Paperback Chemical [se]X!

Look! My sexy chocolate covered erotic paperback copies of Chemical [se]X arrived!! Woop! It's a short story bonanza from Oleander Plume!

To celebrate - I'm giving away one of the precious sexy tomes on Goodreads - why not enter - heck, tell your friends!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Chemical [se]X

by Oleander Plume

Giveaway ends December 10, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

If you simply cannot wait to read this mouth (and other parts) watering collection - why not heat up your Kindle and treat yourself to an eBook version :D
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Amazon UK

Sex and chocolate! Was there ever such a marriage made in heaven? Isn't the thought of it making you bite your lip? Chocolate melting on your tongue…desire pooling in your gut… There's a chemical connection between sex and chocolate that makes our craving for the pair together far more than the sum of its parts. 

Oleander Plume has always been obsessed by this coupling and so, inspired by her wicked short story Chemical [se]X, she corralled a baker's dozen of erotica writers and force fed them chocolate until they complied with her wishes. Each one of them has turned in a mini-masterpiece of chocolate, seduction and red-hot sizzling sex that will have your cheeks burning and your fingers reaching for just…one…more. 

All of the writers Oleander selected are at the top of their high caliber game. From seasoned writers who've already proved their mettle to a number of extraordinarily gifted newcomers, you'll find so much satisfaction between these pages. In every story, the aphrodisiac chocolates developed in Oleander's original story put in an appearance—causing a submissive to turn Domme, kicking off an orgy at a roller disco, rekindling a long-dead marriage, and playing havoc within the repressed confines of religious order. Men jump on men, a woman jumps on her husband's boss, twosomes become threesomes become foursomes… These chocolates need to carry a warning—just like this book—too hot to handle! 

Naturally, each copy of Chemical [se]X should come with its own small gold box of aphrodisiac chocolates. We're so sorry it doesn't! But rest assured, the stories you'll find between these pages will leave you just as heated as any aphrodisiac could have done. Finger-licking good! 

YAY!!!!

Quick! Sale! Last chance to get Beachwalk books for 99c!

Hello hello

I'm jumping around saying - quick! It's the final five days of the Beachwalk Press Series Spectacular sale!

All first books in a series or trilogy is going for 99c - November only - so hurry hurry :D

My book A Clockwork Butterfly is on there and I'm even more excited because of this review below -

Check out the sale - you'll find lots of goodies at Beachwalk - full list of available ebooks at the end

Click here for all Amazon reviews

5.0 out of 5 stars 4.5 Stars for a genre-bending erotic read, October 22, 2014

By 

V. Rundell (Illinois) - See all my reviews

This review is from: A Clockwork Butterfly (The Clockwork Butterfly Trilogy Book 1) (Kindle Edition)

I really loved the concept of this world. It's almost completely female. Even of different species it's rare to find a male. The women are sorted into Donors (for eggs) Birthers (who gestate the embryos) and Mothers. Young women are tested to determine if they are capable of arousing ejaculation from what few men remain. If so, they are sent to be trained in the arts of Collection at manors where men are essentially pampered prisoners.

Lena has been chosen to become a Collector. If she graduates from training she may actually interact with a man. Along the way of her training, a fellow trainee, Mae, seduces Lena. Mae is perhaps not the friend Lena believes her to be--and this is verified when Lena is told that her training has been accelerated. Mae's discoveries of Lena's genetic compatibility with one of the manor's males causes Lena to get bumped to the front of the queue for his Collections.

Angelo is a tentative lover. He isn't interested in a constant barrage of women--he only wants one with whom he can connect. In his opulent room, he is virtually isolated; his only contact with humanity is through his visits with Lena. Lena cherishes their time together, which inflames Mae's jealousy--and further sparks Angelo's possessiveness. He commits a crime of passion--one which gets Lena banished from the manor.

Angelo's despondence at losing Lena is great. He refuses all attempts at Collection until Mae arrives in his room. They strike a bargain: he submits for her Collection and she helps him to escape the Manor. Meanwhile Lena pines for her lost lovers in a prison. Her punishment is to accept sex with new lovers without growing attached--this is easy, she only cares for Mae and Angelo. Any pleasure she gains from her punishments is enhanced by imagining it is they who are with her, not her captors.

There's a lot of sex, and I wasn't put off by the F/F, mostly because the writing had such a fantastical quality about it--I liken it to Ann Rice's BEAUTY series in that regard. While it's a future society, the modern trappings have mostly disintegrated and people have gone back to the land to survive. Science does exist, because all the technology of IVF is present by necessity, however the people live much like pre-Industrial times, in small close-knit communities with horse transport and limited rail. Angelo spends his free time inventing clockwork animals, among them a clockwork butterfly which can home in on the person whose DNA it last sampled. By releasing Lena's butterfly, Mae and Angelo endeavor to follow it to Lena's prison and rescue her.

