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Hello and welcome to the Circlet Press community on LiveJournal! We've already got a blog over at www.circlet.com, but if all goes right with our technical wizardry... posts that appear there will also appear here. Or something like that. Or maybe we'll just fake it...

The sex golem had a liquid magic heart.

“As opposed to powdered magics,” said Arianna. “Too much limp, not enough lymph.”

Veronica stared at it in wonder. No, not it. He. He wasn’t alive, but he wasn’t exactly dead, either. He was a training implement, but calling him a tool was a bit …

“Ah,” said Arianna, “I see you’ve noticed his tool.”

Veronica nodded. “Yes, it’s, um … well, it’s rather …”

“Gargantuan is the word, I think. Yes, quite so.  Molded from the still-erect remains of the Mad God Hüelly after the great battle orgy of the Second Age. This golem’s been in service of the Royal House of Pleasure for millennia.”

The Royal House of Pleasure. The House of Houses, the very last word in erotic entertainment in this, the supreme capital city of the great imperium. Bedded floors. Scented ventilation. Sex novelties and toys packed into every drawer and shelf.

“You do think you can handle him, don’t you girl?” said Arianna, motioning at the golem.

Veronica had barely been in training two years. She’d only just learned the art of dark-craft fellatio runes the month before. A novice like her? Handle the sex golem?

“Only one way to find out,” said Veronica. She paused for a moment, took a deep, steadying breath, and then she untied her dress from around her neck. Her breasts tumbled out, full, burgeoning, voluptuous. The dress fell down around her hips, and she bent and shimmied back and forth, back and forth, until she was free of it.

Arianna smiled, taking in Veronica’s perfect naked form with a sparkle in her eye. “That’s the spirit, girl. And if I’m not too much mistaken …”

The sex golem powered up in an instant. It’s fabled, godly penis rose to full erection in precisely five seconds.

Arianna timed it. “Five seconds,” she remarked. “I think he must like what he sees.”

The sex golem strode forward, his taught, tanned muscles shifting like continents beneath his skin. He had the face of an angel, save for his hungry sneer and glistening white tusks.

“Is that really all I have to—”

The golem pulled Veronica in. She inhaled. Dear gods, the smell of him! Like musk and burnt rosewood. It filled her up, made her swoon, made her go limp in the golem’s arms. His gigantic cock—no, no, gargantuan!—pressed against her thigh. She could feel it throbbing, throbbing with liquid magic-powered desire. She suddenly felt giddy. She giggled.

“Concentrate, girl! Concentrate!” said Arianna.

Yes, of course, concentrate. Veronica had a job to do.

She smiled at the golem, that certain sexy smile. She pressed her lips to his, playfully let her tongue slide over a tusk, deep into his mouth. He bit her. She cried out. He pulled her closer. The taste. Smoke, steam of ages, ancient magic, thick and heady.

The golem reached a long, slow hand between her legs. She stiffened. Couldn’t help herself, really. He slipped a finger inside her.

And then he spanked her. She yelped. He spanked again. This time she laughed. He lifted her up and threw her to the bedded floor. It hurt a little, but still, all Veronica could do was laugh.

“Is he supposed to be so … spirited?” she said.

“Well,” said Arianna, “on occasion he has been known to … But listen here, girl, you must control the situation!”

“Control. Yes, con—”

The sex golem shoved his head between her thighs. His tongue slid over her womanhood.

“Gods!” moaned Veronica. It was heat and electricity and the power of the sun. It was the long, slow tongue and the way he nibbled and chattered. “Gods.” This time it was a sigh.

The sex golem mounted her, penetrated her, slid deep inside her. She shuddered from pleasure.

“Control, girl!” she heard Arianna say, “Control, control!” Arianna dropped to her knees beside them. Instantly, the sex golem reached beneath her dress and began to fondle.

“No!” said Arianna. “No, wait! Wait … wait … oh … oh, his fingers ….”

The golem began a slow, steady rut. With every thrust, he seemed to delve deeper and deeper inside Veronica. Hot wires. Red, flaming flesh.

“Too slow,” said Veronica. “I can’t take it anymore! Faster. Please, faster!”

