?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Welcome to Circlet on LJ (sticky post)

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...
Call for Submissions: Dressed in Black: Erotic Tales of Edgar Allan Poe

Deadline: February 15th, 2018

Details: Murder. Revenge. Madness. These are the hallmarks of Edgar Allan Poe’s fiction. But so are love, longing, and loss. It may seem strange, at first blush, to compile a collection of erotica inspired by Poe’s work. Much of his writing explores themes of death and isolation. But gothic fiction has long been ripe ground for examining human sexuality and Poe’s work in particular is overdue for just such an agitation.

Send me stories that flip the narrative. Give the outsiders a voice. Think outside the box. I don’t want simple rewrites of his work with sex thrown in. Make it crucial to the tale.

While best known for his horror fiction, Poe was also a pioneer in the science fiction and detective fiction genres. I am looking for stories in any genre so long as the influence is Poe’s work. They do not need to be set during the time period he was alive in. Send me futuristic Poe stories. Send me Poe stories that are inclusive and exist outside of the standard narratives. And of course, send me stories that are hot and exciting too.

All gender pairings are welcome so long as the sex is between consenting adults. And to be absolutely clear, the consent must take place BEFORE the sexual act.

Length: Our preferred length is approximately 3,000 to 7,000 words, but we will consider the range from 2,000 to 8,000 words.

How to submit: All submissions must be made via email to jwsubs13@gmail.com

Please include a short bio with your submission.

Standard manuscript formatting rules apply. Send manuscript as an attachment (MS Word .doc or .rtf preferred).

No simultaneous submissions and no multiple submissions to the same book.

All stories must include explicit sexuality and erotic focus. Try to avoid cliches. Fresh and direct language is preferred to overly euphemistic. Sex-positive, please. No rape/nonconsensuality/necrophilia.

Originals only, no reprints. We purchase first rights for inclusion in the ebook anthology for $25, with the additional rights to a print edition later which would also be paid $25 if a print edition happens.
“Probably it’ll feel like handcuffs, only…”

“Only…?” Liz echoed with a smile, pouring a glass of wine for one. She wore a lilac nightgown, a sheer little thing, and her skin was already goose-pimpled from the cold.

read the rest here
I found Doreen’s plans for our first wedding anniversary two months ago. She’d laid out everything hour by hour. She was always so organized. Yet somehow she forgot the roast and had to run out to get it. My hands started fisting at some point when I read over the list and diagrams until I heard her voice say, “Nicholas Gerard Denison, don’t you dare spoil a perfectly usable piece of paper.”

read the rest here
Electrical and torrential: that is the storm I find myself out in. Rain lashes the blacktop, and icy blue fire veins the night sky. Water and electricity, primal elements of the gods. I’ve been praying to them, or to something, some prehistorical entities. The eternal hurt has brought me out here tonight, along this particular stretch of roadway. Because I miss Jeremy. Ten years on, the bitter yearning persists.

read the rest here

Bueller? Bueller?

Just checking in to see if people are still reading content here. We do cross post on Twitter and Facebook but if people are still here I'll try and catch up on some posting.

Let us know and have a safe and Happy Halloween season!
Here I am, three years later: returned to the place of my death.

I unlatch the old wooden gate and slip through the overgrown garden, past the peeling shed that housed fat carpenter bees that one summer, over the stone path thick with dandelions. The air is cool and green, the smell of night and flowers that bloom only in darkness. The moon watches, full but not sated. We have a deal, she and I, and if she could feel— if she could fear, the way I once feared dark garages and empty lots, the way I once feared men with harsh voices and sharp shoes— she might fear that I will change my mind, this time.

read the rest here

Call for Submissions!

Autumn is fast approaching here in New England and that means it’s time for our annual Halloween microfictions!

We are looking for your spooky erotic micro stories to publish on our website as a countdown to Halloween. Stories should be under 1500 words and like with all Circlet Press publications, they must be sex-positive. All gender pairings are welcome and consent is of the utmost importance.

Please no stories set at Halloween parties. We encourage you to think outside the box. The stories do not have to be set on Halloween. We are simply looking to combine the elements of horror with the elements of erotica. Send a chill down our spine while simultaneously turning us on. Humor is alright too so long as it fits with the theme.

I encourage everyone who considers submitting to read the stories that were chosen last year so you have a better idea of what we like. You can find them here: http://www.circlet.com/tag/halloween-microfiction/

Payment is $5 and the deadline is October 1st.

Send submissions to jwsubs13@gmail.com as either a Word doc or in the body of an email. Please include a short bio. Multiple submissions are okay.

Slots are limited so we encourage you to submit soon!

New Anthology!

