why Thomas paired a goddess with a man who doesn't seem terribly successful or driven, but later realized this was perfectly in step with the message of this book. I would suggest this book for the feminist who wants to get her (or his! I love that the author of this feminist piece is a man) hands on some erotica. 

Available on Amazon Here ♥ Add it on Goodreads ♥ Follow Thomas on Twitter

Guest Post: If Gang Bangers Read Erotica by Karena Marie

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Werewolf Brothers Make Better Lovers by Angela R Sargenti

Genre:
Paranormal/Threesome

Synopsis:
Venice is a magical city. It brings out the best...and the beast in all of us! Amy is a young American who has moved to Venice to pursue her architectural career. But when she meets two suave and sophisticated brothers, Amy realizes that Venice has so much more to offer....

My Review:

This was a fun read. What I enjoy about paranormal erotica is how many opportunities it opens for creativity, a freedom which Angela clearly utilized while writing Werewolf Brothers Make Better Lovers. Rather than going the BDSM route, which I see frequently with paranormal erotica, Angela takes the route of making these werewolves dangerous, forbidden lovers (not unlike Edward in Twilight). She also has fun with describing the folklore regarding werewolves, though at times I wished she had explained it a little more clearly. By putting two werewolves in this short, Angela was able to include their banter, which gave the reader an interesting insight into the werewolves and their mannerisms. I appreciated how Angela explored the differences between the werewolves and humans by getting inside of the werewolves heads, rather than focusing so much on their physical characteristics. It created a unique perspective. I think this is a good read for those who like paranormal erotica, and especially those who enjoyed Twilight.

Available on Amazon Here ♥ Available from Waterstones Here ♥ Add it on Goodreads 

Read Angela's Blog ♥ Like Angela on Facebook ♥ Follow Angela on Twitter

Book Spotlight - 10 Shades of Blush: The Softer Side of Kink by Rhoda D'Ettore

Synopsis:
This book is the first in a series that explores the fantasies of normal everyday women. Women who have a wild fantasy life, but because of societal norms, keep their fantasies to themselves. Each book of the series will contain eight chapters of fantasies, and then two chapters of information on improving sex. In this book, domination and role playing are explored. The last two chapters include information on improving oral sex and anal sex.

Readers are encouraged to visit the Author's Facebook page or blog in order to submit their own fantasies to be included in future books. Author, Rhoda D'Ettore, also included a complimentary excerpt of her recently published ebook, ""Goin' Postal: True Stories of a U.S. Postal Worker"".

The series itself will explore all aspects of sexuality, including role playing, homosexuality, bondage, discipline, and other aspects of the BDSM world.

Available on Kindle and Audiobook

Excerpt:
Chapter 5: The Anniversary

Debbie, 52, Florida

I was raised a strict catholic. I was taught that my body was bad, that sex was for procreation, and that modesty was a righteous way of life. No amount of public display of affection was acceptable except holding hands. Even a slight kiss between a married couple was considered offensive in my family. I believe that because of this, I have always been fascinated with sex in public. I have never had the nerve to do such, but the desire, the fantasy---to rage against the taboo is what I have longed for. This is my fantasy:

I was walking through a huge department store in New York somewhere. I was walking along, looking through the clothing and other items when I felt a hand cover my mouth. An arm simultaneously reached across my waist, and anxiety and fear rushed through my body. I began to struggle until your whisper calmed me into submission, “You are mine for the taking.” It's Master, my Master!

From behind you pushed me into a fitting room, and told me not to turn around, as you slowly removed my shirt, and unbuttoned my jeans. We are facing a mirror, and looking into each others eyes that way. “Take them all the way off-- strip completely.” I quickly did as instructed. I could feel your chest pressed against my back, as you reached around me to run your hands up and down my body... your body. “Who owns you slave?”

“You do Master,” I could feel your hard dick through your pants, pressing against my bare ass.

“What are your vows to me slave??”