He sped his rhythm, harder, faster, until at last, he was pounding her into wave after wave of ecstasy. With one giant hand, he flipped her onto her stomach. He slid himself back in, never once taking his fingers away from Arianna.

Veronica tried to remember her training. Tried to remember how to maximize pleasure for her partner.

“He’s … he’s too much,” she said. “I can’t … I can’t ….”

“Who cares, girl!” cried  Arianna. “Who cares!”

The golem plunged and pounded, and his fingers slid in and out of Arianna, and Arianna screamed, and Veronica wailed, and the sex golem howled to the ceiling, to the stars, to the gods themselves, and then …

All three of them came at the same instant. The golem exploded liquid magic inside Veronica. It was hot. Tingling. Steaming and effervescent. He tensed, howled a moment longer.

And then he powered down, right on top of her. He went limp and fell between Veronica and Arianna.

The two of them lay there panting, dripping with sweat, eyes glazed over, unfocused, uncaring. It took two full minutes for Arianna to speak.

“Typical,” she said, sounding perfectly satisfied. “Right to sleep. Well, dear, what have we learned?”

“Learned?” said Veronica. “I haven’t learned a damn thing! He completely overpowered me!”

Arianna considered this. “Would you like me to give it a try this next time?”

“Next time? You? Absolutely not! I am ready, willing, and able, teacher. Just … just give me a few moments. I feel the need to gather myself.”

Veronica laid her head back and closed her eyes. Very soon, she was fast asleep, napping peacefully beside the sex golem of the Third Age.

C.P. Bonham is currently earning a Creative Writing MFA and is using the time to become the best writer she can be. She lives out on the eastern plains of Colorado with her soul mate and their various critters.

Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Call for Halloween Microfictions

Circlet Microfictions are looking for some spooky tricks and sexy treats for Halloween. Send in your best short-shorts featuring ghosts and goblins, witches and wizards, pumpkin kings and weird costumes. Who gets more then they bargained for when the knock at the door comes? What does the jack-o’-lantern see? Where does the will-o’-wisp lead us? Dig deep into the lore and traditions of our weirdest holiday, and send in those microfictions. We’ll take a selection of the very best to run in the days leading up to Halloween, and one very special treat to grace the night of trick and treating itself. For the author who best honors All Hallow’s Eve, we’ll offer up an ebook of Like a Chill Down Your Spine in addition to our usual payment of $5 or a free ebook.

So send in those stories to circlet.microfiction@gmail.com. Remember, they have to be sexy, and between 250-1000 words. (As always, guidelines can also be found here.)

Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Libby finished the last knot. “Everything feel okay?”

Jess tested the bindings on her wrists and ankles. “Marvelous.” The brass scales behind her head rattled, muffled by the pillow in between. Libby had set aside Jess’s sword, and her own tablet and torch, but it was just too delicious to resist tying her new wife to the device.

Libby took a moment to survey her handiwork, admiring how her new wife’s golden skin gleamed in the candlelight. “If our fathers knew…they’d probably be disturbed by the symbolism.”

Jess smiled, her wry expression visible in spite of the blindfold. “If our fathers were still alive, we wouldn’t have gotten married at all. Well…except Uncle Benjamin. I have a feeling he’d have been okay with it, the old lech.”

Stripping out of her heavy gown, Libby decided to keep her veil in place, just as she had left Jess’s. Her wife, being blind, wouldn’t know it was there, but it felt good to wear it. Besides, it went well with her crown, lending some softness to its dramatic points. She climbed onto the bed, straddling Jess’s thighs. Her hands meandered down her lover’s body, starting at her shoulders, running down over breasts and belly, and down to shaved mons. “You’re tense.”

“We have so much work to do,” said Jess.

Libby continued her massage, touching more deeply, squeezing her lover’s luscious flesh. “Yes. But now is not the time to worry about that. For now, let’s just celebrate.” She leaned down and kissed Jess, tenderly at first, then more deeply as the tension eased. “As Uncle Benjamin said: We’re only guaranteed the right to pursue happiness …”

Jess interrupted with a throaty laugh. “We have to catch it ourselves.”