Hello Circlet Press readers! Today we are launching a new erotic anthology, Like Myth Made Flesh: Erotic Encounters with Mythical Beings. I do hope you'll all take a moment to check it out.

like-myth-made-flesh-cover-400px

Table of Contents:

Initiation by Christina M. Parker
Sun Chases Moon by Michael M. Jones
The Seduction of the Sea by T. K. Ashley
Become the Mystery by Kara Owl
Ordinary Girl by M. A. Earnshaw
The Warmth of a Wood Nymph by Clarice Clique
D- in Distress by Nadine Wilmot
Primè Nocta by Kierstin Cherry

Excerpt from the introduction:

Many of us dream of being something greater than what we are; something powerful, something special, maybe even something to be worshiped. We find ways, in our everyday lives, to fulfill these dreams. We cut from the fabric of the lives we are given, mold and shape the stones of our paths, to fit our desires and fantasies; for some, this means simple role playing in the privacy of our bedrooms, or, if we’re braver, in a fetish club or at a party. For others, it simply means trying to be a better person, to echo the tenets of the gods we worship in the actions of our daily lives. For others still, it means calling to our gods, offering up our bodies, our wills, and our spirits in their service.

What if they answered? What if they came to us, not in dreams or in spirit, but in flesh and blood that we could feel with our skin and our teeth, and the beating of their hearts beneath our hands? How would it feel to have them wrap their arms around us and claim us as theirs? How would it change us to know that we were chosen? To be shown things that most mortals never get to see or experience?



Excerpt from D- in Distress by Nadine Wilmot:

Dragons were cruel creatures, Isibel knew. They enjoyed playing games with people in the same manner that cats enjoyed playing with battered mice, and they were known for playing long games, and subtle ones. Suffering was, to them, spice; fear the most delectable flavor.

Secretly, Isibel understood that pleasure, and was ashamed. However many elves the beast had stolen from this shanty-town, none of them would have had an easy death, or a quick one.

Isibel looked around herself at the silent gathering—the entire population of the shantytown seemed to have assembled by now—and came to a decision. Far be it from her to take the part of paladin—mercenaries made more profit—but there were more kinds of payment than money.

If nothing else, it never hurt to pad her reputation.

"I'll deal with it," she said.


You can find Like Myth Made Flesh here on Amazon: Like Myth Made Flesh or on our website: http://www.circlet.com/launching-today-like-myth-made-flesh-erotic-fantasy-edited-by-jennifer-williams/
"Fiat Lux"
by Cam Andrews


The light is fading when I find her. Only one faint star shines in the darkening sky this Sabbat night.

She stands at her bedroom window and makes a wish: Star light, star bright. Her true desire chants the spell. She has summoned me, the Lightbearer, though she does not know it. Not yet.

She lights a candle on the bedside table. I crouch in the shadows, watching her. From the drawer she takes the tools of her magic and arranges them within reach. Her robe drops to the floor; she is naked before me. She sinks back onto the pillows with a sigh.

Her touch is practiced and sure, but she does not hurry. Her husband will be gone all night, working; she has her body to herself, just as she likes it. Her warmth grows, and with it, my power.

Her fingers trail like feathers across her flesh and I trace the same patterns in flame, each nerve sparking. Her body is a network of pulsing light, electric. I take shape in her mind, a shimmering mirage, an angelic lover etched in fire.

Her palms stroke her belly, her thighs, teasing. I take her hand, slide it between her legs. Her heat radiates, the sheen of her skin reflects the candlelight.

She grasps the smooth glass phallus, illuminated as from within. I take hold of it, my winged form hovering above her, waiting. She is tinder ready to be set alight. Even her wetness will not quench my flame.

I am not gentle when I thrust the phallus into her. She knows my rhythm; she has always known it. In her dreams she has prayed to me, night after night. In her darkness, there is light – my light.

The fire in her belly grows. It spreads along her limbs until the edges of her body send sparks into the night. Her flesh is a crucible into which I will pour pure luminescence. Head thrown back, her face flushed and sweating, she cries out. It is an incantation, a song older than time, older than flesh itself. Fiat lux.

I reach into her chest and crush her passionate heart. It melts into liquid gold in my hand. It pours out between my fingers, between her legs. A final shuddering sigh and she is quiet. The candle gutters. The flame has drowned in its own wax.

When he arrives home the next day, she is gone. Only the tangled bed sheets remain as a witness to my coming.

She sets out, bearing the torch of her passion. She stands at the crossroads and calls out to those with ears to hear. They come forth from the shadows, one by one, and then in twos and threes. Her fiery kiss awakens them, my votaries. All acts of love and pleasure are their rituals.

Their offerings rise like sparks in the darkness, until they take their place in the heavens. For every man, every woman is a star. It is in your nature, as in mine, to shine.



Cam Andrews lives in a small town in the wilds of western Massachusetts with his beloved and two black cats.