“Body, Mind, and Soul, I am yours, Master. Today and Always,” I obediently submitted.

I could hear a slight chuckle, which informed me that you were pleased with my response. Then you grabbed my shoulders, and spun me around. You pushed me down on my knees, “Show your Master how much you miss him, and how much you worship his cock!” You began to unbuckle your belt, and unzipped your pants. I could feel you getting bigger with every second, as I grabbed your thick piece of meat with both hands, and started pumping. I took you into my mouth, all wet and warm, and began sliding up and down. Then I released you, beginning long licks of the tongue for the whole length of your shaft. I felt you grab my hair, swirling it around my head. I slowly pumped you with my hand, while sucking, and flicking my tongue all around your mushroom head. You started fucking my mouth, faster and harder. Your grip on the back of my head got firmer, you where fucking my mouth so hard, that I could feel your balls banging against my chin. The tip of your head collided with the back of my throat, so violently that I couldn't control my gag reflexes. Then with a tug of my hair, you pulled me up on my feet, kissed me hard, and pushed me against the wall. “You serve your Master well.”

“Thank you Master.,” I felt your fingers slide into my juicy cunt, so deeply I was lifted onto my toes.

“You are such a tramp. You have Niagara Falls between your legs right now, and I hardly touched you.” Then you took your finger and slid it into your mouth, tasting my juices. “You taste sweet my little pet. Very good”

“Thank you, Master, I am happy to please you.”

“You do, but first you must be punished for your recent back talk, then you will be rewarded for your obedience.”

“Of course Master, Thank You.”

“Turn around with your legs spread, and your hands against the wall.” Instinctively, I responded. I knew what was coming, and in some sick twisted way, I was really looking forward to it.. My clit was already engorged. I could feel my lips separating from the excitement. The sound of the friction made me shudder, as you pulled your belt out of the pant loops. Your hand slid in circles along my bare ass, preparing it for what was coming next.

“After each stroke, I want to hear a count, and you must thank your Master. Do not lose count, or you will have to start over. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master.”

“Why are you being punished my whore?”

“For the back talk I gave you yesterday Master” With that I felt the first slap of your belt across my round ass. I flinched at the initial sting.

“One. Thank You Master” Again, the leather strap came hurling through the air. “Two. Thank You Master”. This continued on and on until I whimpered, “Eight. Thank You Master”

Apparently my punishment was finished as you said, “Very Good Slave. I gave you two counts for every disobedient comment you made yesterday. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Thank You Master.” With that I felt your hand start rubbing my ass again. My ass was warm and red, and you admired your handiwork. The rubbing created a pleasant sensation with the tingle of the punishment. I was really enjoying this.

“Now comes the reward for being such a good slave. I want you to know that I do appreciate your trust and obedience. Even though I will always punish you for your bad behavior, I will always reward you for your obedience.”

“Yes I understand. Thank You Master”.

“Bend forward more, keep your hands on the wall,” and instantly I obeyed. I then felt your hand gliding up and down my thighs, priming me, and putting all sorts of thoughts in my head. My heart start to race as my anticipation grew. Then I felt your two fingers teasing your clit, slowly at first. Then faster, and faster.

“Does that feel good my sweet whore?”

“Oh yes, Thank you Master.” Your tongue then found its way down into my hole, and started slithering in and out slowly. With your face buried in my soaking twat, you fingered me and stroked my body everywhere. You were so handsome, and powerful looking in the reflection of the mirror, and yet you were giving me all of your attention. Just watching you work your magic down there was enough to make me want to erupt.

“Did you do all of your assignments yesterday? Or you will get a lot more of the belt than just 8 counts”

Embarrased, I admitted, “No, Master. I did not.” I wanted to lie, but I couldn't lie to you. If you found out later, it would just lead to a greater punishment.