She moved down, leaving a line of kisses on Jess’s chin, throat, and collarbone. “I hope you’re ready for a long chase.” Libby continued, sliding down her lover’s body, pausing to lavish attention on breasts and navel. She touched Jess’s sex with a light touch, teasing her mercilessly.

“Oh, I am,” Jess purred, squirming deliciously. “I am.”

A few years ago Nobilis Reed decided to start sharing the naughty little stories he scribbled out in hidden notebooks.  To his surprise, people actually liked them!  Now, he can’t stop.  The poor man is addicted.  His wife, teenage children, and even the cats just look on this wretch of a man, hunched over his computer and shake their heads. Clearly, there is no hope for him.  The best that can be hoped for is to just make him as comfortable as his condition will allow. Symptoms of his condition include two novels, several novellas, numerous short stories, and the longest-running erotica podcast in the history of the world. You can find his site at nobiliserotica.com

Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Call for submissions: Arthurian erotica

Call for submissions: Arthurian erotica

Edited by Jennifer Levine

Deadline: November 1, 2014

Everyone knows the story of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Tales of the world of Camelot, that fabled medieval castle, have been adapted into animated movies for children, dark television dramas for adults, Broadway musicals, fantasy novels, comics, historical fiction books, and epic musical scores. Children play at being Arthur’s knights, teenagers brood over the doomed romance of Guinevere and Lancelot, and historians debate which of the stories, if any, are fact, and which are simply legend or myth.

King Arthur. Guinevere. Uther Pendragon. Morgana le Fay. Merlin the Wizard. The Knights of the Round Table. Sir Lancelot. Sir Gawain. Mordred. Maybe you know all of these names and more; maybe you’ve only heard of a few. Maybe you’ve heard of sordid love affairs between some of these characters, or magic enchantments gone wrong, or murders and betrayals among even the closest of friends.

So many stories have already been written about the world of Camelot, and so many remain to be told. For this anthology, we are looking for both reimagined old stories and altogether newly invented ones; dalliances we are expecting and affairs we wouldn’t have imagined; familiar characters, new characters, and some we thought we knew but discover anew in your telling.

Your story must take place in the Arthurian universe, with at least one or two of the main characters we are familiar with, but beyond that, go wild. Maybe your characters are gender-swapped; maybe your Camelot is a futuristic world with knights wielding sugarcane; maybe your characters are powerful magicians, or maybe magic doesn’t exist in your world at all.

Remember that this is an anthology of erotica, so your story must have an element of sex in it (and not just any sex, but steamy sex, sexy sex, the kind of sex that leaves us hot and bothered after reading it). But this is also a collection of excellent fiction: your story needs a plot, your characters need to be fleshed out and fully imagined, your story needs to be about something.

For submission details, read on.

Read the rest of this entry »

Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Passionate Plume Winner!

Passionate Plume Winner!

(San Antonio, TX) — Here at the Romance Writers of America (RWA) National Convention we have exciting news! At last night’s Passionate Ink party, HOUSE OF SABLE LOCKS by Elizabeth Schechter won the Passionate Plume Award in the Fantasy/SF category!

The book was up against some tough competition. Finalists in the category were:

Something New Under the Sun by L.A. Witt
House of Sable Locks by Elizabeth Schechter
Glory Dogs: Forged Through Glory by Dezré Storm
Fueled By Lust: Drusus by Celeste Prater
Legend Beyond the Stars by S. E. Gilchrist

Read the rest of this entry »

Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Our final Dirty Book is the multiple volumes of the Marketplace series, which, after a tangled and sordid publication history, is now available in its entirety from Circlet. We got so many requests to write about the series that we decided to do something a little special for this one. What follows is three (3) appreciations by three different Circlet writers. The eponymous first volume is reviewed by long-time Circlet writer Tammy Jo Eckhart, author of the Beyond the Softness of his Fur Furry BDSM series.

What drew me to The Marketplace was a simple fascination with the idea of a formal world out there where it was perfectly normal to be an owner or a slave. I bought the 1993 Rhinoceros edition and had it signed by the author using her then-pseudonym Sara Adamson. I later got the Mystic Rose Books edition from 2000, and now you can buy this book from Circlet Press in multiple forms.