It's an interesting read, and gave me a lot to think about with regard to our overchemicalized Earth and the loss of species we are already experiencing (thanks Monsanto!). Plus, I mentioned the lots of sex, part, right? It wasn't gruesome or sloppy. I enjoyed Lena's seduction by Mae, and Angelo's seduction by Lena. It becomes clear about two-thirds in that this will become a menage, and that doesn't disappoint, either.

During the month of November 2014 purchase the ebook versions of these            first books in a romance series for only 99 cents each!

Kane’s Mate by Hazel Gower (The Armageddon Mates Series)

Confessions of a Sex Demon by Jaye Shields (The Sex Demon Trilogy)

Taming the Hunted by Larisa Anderson (The Hunters Series)

Forsaken Heart by Elise Whyles (The Forsaken Series)

Project Terminal: Legacy by Olivia Starke (The Project Terminal Series)

War’s End by Imogene Nix (The Reunion Trilogy)

A Clockwork Butterfly by Tabitha Rayne (The Clockwork Butterfly Trilogy)

Super Love by Stephanie Beck (The Justice Fraternity Chronicles)

Forgotten Memories by Theresa Stillwagon (The Winter Creek, Montana Series)

Fool Me Once by Lacey Wolfe (The Hot Bods Series)

The Monster of Fame by Aimée Duffy (The Price of Fame Series)

A Love Stolen by Ella Jade (The Steeple Town Series)

The First Night by Sidda Lee Tate (The Night Series)

Business and Pleasure by Emily Wood (The Rags and Riches Series)

Undone by His Desire by Dilys J. Carnie (The Lost Sisters Trilogy)

The Baby Contract by Olivia Starke (The Billionaire Bachelor Series)

Stealing His Heart by Ella Jade (The Kingston Heat Series)

Now off you go and treat yourself!

x x x

Chemical [se]X Release Day!

That's right folks - Bring on the dancing girls! Pucker your lips around that bugle - make ready for the fanfare parade - Chemical [se]X is now available!

Here's the blurby bit

Sex and chocolate! Was there ever such a marriage made in heaven? Isn't the thought of it making you bite your lip? Chocolate melting on your tongue…desire pooling in your gut… There's a chemical connection between sex and chocolate that makes our craving for the pair together far more than the sum of its parts. 

Oleander Plume has always been obsessed by this coupling and so, inspired by her wicked short story Chemical [se]X, she corralled a baker's dozen of erotica writers and force fed them chocolate until they complied with her wishes. Each one of them has turned in a mini-masterpiece of chocolate, seduction and red-hot sizzling sex that will have your cheeks burning and your fingers reaching for just…one…more. 

All of the writers Oleander selected are at the top of their high caliber game. From seasoned writers who've already proved their mettle to a number of extraordinarily gifted newcomers, you'll find so much satisfaction between these pages. In every story, the aphrodisiac chocolates developed in Oleander's original story put in an appearance—causing a submissive to turn Domme, kicking off an orgy at a roller disco, rekindling a long-dead marriage, and playing havoc within the repressed confines of religious order. Men jump on men, a woman jumps on her husband's boss, twosomes become threesomes become foursomes… These chocolates need to carry a warning—just like this book—too hot to handle! 

Naturally, each copy of Chemical [se]X should come with its own small gold box of aphrodisiac chocolates. We're so sorry it doesn't! But rest assured, the stories you'll find between these pages will leave you just as heated as any aphrodisiac could have done. Finger-licking good! 

Here's the trailer to hopefully whet your appetite (and panties, if we've done our job properly!)

This has been an amazing book to work on - mainly because of how much fun and hard working the other authors are - but this was all brought together by one incredible lady - if you don't know her already - you bloody well should - it's the editor - the awesome, the incredible, Queen Oleander Fuckalicious Plume! Follow her on Twitter, not only is she supportive and creative, she's hysterical!

Here's some bit's about the stories you can expect to get you hawt!

Oleander Plume's Chemical [se]X kicked the whole thing off as a potent South American herb is developed into the most irresistible chocolate ever. 

In Malin James's Bittersweet, one taste of the sexy chocolates is enough for a submissive to come over all Domme with her married lover. 

For her first published outing, Ella Dawson takes us back to the college dorm where the Friendly Neighborhood Drug Dealer is peddling candy that has a whole new affect… 

In Flat Warming, Exhibit A's lovelorn bachelor finds succor when a different kind of hunger drives new flat mates to set aside the sweets and start munching on each other instead. 

For a long-time married couple, life in the bedroom has virtually ground to a halt in Jade A Waters' The Connection. That is until the wife hears about a new brand of chocolate… 

In Tabitha Rayne's, The Dinner Guest, a couple unearth their secret kinky desires when an old college friend starts dishing out the chocolates. 