“It is good that you were honest. You will still be punished, yet not as severely as you would have been. For not completing your assignments, I forbid you from touching or pleasuring yourself in any way--for three weeks. That means no grinding your cunt on the sheets, or arm chairs. No using the shower nozzle on your clit. Nothing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master. I understand.” I was disappointed, but not surprised. Because I am very orgasmic, withholding orgasms is very difficult for me to do. I love sex. I love having you in me.

“Oh please Master, don't do that to me? I'm begging you. You know how much I crave to climax!”

You had a better idea. You knew how I felt about my body, about modesty, and you were going to use that against me. You told me to leave only my bra and panties on and made me stroll onto the sales floor of the store. My orders were to find the first place I could sit, whether it be a chair, bench, or counter top. I was to spread my legs wide on the surface, and masturbate until I climaxed. You ordered me to be as loud as I possibly could. You said that you wanted others to admire my body and climaxes, as much as you do. As I fingered myself, I heard you ordering me to pinch my nipples. I could not see you, but I knew you were there. I popped one nipple out of my white lace bra, and began squeezing. As I began writhing on the counter next to a register, I felt my panties moisten and let out a cry of exhilaration. That got the attention of a man walking by. He stopped, looked around to see if he was being watched, then just start to stare. “Give him a good show, my slut. Show him your true self. Let go of your inhibitions,” you said from behind me.

With that, I ran my hands up and down my neck, and pressed my tits together. I slowly popped one nipple out of the lace bra, and rolled it between my fingers. I kept eye contact with him, while I fingered myself until I climaxed. He asked me if he could touch me, and you yelled, “No touching. This is just a show!” That was enough, the man was happy to go back to watching. I continued my show of pinching, squeezing, and cumming until the man finally whipped out his dick, and started stroking himself. As I moved faster and faster, wiggling on the counter in all sorts of directions, he was stroking faster and faster. Finally, I heard him release himself with a deep sigh and a “Damn!”. He thanked me, then walked away with a smile.

You ordered me back into the fitting room, “I like when others enjoy what I own. I like when others want and adore you the way I do. Did you see how excited your body made him? Do you want to cum now, my beauty?”

“Yes, Master.” You knew I did. I am a nympho in every sense of the word, and you made me that way. Then I felt both of your hands working on me. Like an octopus, you managed to have one hand rubbing my clit, and the other pounding into me with three fingers. You wanted me to beg you for your dick, and I honestly wanted it so badly.

“Please Master, Fuck me, let me feel your cock pummel into me.”

This amused you,, “So, you want your Master's cock in you whore?”

“Oh god, YES MASTER! I need to feel you in me. I beg you Master, Please FUCK ME NOW!”

Again, I could hear you chuckling. “Well, you have been a mostly obedient slave.” Then I felt your huge head force open my tight hole. Having you in me was like being complete again. And as always, you fit into me perfectly, as if my pussy was made specifically for you. “You still cannot cum until I say!”

“Yes Master... just please, don’t stop!”

Facing the mirror again, you were pumping me from behind. We were staring into each others eyes. I felt your hand on my back as you built up momentum to fuck that pussy harder. Then you grabbed my shoulder to keep your balance. Oh my God!... you feel so good, no matter what images I conjure up to prevent cumming, there is no way i can hold out much longer.

“You are close aren't you slut? I know your body, I know that it wants to cum. Am I right?” You didn't even need to ask, you knew the answer already.

“Yes Master. You know my body, May I cum please???” I knew that it was pointless, you would only allow me to have or not have what you wanted me to. However, the demonstration of your control is what you wanted.

“No! You do what I tell you. As your reward you will be able to cum as much as you want, but only when I say”

Breathlessly I said, “Yes Master... of course”

Just when I thought I couldn't hold out any longer, I felt a dildo plunge into my ass while you continued to fuck me. “NOW WHORE! Now you can cum as much as you want!”