There are plenty of kinky novels out there, but even after all these years, “The Marketplace” holds a special place for me because of its groundbreaking nature. It was written by a leatherwoman, not a romance author or a wannabe, but someone who knew her subject matter. Back in the early 1990s we didn’t have a readily available stream of dubious online experts we could glance through in an hour and pull out some ideas to toss into a novel. If you wanted to know how a riding crop felt, you needed to feel it; if you wanted to know how masters and slaves interacted, you needed to meet some and spend time with them. Antoniou knew these things because she had firsthand experience and lots of kinky friends.

Fantasy novels about leather or BDSM had been around for decades when “The Marketplace” came out, but for the first time I can remember, the focus wasn’t on the fantasy or the kink but on the characters. While the novel may seem to examine the training of four potential slaves — Robert, Claudia, Brian, and Sharon — it gives enough time to their trainers, Grendel and Alexandra, and their support staff, to fully develop them in the reader’s mind. While the program is harsh, they really care about their trainees, their business, and each person in that house. For a growing dominant like me this was very reassuring to read.

“The Marketplace” also went beyond the orientation limits of most books, not only in the 1990s but also today. This international community of slaves and owners has a few hard rules, and one of them is bisexuality for slaves, at least in practice. Once you’re in the system, once accepted for sale within that mysterious world, you never know whom you might be kneeling before, or what you might be asked to do. Gender identity and role identity are fluid and best personified in majordomo Chris Parker.

From the very beginning of the novel, Antoniou makes it clear that no one should be in this world unless they are geared toward serving, not merely getting off. For those of us who felt the same way, the look into what service really means was invigorating and affirming. Service isn’t about sucking someone’s dick or taking a good flogging; it’s about doing whatever is needed and desired and taking pride in your work without letting yourself be drawn into the me-me-me mentality so many of us find in public dungeons.

Antoniou uses just enough description to get your mind working and your groin geared up for action. While you might find yourself getting aroused, you needed to keep reading to see if our quartet of stereotypical slaves could become competent servants that you’d want helping around your house. If you were submissive, you wondered if you could handle training like they did. You felt this way because this is a well-crafted world with engaging characters that grow – a rare thing for the novels found in porn shops at the time.

While the world of “The Marketplace” doesn’t exist, the feelings and needs Antoniou reveals do. That is what keeps you reading as she expands the world.

Robotica author and Fantastic Erotica contributor Kal Cobalt writes about The Trainer:

For the longest time, I ignored The Marketplace. Somehow, I’d picked up the idea that it was just another unrealistic fluffy bit of pseudo-BDSM stroke fic, like Anne Rice’s Beauty series.

For once, I’m glad I was dead wrong.

I started reading just after I’d realized that “genderqueer” didn’t fit me anymore and “trans” did. As I zipped through the books, my Marketplace-loving partners kept snickering and eagerly asking me where I was in the series, oh, and who was my favorite character?

You see, I’m also a switch, and have heard often enough that I’m impossible. (Someone I knew refused that ANY switch existed, convinced that I simply hadn’t chosen or accepted my “side” yet. This lasted until they actually witnessed me playing both ways, at which point I was christened “real.” Sigh.) So watching Chris Parker be the uber-dom AND thrill to every moment of submissive opportunity…well, I went through a lot of underpants.

This also disabused me of a writing “rule” I had absurdly failed to shed previously. In the vein of Chekhov’s gun on the mantel in the first act which must be fired in the third act, I had decided that much of the lack of invisible-minority characters in pop fiction was a simple structural problem: mention on the page that they are trans, gay, invisibly disabled, what have you, and it must serve the story, which gets complicated, and so we don’t get mentioned. Thankfully, everything from BBC’s SHERLOCK to Netflix’s ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK have shown how to illustrate invisible minorities — or, indeed, have that trait serve the story — with a serious minimum of fuss. As it should be. I never made the connection, though, until Chris Parker.

Until him, I hadn’t been exposed to a trans character I could relate to who was not in the story to have Trans Problems. I had never read a trans character with whom I could truly identify. As a porn author in their 30s with all of fiction at my fingertips, I’m not sure whether this is a failing of my search terms or whether Laura Antoniou was a vanguard who remains unmatched.