When a temp lands a job in the offices of the chocolate manufacturer, she uncovers some unexpectedly sweet perks... It's Chocolate Covered by F. Leonora Solomon. 

In [du]X, Dario Dalla Lasta takes us for a testosterone-charged spin around the roller-disco courtesy of, you guessed it, some very special chocolates. 

When her husband's boss comes for dinner, one woman's dessert turns into something extraordinary when she chooses a novel ingredient for making the ganache—Dinner for Three from L. Maretta. 

In Jacob Louder's Thursday Threesome/Birthday Foursome the usual dynamic of a Thursday threesome is all shook up by the arrival of an extra guest and the ingestion of the aphrodisiacs. 

C. E. Hansen offers us a sizzling journey home from work in The Commute—after all, why wait until you get home? 

Disappearing into the woodshed usually means a horror story, but not in Tamsin Flowers' lethargic, Deep South encounter with The Stranger. 

In Oleander Plume's Coffee Break, two young contractors take on more than they bargained for at the Mayor's residence—but then maybe they shouldn't have helped themselves to the chocolates! 

The collection closes with The Alleged Savage, Annabeth Leong's delicious novella of repressed lust, original sin and chocolate frenzy

Come and buy your copy now - you'll be oooozing oxytocin before you know it!

Amazon com
Amazon UK

It's paperback too!

There's a whole website dedicated to this chocolate literary erotic experience - come take a look :)
http://chemicalsex.wordpress.com/

New book: Sapphic Smut - Tales of Lesbian Lust!

Sapphic Smut: Tales of Lesbian Lust Out Now!

Like your books with a little lady loving? Why not give this a try - I have a story in here called, The Shame - read on for the blurb and where to find it! x xx

Blurb:
Light hearted, sexy Sapphic smut is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Lucy Felthouse with assistance from Kev ‘Mitnik’ Blisse.

From coffee shops to exotic Indian adventures to cosy cabins in France, Sapphic Smut has it all. Fun with sugar, naughty spankings, seductions by strangers, seductions by friends, cougars and even a twist on a fairy tale abound in this exciting collection of lesbian stories from erotica’s finest authors.

This delicious girl-on-girl anthology contains stories from Lucy Felthouse, Kay Jaybee, Louisa Bacio, Sallyanne Rogers, Vanessa de Sade, Tabitha Rayne (that's me!) and Elizabeth Coldwell.

Amazon
Other links
Editor’s Facebook page
Excerpt:
Alana really couldn’t believe how flat Holland was. She’d been told by many people, but somehow, she still wasn’t expecting a place that made Cambridgeshire look like the Peak District. Her view from the train as she travelled from Schiphol airport to Amsterdam’s Centraal Station was unimpeded. Not so much as a hillock was visible.
And now, here she was, standing outside the station with crowds milling around her. A mixture of tourists, businesspeople and natives. She herself was a combination of two of those groups—she was here on business, but she’d deliberately extended her trip so she could spend a couple of days exploring the city. She had a day either side of her meeting, the boring part a filling to a sightseeing sandwich. Though, despite the boring tag, the meeting definitely wasn’t a bad thing, it was an appointment to cross the ts and dot the is on a very lucrative deal—certainly the trip was worthwhile. After watching the insanity for another minute or so, she began to head away from the station, wheeling her small case along with her. Already armed with a guidebook and a decent map, she knew where she was going. Her map-reading skills were excellent, and she made the short walk to her hotel in less than twenty minutes. Anywhere else, she’d have gotten a cab, but it appeared they were a rare commodity in this city.
She’d checked in, dumped her bags and freshened up within another ten minutes, and was back on the street. An online acquaintance had sent her a bunch of information for her trip—about the best museums, interesting things to see that might not be in guidebooks, and details on transport. It appeared that Amsterdam was unlike London, Paris and Rome, in as much as it had trams as its preferred mode of transport, rather than underground trains. Only one Metro line ran through the city, north-to-south. Everywhere else was utterly dependent on trams, bikes and being on foot.
And fuck, there were a lot of bikes. They zipped here, there and everywhere, not always staying where they were supposed to be, it seemed. The slim Dutch people atop the bikes were oblivious, just concentrating on getting where they were going.
Alana searched for the nearest tram stop, and quickly discovered she needed to be on the other side of the road to head in the right direction. Crossing the road was a chore in itself. A dice with death. She’d thought Rome’s motorists were insane, but at least they were fairly predictable. Here, she was faced with crossing a road that held a cycle path, a tram line and a lane for cars. Shifting down the pavement, she stood at the conveniently placed crossing. It still didn’t make things much easier, but at least she could mingle in with the crowd. Traffic was much more likely to stop if it was going to hit a crowd of people than a single pedestrian. Right? By some miracle, she reached the opposite pavement unscathed—except for her nerves, which were shot—and approached the tram stop. As if by magic, a tram arrived, and it was the correct number.
Things were looking up.
After a few minutes, she realised that public transport in Amsterdam was nowhere near as easy to navigate as in the other major cities she was familiar with. There, their Tube or Metro stations always had plenty of large, unmissable signs telling you where you were. Piccadilly Circus, Anvers, Piramide. Here, it seemed you were left to your own devices. There were announcements on board the tram, but they were in Dutch—a language which she knew very little of—incredibly muffled, and pretty much drowned out by the sound of the tram’s motion and its passengers...