“Oh my GOOOOODDDD!!! Thank you Master!!!!” It came out as a scream. It did not stop you, you kept pounding your cock and dildo, pumping into both of my holes. It felt so good that my legs began to give out, making me lose all sense of balance. I kept cumming and cumming, then I felt hot liquid pour down my legs. I was so wet, everywhere, and my body tingled all over. I was so exhausted that after a few minutes of continued cumming I just couldn't take it anymore. I collapsed on the floor, and not even you could stop me. The dildo was still in my ass, and you never bothered to stop pumping it.

“How do you feel my slut?”

“I can't breathe.”

“Tell your Master how you feel!”

“Euphoric! Like I'm drugged.”

You laughed at this response. “Good! As it should be.” Still pumping the dildo hard in and out of my ass, you asked, “Would you like for me to fuck your ass???”

“Oh yes Master, please! I need it” I wanted anything that you would give me, anything that would keep my pleasure sensors tingling for an extended amount of time.

“Good.” Then I felt your hard cock pump within me. The hole was really tight, and the pain jolted through my body for a moment until my muscles got adjusted to the size of you. I started rocking my body into rhythm with yours, as my body convulsed with pleasure. I could feel my pussy and ass muscles contract out of an overload of climatic sensation.

“Stop fucking moving!”

“Yes Master, I’m sorry” a moment later, I felt you pulse and cum into my tight asshole.

You kept pumping for a minute, then pulled out. Still behind me, you reached out and grabbed my wrists. Then you pulled me upward to my feet, as you flung my body against the wall. You stood directly in front of me, and pressed your body against me so hard, that I felt like I was being crushed between you and the wall. I could hardly breathe. My cheek was against the wall, and I felt you kiss my neck gently. “Always remember that you are mine. I can do whatever I want with you. I can do it when I want. I can punish you, or reward you. It could be day, or night. I could be gone for years, or for five minutes---and you are STILL mine. You will always be mine. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master. Thank You.”

“Now tell me. How do you feel about your Master?”

“My master is the love of my life, the air that I breathe. I do nothing without his permission or without the thought of how I could please him. Nothing could ever change how I feel, and no one could ever replace my Master.”

“Very good slave. You are a good slave, and good wife. Your Master and husband loves you too. Hard to believe that ten years has gone by. Happy anniversary, Baby. Are you ready for ten more?”

“Of course my Master”

Author Interview:

What made you want to write erotica?

I was engaged to a US Army Infantryman who was deployed often. He would ask me to write him fantasy stories, all of which involved a little kink. Some of the other Army wives/girlfriends complained that they didn't know how to write sexy to their men. I started sharing my stories with them, who passed them off as their own to their deployed spouses.

When I published this book as an ebook, a US Marine (I didn't know) wrote to me and said, "Wow. That was awesome, can you put it on an audiobook?" I did, and he was my first sale. After that I started getting messages from listeners, "That saved me hundreds in phone sex this month! 2 hours of phone sex for $7!"

For those who might consider reading your book, what would you tell them to expect?

This is not a novel, rather a collection of 8 fantasies of various women from across the country. They are from all walks of life, but missing something in their sex lives with their partners. Each of the first 8 chapters includes domination, bondages, orgasm control, and exhibitionism. The last two chapter include great fellatio and anal sex tips!

Anything you want to say to your readers?

$1 of all of my book titles, regardless of format (ebook, paperback, audiobook) will be donated to the National Military Family Association.

This is an awesome organization which assists military families through deployments, and provides retreats and bonding time for when the servicemember returns. Many of us do not realize that some of the children are afraid of the parents, not remembering them. This organization assists with this and many other situations and activities.

What inspired you to become a writer?

I am a US Postal Worker. Over the course of 15 years, I compiled a bunch of funny anecdotes of things such as alligators and human heads in the mail. It is full of things that the public never sees. I completed it as a sort of nostalgia for my co-workers who enjoyed it so much, the encouraged me to write it. 

Goin' Postal: True Stories of a US Postal Worker became my first ebook. It did so well that I joined it with a historical fiction into a paperback. They are now available together as an audiobook also.

What book would you like to read again?