The Trainer gives me a blueprint, a way to properly integrate people like me into fiction without focusing unduly on one particular set of traits that, honestly, don’t get too much airtime in my day-to-day. It opens up a new vista of writing for me — something that can be personal and honest without gazing too deeply into my navel.

All that said, The Trainer has to have one of the most satisfying endings I have ever read. I will not spoil it, but I do believe I pumped my fist and laughed out loud while reading, and smirked about it for days. You don’t even really know you’re waiting for it, but when it happens, you know it’s exactly what you’ve ached for all along — just like those slaves who are told, one day, that there is a Marketplace.

The Academy is reviewed by Madeline Elayne.

I have a confession to make: I’m a smut snob. If a dirty book isn’t well-written, with compelling, flawed and fully realized characters, and if the “good stuff” isn’t more about what goes in in those characters’ heads than about which bits go where, then no matter how amazing the premise or how delectable the plotline, my libido will be as limp as a wet noodle.

I also happen to be pretty damned kinky, poly, and queer, and my taste in the smut I prefer to consume tends to run that way as well. Unfortunately, I am a voracious reader, and while there is a lot of quality erotica out there, and a lot of kinky poly queer erotica out there, I find myself often having to sacrifice one for the other to accommodate my limitless cravings for more words to consume. Good, straight, vanilla smut or not-so-well written queer kinky smut can both be entertaining to read, but I have to admit that neither really does too much to make me very turned on, and isn’t that the point of one’s favorite dirty book?

Lucky for me, there occasionally comes along a book that has both my two arousal-inspiring criteria in spades. The Academy is at the top of that list. It also happens to be the only book in my list that can both turn me on, and make me cry. Word to the wise – don’t read the chapter “the Nurse” by Karen Taylor without a box of tissues handy.

The book is actually a collection of several short stories by some extremely talented contributors and woven into a cohesive storyline by the inimitable Laura Antoniou. The different voices are a huge asset to the re-readability of the book, and they have the added bonus of creating a dizzyingly diverse cast of character personalities, body types, gender identities and orientations. Best of all, it’s clearly diversity not for diversity’s sake, but because it’s more interesting, and by extension more titillating, that way. My favorite scene in the book is a conversation in which the cis-het characters bemoan the fact that they are actually in the minority in the Marketplace. Nothing has made me want to be part of a fictional world more, let me tell you!

Most importantly, though, the Academy makes me look at the fantastic tales woven into it, and say to myself “that is what I should be doing right now – making more of this!” Any writer who’s ever experienced writer’s block can tell you how important it is to keep those types of inspiration close to their nightstand…and to the bottle of lube.

Thank you for reading! Ten Dirty Books is now over, you can resume your ordinary lives as if this glorious week and a half was some marvelous dream.

However! If you want some free books to take back with you to Mundania, you can still participate in our giveaways. Post an essay about your favorite Circlet book or story below to win a print book, or connect with us on Twitter or Facebook to win the Circlet ebook of your choice. The Rafflecopter giveaway ends at midnight tonight, so act fast.

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Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

The Dirty Books series is drawing to a close…or perhaps ascending to a climax. Today, sherlockian scribe Violet Vernet vividly evokes the carefree debauchery of her new favorite turn-of-the-century novel. At the bottom of the post, you can participate in our Dirty Book project yourself and win some dirty books of your own. And come back tomorrow when multiple essayists finish off the series with a classic of modern BDSM that is very dear to Circlet’s collective heart.

Ask any collector to name a favorite piece, and most will cite their latest acquisition. I discovered Memoirs of a Voluptuary only a few months ago and have since become thoroughly entranced with this charming Edwardian schoolboy romp. I’m an ardent fan of the pornography of this era, and especially that which includes homosexual acts. The very phrase “Edwardian schoolboy romp” sets my voyeuristic heart aflutter.