Happy Halloween from Circlet Press and we hope you’ve been enjoying our Halloween erotic microfictions series! Here’s a treat for all you readers: 10% off any online order here at Circlet.com now through October 31st. Use the coupon code HALLOWME at checkout.
"Base & Vile Things"
by Sonni de Soto


“Tell me.” Her voice, hoarse and hushed, whispered into the sightless, scopeless space Eli no longer recognized as his room. Without his glasses, the witching hour had warped his pitch-black bedroom, distorting the familiar shapes and scales into strange shades of themselves.

“Say it.” Her tone tightened as he felt Her lean in closer. Her hot breath felt wet as it fluttered against his shivering skin. He bit his lip to seal the words back, blood touching his tongue sharp and metallic like a sacrifice.

He wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t.

Lord knew, he shouldn’t.

Eli tried to turn away, but he was dragged back by the tangled tug of his trapped strands held tight in Her hand, his scalp burning as She pulled. His teeth released on a gasp, his head forced back to stretch and expose his vulnerable throat as he gulped breathlessly.

“Tell me.”

He loved Her.

Mindlessly.

Helplessly.

“I can make you,” She murmured with a biting sweetness that sunk sharp as the nails that scratched and scored his scalp. “You know I can.”

Utterly unwillingly, he loved Her.

She held such power over him already; giving Her those words—tiny things that always felt so large—felt like too much. He could feel them bubble, like an incantation or a potion, in his throat. Felt them burn on his tongue. He bit his lip.

A part of him wanted to give them to Her. He wanted to give Her everything.

But, if he did, he wondered—worried—what part of him would be left.

Her silken weight swooped almost unbearably hot atop him, making his head rear back and his spine arch against the sensation—like a current, live and electric—that shot through him. She slithered over him, the satiny slide of Her hair spilling around him as She lowered Herself over him, the touch of Her skin a scorch along the length of his body. Each caress felt like a lash as Her ankles linked and lingered, brushing the bony bridge of Her left foot up and down and up his leg again.

Her hands crept to press hard against his chest. It scalded, that touch, as She sidled over his body, Her legs vise-like as they pressed into his hips. He cried out, the sound scratchy and weak compared to the scream caught—choked—in his throat.

Blind in the heavy darkness, he writhed against the small, but unshakable shape anchoring him down onto the comforter. Fragile fingers gripped his wrists like manacles as manicured nails dug like talons into his skin. He couldn’t see Her. Not really. Just a faint outline—a sinuous shadow—flowing, undulating over him as his near-sighted eyes strained to see.

He tried to trace the curve of Her, to touch with his gaze what his shackled hands couldn’t take. But the more he fought to focus on Her—to know the secrets of Her shoulders and spine, Her cheeks and thighs—the more She seemed to melt into the moonless night.

He lunged for Her, gritting out a throaty growl. With his hands and hips still held tight, he surged—whole-bodied and determined—toward Her, reaching for Her heat. Aching against the halted arch, he snarled as his chest met nothing.

Just the echo of Her.

Warmth like the smoke from a spectral flame.

He fell back to the bed, defeat a dull thump in the down as Her laughter, light and low, purred in his ear like a taunt. “Tell me.” The summons was a song that set his teeth on edge. Her tongue flicked a fiery lick along the sweat-slicked skin of his neck. “Tell me.”

So he did.

Like he always did.

He told Her. He loved Her.

She smiled, the white gleam almost swallowed by the dark, as She tore the confession from his mouth—his soul—on a howling moan. His whole body tightened as the tortured sound spilled out into the shadows. He jerked, his release a ragged, rough relief that left him feeling drained as Her body blanketed his.

She’s so hot, he marveled on a mewling yawn, Her skin all soft and slick heat. He should have been warm beneath Her, warmed by Her. Instead, he let his tired eyes close and shivered against Her as She cuddled closer, a fire that burned but offered no comfort. A flame that stole heat and gave none back.

God help me, he thought as he drifted off into dream, I love Her.

When he opened his eyes again, after hours of pure, peaceful darkness, he raised his hand to shield himself from the sun’s glare and sighed.

She was gone.

He could feel it.

His room was sunlit but cold. Empty and alone.

He lay back down, rolling onto his side as he touched the warm space where She’d been. The warm space where They’d been. He sunk low against the bedding, all but burying himself in the last remains of Their heat and scent.

He should leave the bed. The day shone bright and new as sunlight fanned itself across his bed.

It was time to wake up.

And he would.

But for now, while Her warmth lingered, he lay here, pressed flat against the mattress and nuzzled his cheek close, as he felt the comforter inevitably cool.

-

Sonni de Soto is a kinkster of color who loves horror’s ability to make the strange seem settled and the settled strange. Please find more of her work at sonnidesoto.blogspot.com and follow her at facebook.com/sonnidesotostories