The Story of O -- I read it as a teenager, and it sort of put me on the BDSM path. I haven't read it since, but wonder what my reaction would be now. I wonder if after reading as much erotica as I have whether it would hold my interest.

Tell us about your writing process. 

I just write. Outlines tend to make me paint myself in a corner. I sit at the computer and think, "How can I screw up this person's life? What would be really shocking in this scene? How could I put the limits of this character? What would make this scene really hot and sexy?"

In my most recent book, Tower of Tears: The McClusky Series, a character gets murdered. I had my mother reading the chapters as I wrote it. Five characters hated the guy, but I had not decided who killed the man. My mother yelled, "I know who did it!" I thought that funny. Then I crossed her suspect off the list of possible suspects to add more mystery.

What is your favorite/least favorite part of writing? Why?

The marketing and promotion. I have met some awesome people because of it, but I also do not want to feel as though I am spamming. The books are the easy part-- the getting them noticed is the hard part.

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?

Research and talk to other authors!

Don't pay for anything you cannot do yourself. But research. There are so many companies out there willing to scam you. One company who promised to edit, print, promote my book wanted $1500 minimum. The entire "gold package" would be $10,000. When I researched I realize I could use Createspace, KDP, Nook Press, Smashwords, ACX (for audiobooks) all for free! There are also blog tour companies, editing/proofreaders, reviewers---- all just trying to take your money. There are so many bad ones out there, that it is difficult to know who to trust. So talk to other authors!

I get my marketing supplies from Vistaprint--they are the cheapest.

Also, I have some info on my website. I am also willing to help, so you can facebook me with questions. 

What is the hardest and easiest part about being an erotica writer?

I'm working on a new erotica now, but for me the sex part is easy to write. It is trying to put the sex into a good story overall. Other genres I read are historical fiction and mysteries. So I think it's going to be more of an "erotic thriller" type than a romance type. In my head, an erotic novel cannot stand on sex alone. It has to have a good story behind it. Otherwise, it is just porn.

Is there a genre you could never write? Which and why?

I don't see myself writing Young Adult. I didn't read YA when I was a kid, so I can't see me reading it now. As I previously said, I read Story of O when I was like 16. So I do not think that I could relate with the audience of YA now, if I couldn't back then. All of the conflicts and characters just seem so immature---which they should be. But it would be hard for me to go from "Do me Master, Spank me harder" to "I'm so nervous about asking Suzie to the dance."

Available on Amazon Here ♥ Available for Audible Here

Visit Rhoda's Website ♥ Follow Rhoda on Twitter ♥ Like Rhoda on Facebook

A Fine Profession by Sarah Michelle Lynch

I want to take a moment to welcome Sarah back to this blog! Last time I hosted her author interview, and reviewed Bedtime Confessions. 

Genre:
BDSM/Dominatrix

Synopsis:
A mysterious woman tells her tale to the private investigator sent to find her…

Lottie reveals the tragic events that led her into the arms of a community of free-loving people. Within the secretive confines of the Lodge, she has a chance to be herself and escape the banality of her day job.

A ménage à trois doesn't work out how she expected and she leaves behind the friends who helped her find her creativity. She goes on to explore her need for control, adopting the guise of a domme. But a domineering man arrives in her life and overthrows everything she previously believed. He is unforthcoming about his past – but we never discover the reasons. We know they were parted, but why?

Part one of a two-part story. Concluded in A Fine Pursuit.

Excerpt:

Chambermaid's Rule No.1 

The Ruse 

     “Housekeeping!” 

     The Chambermaid marched into the suite, where a man stood by his bed for the night, freeing the small suitcase that sat atop the mattress of its contents. He glanced sideways, a little nervously, and acknowledged the woman. 

     He muttered, “Erm, I didn't…” 

     “Pardon for the intrusion, sir, we messed up. Your bathroom wasn't crossed off the list. Seems it didn't receive the proper cleaning. Every bathroom has to be steam cleaned between guests' stays.” 