Though published in the early twentieth century, it is purportedly a memoir written years after the events described. It is a classic naughty Victorian schoolgirl tale, except with bisexual boys – rather more unusual for the era. As with most anonymous vintage porn, the provenance is murky; it was likely published in 1905 by Charles Carrington, neè Paul Harry Ferdinando. His connection to fin de siècle notables such as Oscar Wilde, A. C. Swinburne, Sir Richard Burton, and Aubrey Beardsley – who were then regarded as sexual outlaws, if not outright mollies – makes the question of Memoirs’ true authorship an intriguing one. Like most Victorian pornographers, the writer is well-educated, and probably a youthful person, if the carefree Edwardian slang and jargon are any indication:

“You are doing it a treat,” said Bob as he wriggled his bottom under my luscious caresses. “It feels ripping.”

The narrator is young Charlie Powerscourt, sent away to boarding school at some indeterminate age ‘past thirteen,’ and quickly learning the arts of love through his more experienced schoolmates: his particular friend Bob Rutherford; Jimmy, the Duke of Surrey; and the exotic dark-haired Gaston de Beaupre, nicknamed Blackie – the most experienced of the foursome. Blackie has “gone better than most of us and had had some adventures with girls.” After few chapters of delightfully frisky bedtime dormitory antics, Blackie regales them with tales of his many erotic adventures – not just sex with men and women, but flagellation, cross-dressing, bisexual threesomes, lesbian orgies, and other frolics favored by the naughty Victorians. Naturally his saucy bedtime tales provoke the school-fellows to even more frequent and enthusiastic bouts of mutual frigging, sucking, and bum-fucking.

Though content to frolic with his chums while on school grounds, during the holidays Charlie’s voluptuous nature drives him to even more risqué adventures with adult libertines. He takes every opportunity to expand his erotic horizons, first in Paris with de Beaupre and his insatiable friend Cecile, then in Northumberland with the aristocratic Jimmy and his erotomaniac bachelor uncle Lord Henry. There is hardly a variation of sexual congress not included in Memoirs. Admittedly some of it I had to skip over – a description of a live sex show includes not just racial stereotyping and uncomfortably young performers, but bestiality, the unsavoury bane of the Victorian “porntopia” orgy scenes. Well, next to rape and incest and… let’s just say the Victorians had some repellent tastes, but they were also uniquely adept at writing the most charming, witty, and light-hearted pornographic adventure stories, full of not just racy sex scenes but genuine affection between sexual partners. We shouldn’t be too quick to judge them by their bawdy fantasies, lest future historians make declarations of our own civilization based on Penthouse Forum or 50 Shades of Gray.

Although each of the highly descriptive scenes in Memoirs of a Voluptuary will not suit every taste, certainly there is something for everyone in this lusty and freewheeling tale. And, oh, the scenes that did catch my fancy, how well they buttered my parsnips! Particularly those set in the boarding school itself, because the four boys are lubricious and eager bedfellows with perpetual stiff-standers ever at the ready for a fond frig, a delightful minette, or breathtaking bum-fuck. Their schoolwork is conveniently scant, their dormitory cozy and private, and the lads are not only high-spirited and precocious but exceptionally good-looking, affectionate, well-bred young men: Gaston de Beaupre with his olive skin and dark lustrous eyes, “full of a reckless dare-devil fire,” Jimmy, the “splendidly-made boy” with sparkling blue eyes and “sweetly-curving, dimpled, rich scarlet lips,” Bob with his enormous cock and “habitual good humour,” and the narrator himself, whose “loveable face” and “enchanting form” not to mention his “jolly little cock,” are irresistible to others. And since this is turn-of-the-century porn, Charlie and his friends don’t just spend, but die away in page after page of delirious waves of nearly unbearable bliss, “the exquisite joy, the glorious, intolerable anguish of the boiling tempest of unbounded pleasure that overwhelmed my being.”

My frequent references to the work in question have had the usual effect. My copy of Memoirs of a Voluptuary is sitting on my coffee table, and I know exactly what I shall do with it.


Violet Vernet is the pen name of a writer who lives in New York City. Her Sherlockian pornography has previously been published in Circlet’s Elementary Erotica anthology as well as in another Sherlockian collection, My Love of All That is Bizarre. You can read her other Victorian writings, assorted fan fiction, and erotic short stories at archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet and her GoodReads author page at www.goodreads.com/violetvernet.