     “God, listen, it doesn't matter. I don't really care about that.” 

     “Sorry, it's a health and safety policy. Unless you want another room…” 

     “Get on with it then,” he grunted, desperate for her to just get out. 

     “Thanks,” she enthused, grateful. She wheeled in her trolley of cleaning goods, taking it toward the open door of the bathroom. She clattered and clunked about over the kinks in the hotel carpet and heard a barely audible tut escape his mouth. Without him knowing, she was assessing his demeanour and behaviour. She was already getting a picture of the man's tastes and desires from his almost unreadable body language. Today's client was an unwitting servant who would not know that he had been set up (his wife had organised Lottie as an anniversary treat). 

     She dove in the bathroom and as she shut the door, he glanced in her direction again but would not have caught a very good look at her face. She would seem to be a generic hotel-worker-type, with one of those unattractive, bland uniforms, plus lank hair and a colourless face. 

     In the bathroom, she knew he would hear the low whirring of her portable facial sauna. But to him, it would seem some kind of small machine she used to carry out her “steam-cleaning”. He would imagine so. Why wouldn't he? Honestly. Why would he believe anything otherwise? She was just a bland hotel cleaner. 

She peeked out between the door and saw him sat on the edge of the bed. He picked up his mobile phone and checked it, probably out of fretfulness. His wife had stayed behind at the bar a little longer than she said she would… 

     Lottie retreated back behind the door and recommenced work. With her face brightened, and hair moist, she looked different already. Radiant. She slicked back her hair. She applied false lashes. Easy. Bright red lipstick. Black eyeliner. She ripped off the baggy uniform to reveal her lingerie beneath. She slipped a pair of heeled shoes out of the cart and replaced her plimsolls with those. She shook her limbs into shape, leaving behind her former hunched demeanour, and became the Chambermaid. 

She knew he would be waiting for her to get the hell out of there, finally. He was probably imagining all sorts of scenarios. 

     He tapped at the door gently and scared her. 

     “Are you done? If not, it doesn't matter. In fact, I will pay you to leave right now. Please. My wife is going to be back any moment and this is meant to be a make-or-break night.” 

     At the ceasing of his desperate pleas, he heard a series of seemingly unfortunate events unfold behind the door. Bottles and towels tumbled down on the poor cleaner and she screeched, before assuring him, “I'm okay, I'm okay! Just had a little scare… Listen, mister, I have got a serious problem on my hands here. Found some cockroaches under the bathmat. Dead ones. You never know when two more may turn up for their funeral, however. This is real bad, mate, you know? Could close the hotel!” 

     She was desperately trying to remove shampoo from her leather corset. 

     “Shit!” he shouted. 

     “Listen, gimme a minute or so while I sort this.” 

Behind the door, he had no idea what was going on. All the time, he was being drawn in further to the ruse, forced to occupy himself while he tried to patiently wait out the minutes and seconds this girl was potentially ruining his passionate expectations. She heard him switch on the TV set, apparently attempting to idle himself away with one dreary teatime show after another. 

     The bathroom door creaked open and she pushed her trolley out, clattering around again. He did not bother to look behind himself. He breathed a huge sigh of relief at her having finally finished her inconvenient hygiene intervention. 

     The door closed and he muttered with the remote doing his gesticulating, “Thanks love, you done?” 

     “I most certainly am sir,” she replied, in a deeper, sultrier tone. His ears pricked up immediately. His head spun slowly and all he saw was a sleek body, kitted out in leather and lace, heels and stockings. He saw it all out of the corner of his eye and his trousers stirred. He pieced all the events together and the realisation hit. 

     “I should have known it was you,” he chuckled. The element of surprise intrigued as much as aroused him. 

     “Now, sir, now, you have to do exactly as I say, beginning with closing your eyes.” 

     “Yes Chambermaid,” he agreed, turning the TV off and throwing the remote away. “Tell me what to do.” 

     “Keep those eyes closed otherwise there will be trouble…” she warned, huskily. 