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Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Today, multiple award finalist Elisabeth Schechter describes her relationship with a modern kinky erotic SF classic. And once you get to the end, you can do social media stuff to win free books from us. Come back tomorrow for Velvet Vernet’s appreciation of another Victorian classic

In 2001 or 2002, I received as a gift an autographed book. Actually, I received two copies of said book, both from the same people — friends who had gotten free books at the Book Expo in New York. I offered to give them back one copy, and brought it to their house. Waiting on their front steps for them to get home, I did what one does when you’re waiting and you have a book at hand — I started reading… and changed my life forever.

That book? Kushiel’s Dart, by Jacqueline Carey.

I have fallen into books before. I’m a reader. It happens. But this one… this one was sexy and kinky and all kinds of hot. And it was something that you could pick up at any bookstore. All of a sudden, sex, and more specifically, non-vanilla sex, was on the mainstream bookshelves!

I was hooked. I read the heck out of that book. I pre-ordered the next books in the series and read them voraciously. I joined Livejournal groups devoted to the Kushiel fandom. And when I heard about a play-by-email role playing group based on the series, one that was officially sanctioned by Jacqueline herself? I joined it.

Two years later, I was running it.

The Night Court ran for five years total, and I made friends there that I treasure to this day. It was the place where I learned how to put together a plotline, how to write so that my characters had different, distinctive voices (at one point, I had five separate characters, and one of them no one knew was me.) And, most importantly, I learned how write sex scenes. In early 2008, I posted a scene between one of my characters and another, and had someone later tell me that they forgot they weren’t reading something Jacqueline had written.

A few months later, I sold my first story to Circlet Press (for those of you keeping score, that story was The Hand You’re Dealt, which appeared in Like a Sacred Desire.) The characters in that story, Steven and Nick, are very loosely based on characters from The Night Court.

Now, five years later, I’m living a dream that I’ve had since I was a child. I’m a multi-published author, with three novels under my belt and more coming. I’ve been nominated for awards, and I have people who recognize my name and ask for my autograph. And I can honestly say that if it hadn’t been for Jacqueline Carey and Kushiel, it would never have happened.

And yes, I have told her it’s all her fault.


Elizabeth Schechter is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Central Florida with her husband and son. Her most recent work includes the Pauline Reage Award finalist House of Sable Locks, published by Circlet Press in 2013.

Elizabeth can be found online at http://easchechter.wordpress.com/

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Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Beyond the Softness of His Fur: Volume 3
by TammyJo Eckhart
ISBN 978-1-61390-113-7
Word Count: 50,000
List Price: $3.99

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Domme Emily Potter and her brilliant submissive pet—white fox morph Wynn—bring their edgy, sexy story to a thrilling conclusion, navigating the complex path of their own unique relationship in an increasingly dangerous world that does not understand them. Wynn’s self-awareness threatens the status quo. and the fears of the established order pose a threat to Emily and Wynn’s very lives.

Beyond The Softness of His Fur Part Three: Private Revolutions is the third and final installment in TammyJo Eckhart’s provocative erotic science fiction trilogy. A tale of genetics, sex, and love between owners and pets, Part Three concludes the exploration of Emily and Wynn’s dystopian society. Corporations influence every aspect of life in their world, where animalistic-humanoid hybrids known as “morphs” are commonly kept as pets. Emily and Wynn’s lives are now fraught with more danger than ever, coming from all sides. Although Emily first procured Wynn under orders of the company she works for, her own reticence to share him and Wynn’s increasingly intelligent behavior have brought them under intense scrutiny and suspicion. The supposedly like-minded Dr. Vevern insists she wants to help save Wynn and Emily by extension, but it quickly becomes apparent that she is keeping secrets of her own. Natural resources are dwindling fast enough that chaos is beginning to erupt, with widespread fears that the conditions that began the brutal Water Wars might recur. And to top it all off, Emily must confront her assistant Lindsey with evidence of his betrayal with surprising results that Wynn is none too pleased with. With all of these outside factors threatening their own little world at home, Emily and Wynn must work harder than ever to preserve their love—and their very lives!

Sample Chapter:

For at least the twelfth time since we arrived at the Jungle I look down at him kneeling by my feet under the table. It’s an upscale club-slash-café that I was shocked to learn I could get into simply because I had a customer ID from ISM. Is meeting in one of their own employee clubs Doctor Vevern’s idea of safe? I’m sure we’re being filmed as we sit here.