    “They're closed, they definitely, are, closed…” 

     (That's the first and last time I will ever refer to the Chambermaid in the third person. She is me, was me, and always will be me. However, as we shall see, she is not the entire me…)

My Review:

This book has a strong streak of honesty, which makes it speak as a true story. I will admit that I did not know A Fine Profession was based on a true story while I was reading it; however, I strongly suspected this was the case (and felt very justified when I discovered I was correct). This book has complex characters, situations, and interactions and tells the tale of a "lost" woman searching for her identity. A Fine Profession shows how a normal, regular woman can journey through the sex culture and come out better for it. For those who are interested in reading a genuine "women's issues" story with a strong taste of erotica, I would recommend this book to you. 

About the Author:

Sarah Michelle Lynch is a wife and mother living in Yorkshire, England. She worked in journalism for several years before finding creative writing during a long period of maternity leave.

Available on Amazon Here

Add it on Goodreads
Visit Michelle's Website
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Roleplay Gone Wrong by Reed James

Genre:
Roleplay

Synopsis:
Frank and Evie have been married for thirteen years, and their sex life has began to grow stale. Looking to spice things up, Evie suggests some harmless roleplay. She's always had a fascination with 'ladies of the night' and dresses up in her sluttiest clothes and waits on a street corner for her husband to buy her services. Only things don't go as planned when a Black cop catches them in their fun, and Frank discovers just how naughty his wife can be.

Excerpt:

“Wait,” Evie panted; her cheeks still flushed from her orgasm. “He's my husband, really!”

The handcuff ratcheted around her wrist. “You have the right to remain silent.”

“Really, officer!” I shouted. I was confused about the entire situation; hurt, arousal, betrayal all mixed together in the storm brewing inside me, but I didn't want to see my wife go to jail. “I can prove it!”

“Even if she is,” the cop answered. “Doesn't change the fact that she stood on the street corner, accepted money, and was caught performing a lewd act in public. You're lucky I'm not arresting you too! But my patience is wearing thin, buddy!”

“Maybe there's something I can do to convince you not to arrest me,” purred Evie as he ratcheted the other cuff around her left wrist, restraining her hands behind her back just above her shapely ass.

“Like what?” the cop asked, a knowing smile on his face.

About the Author:

Reed James is a thirty year-old guy living in Tacoma, WA. "I love to write, I find it freeing to immerse myself in a world and tell its stories and then share them with others." He's been writing naughty stories since high school, furiously polishing his craft, and finally feels ready to share his fantasies with the world.

"I love writing about women who want to be a little (or a lot) naughty, people expressing their love for each other as physically and kinkily as possible, and women loving other women. Whether it's a virgin experiencing her/his first time or a long-term couple exploring the bounds of their relationships, it will be a hot, erotic story!"

For his day job Reed drives a paratransit shuttle, helping the disabled and senior citizens get around town. "It can be both a rewarding and stressful job in turns. And sometimes sad."

So check out his works, the Naughty Wives Series and Seducing Straight Women series and the erotic-supernatural thriller My Fallen Angel.

My Review:

I love the title of this book for as I started getting more into this story it had me wondering, "What goes wrong?" The scenario Reed sets up could go wrong in many ways, and it got me hot just thinking about what they could be. Driven by the question, "What happens when role-play is not pretend anymore?" Reed did not disappoint me, and took the story much further than I had imagined! Not only this, but Reed did an excellent job of setting up his scenario while at the same time keeping his reader engaged before delving into an exciting sex scene. While there were a few typos in this book, it was still an arousing read for those who like questionably non-consensual erotica.

Available on Amazon Here ♥ Follow Reed on Twitter 

Like Reed on Facebook ♥ Read Reed's Blog ♥ Visit Reed's Website

Cover Unveil: Underneath the Gargoyle by Christina Harding

Available on Amazon Here
Kindle ♥ Paperback

Genre:
Paranormal / Dubious Consent

Synopsis:
Part One of Christina Harding's Underneath the Gargoyle series: Trisha is a Catholic choir member and believes nobody knows the extent of her promiscuity. Little does she know the gargoyles are watching her.



Also in the series:
Underneath the Gargoyle: A Prologue
Underneath the Gargoyle: Part Two
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Advance Praise for Underneath the Gargoyle: 
"This was a great short read! As I kept turning the pages... the book got hotter and hotter and more and more taboo. I recommend this book if you like the "forbidden"! Can't wait to get the rest of the story." ~5★ review by Annette on Amazon

"Christina harding is a well recognized blogger, reviewing erotica literature, with a waiting list that is months long. Her own story about her foray into the genre is quite moving. So it's not surprising that after reading so many erotic books, novels, and shorts, she was inspired to try her hand at writing. Her debut is definitely praise-worthy. She managed to combine several fetishes (voyeurism, monster erotica) into a tight, imaginative, and explicit short that left you wanting more. The protagonist's dirty mind and antics are expertly portrayed, and the intended result (yes, that result) is guaranteed. Can't wait for the sequel." ~5★ review by Connie Cliff on Amazon

"Great first story! Paranormal/monsters aren't usually my thing but really glad I gave this one a try. I'd be lying if I said it didn't turn me on; it did, a lot. Hopefully the start of a great series of novelettes." ~5★ review by Adrian Ward on Smashwords

"...the main appeal here isn’t necessarily the plot but rather the writing. Christina Harding does a great job of letting us into the mind of the protagonist.... Harding’s masterful way with words helps paint extremely vivid pictures in the reader’s head. As soon as you finish, I bet you’ll find yourself ready for more. The fact that this is first story just makes it all the more impressive. Even if (like me) you’re not normally into paranormal erotica, I highly recommend this story." ~5★ review by Chacebook

"If you have a fetish for naughty Catholic schoolgirls (and if not, what's the matter with you?) this one definitely belongs on your to-read list.... This is a story that ends much too soon, and is indeed crying out for a sequel. Christina, if you're paying any attention to the reviews on this thing, you need to get on it now."  ~5★ review by Michael Dalton on Amazon

"Smoking hot erotic short! Perfect for those who love paranormal erotica as well as those who prefer the taboo. Loved it and look forward to reading more by this author about what happens under the catacombs." ~5★ review by Bella Swann Erotica on Amazon

"A very sexy read! You won't want to miss this: father/son fantasies, supernatural creatures, and just about every kind of erotic situation you can imagine. Highly recommended!" ~5★ review by Fionna Guillaume on Smashwords

"Wow! It's like this story was lurking on the roof the whole time but I never noticed. If you like Catholic School Girls getting stuffed with big hard marble and want to know how to make a gargoyle purr then you need to read this exquisitely naughty and creative novelette from Christina Harding." ~5★ review by MJ on Amazon

"Trisha is a naughty girl, having far more fun at church than any person should." ~5★ review by Reed James

"Christina has created a book of Erotica that will delight the lover of the genre. She writes with a style and panache that other writers of the genre will envy. Christina Harding is a bold, provocative, creative writer; absolutely and most definitely, more, more, more from her...please." ~5★ review by Billierosie on Amazon

"Underneath the Gargoyle has a solid story line and structure, with a happy ending… for the gargoyles. This was an enjoyable read that flows like a confession that goes beyond the bounds of traditional encounters." ~5★ review by Franklin Deverell on Amazon

"I thought it was steamy in the graveyard, but move past that and find her confessing of her "sins" to her boyfriend's father...Holy Smoke!! That doesn't even scrape the surface, with the rest of the story. I really enjoyed it! It was short, but there was so much that added depth to the characters and the plot. I highly recommend this one and will be reading many more from this author." ~5★ review by Booklover on Amazon

"This was fun to read -- clever and sexy and laugh-out-loud funny." ~Editor of Underneath the Gargoyle