It is a nice café, however–less crowded, more light, roomier than the ones Inandirmak operates or co-sponsors. The list of companies on the place’s board of directors outside looks like a Who’s-Who of life sciences, though the one at the top of the list, Genius, I’m completely unfamiliar with. Metro Thunder Bay has a tight hold on the lake, so I suppose everyone wants a piece of the action here. The water attacks my father spoke about seem to have spread to a few other locations, if the news reports are correct. Who can tell? The corporate media spins one direction while city media spins another.

I reach down and scratch behind one of Wynn’s ears when he lifts his head and lays it on my lap. I can feel him looking up at me, but I’m just trying to act like any other morph owner.

Because all other morph owners have to be convinced by their pets to meet with a mysterious scientist promising she’s on your side.

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Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

Our series starts with Dame Bodacious‘ appreciation of a classic Victorian erotic novel. Scroll to the bottom for a chance to participate and win Circlet books, and come back tomorrow when Annabeth Leong writes about a much more recent work.

Like most good suburban girls back in the days before the internet, I learned about sex from a series of less-than-reliable sources. Whispers behind cupped hands, bad B movies, and baffling pronouncements from worldly older sisters. But mostly I learned the same way my friends did — purloined romance novels, their spines conveniently cracked by our moms to automatically spread wide to the good parts. My teachers were Johanna Lindsey, Jean Auel, Kathleen Woodiwiss, and VC Andrews.

But I always sensed that I was getting a sanitized version of sex. Or at least only one flavor. I wanted … not more, exactly, but something different. I sensed, in my ‘tween mind that some essential spice was missing from the well-thumbed pages of throbbing manhoods, slick folds, and tiny heroines. Surely I wasn’t the only one getting a little frustrated at the gentle stroking, the soft touches, the delicate caresses?

None of my friends seemed to feel the same way, though. I must be a freak.

Then one day I found a cheap pulp paperback copy titled The Way of a Man with a Maid. I was standing in the romance section of my local WaldenBooks, and read a random chapter.

There were a couple of different girls. And these weren’t sighing eager girls. Our narrator kidnaps and takes them to the Snuggery where he rapes them, devising elaborate and arcane sexual tortures. They are strapped down, humiliated, and carnally punished. The women sob, writhe, plead, and scream. And, just as shocking, sometimes the women (I glanced up from the book, eyes darting furtively at the other shoppers)… sometimes the women did things to each other, too!

It was like a supernova in my brain.

And in my panties, of course.

I had to own it. Even if it was just the one chapter and the rest was all like the romance novels, I needed this book. One chapter would be enough. Buying it was no mean feat, though. The cover was white with a lascivious picture that seemed even more erotic because of the faux-Victorian outfit the woman wore. Even the author byline — “Anonymous” – seemed to scream out loud that this was a dirty book. I almost expected the book clerk to shout, “This girl, this 14 year old girl, she’s buying a pervert book!”

I’ll never know what she actually thought. Head down, I handed over the book and a crumpled $5 bill, palms sweating and cheeks hot. Once she rang me out, I shoved the book in my school bag and ran out of the store without ever looking her in the face.

At home, alone, I discovered that it wasn’t just the one chapter. In fact, the whole book was chapter after chapter of flagellation and bondage. I wasn’t the only one who thought about sex like that! Even better, in the back was a whole catalog of books that seemed to be in the same vein. My life was never the same again.

Almost thirty years later, I have read more dirty books than I can count. The Way of a Man with a Maid isn’t to precisely to my adult taste anymore. But in my mind, it’s still the book that opened the world for me — intrinsically linked in my memory with that silent burst of white heat and that dawning understanding that there was more to sex than bodice-clad heroines and square jawed heroes. It will always remain my favorite dirty book.

Dame Bodacious writes the Lilith Club books about a private club in Boston for ladies of very particular tastes. The maids are thoroughly punished for naughty behavior and the secretaries offer very specialized services. She also has a story called “Crow Luck” in the upcoming Like Fortune’s Fool.

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Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.