Here's a wee snippet of my story, The Shame:

I've always been ashamed of my own fantasies so when Dione came crashing though the door I could have died with mortification.

“What the hell are you up to?” She looked shocked and amused at my twisted form as I  scrabbled about trying to hide my pretty things. The corset I'd been attempting to wrap around my middle hung stupidly down my hip, the long laces dangling at my feet. I tried to smile and join in Dione's laughter at my predicament but I knew it hadn't reached my eyes by the way she suddenly turned solemn and came to me.

“Hey, hey come on now,” she said while her arm slid around my shoulder, “what's with the tears?”

Even worse.

I hadn't realised I was crying.

“Nothing, I just...” I shrugged and dropped the corset and it landed in a heap of tangled cords and bones. My face burned. I was hunched and naked standing in front of my housemate as she confusedly looked round my room, kindly not mentioning the vibrator on my pillow. I was struck dumb. Struck dumb and frozen. I knew what she was thinking – she was thinking; what the hell is this weird boy female doing with such finery as a corset. She'd only ever seen me in figure hiding baggy jeans and tee-shirts. She must think me me ridiculous to try and be anything remotely womanly.

She reached out again and I recoiled. Her touch was so soft on the back of my hand as she gently turned my palm out to face her. Somehow I feared my secrets would spill, as if I were trying to cup water from a stream.

“Listen, I'm sorry I barged in.” Her voice was so tender I wondered if I could flick my eyes to hers. “Come on, look at me, it's fine.” Her other hand gently took my chin and lifted it so I had no choice but to look.

“I, I...” But I still couldn't express myself. What must she think of me. A mute, a freak.

“It's fine – this is my fault, you've nothing to be ashamed of. It's me who should be ashamed, bursting in and making you feel bad.” I looked away trying to process the information. Somewhere, deep inside, a tiny portion of my brain told me to listen to her. To believe her words. And before the other crippling destructive side could take over, I listened.

“Thank you,” I whispered and she let go of me and stooped to gather up the corset. As she straightened back up, her hair almost brushed my thighs and I wobbled. My breathing even more shallow as she cast her eyes over my body as she rose.

“You're very beautiful, you know Cass,” she said as her eyes lingered...

Go on... treat yourself! :D

Sapphic Smut

Musing

Hello there,

I've been wanting to write this blog - or record this incident for a while now but I rarely post things that involve real activities with real people. That's probably why it's taken me so long.

As some of you know, I love to paint and draw (if you didn't know, you can look at my art stuff here). I love everything involved with the preparation of a painting: choosing the paper, the thought process about composition/ subject/ medium - I love it all. It can be so ritualistic but also so freeing. There's definitely a zone you exist in while you are creating something and it's incredibly exciting and surreal. You all know the feeling I'm talking about.

But what about the muse? 

I posed the question to my friends recently - what would you rather be? The artist or the muse?

The answer was a unanimous The Artist! 

See, this is where I differ. I would choose to be the muse. Every time. I think it is because I know what goes in to the painting that I would love to be studied, looked at, committed to canvass - in that totally analytical way which almost actually removes the model from the painting. Does that make sense at all? That as the artist, you delve deep into the abstract of light and shade - contrast of tones, that while you are in it, there is nothing but those things. I adore that. I love that a series of dots, splashes, lines, independently mean nothing, but put them together and wham - there's a portrait. To inspire a painting - how wonderful! But I have never been a muse for an artist ever. 

I have written quite a few stories exploring the artist/ muse relationship - the intensity of it or equally, the clinical removal of emotion. The analytical eye capturing only light and shade - or the passion driven slashes of paint, trying desperately to convey a feeling or message to the muse. You are adored! I worship you! You're fucking everything to me and I want to immortalise you! Think, Basil Hallward and Dorian Gray for example - what a relationship.

So to the story of my quest to become a muse.

I love art with an erotic edge so when Jack Vettriano held his retrospective at Kelvingrove gallery earlier this year, I had to go. There is one painting in particular that frankly, gets me hawt. It's this one.

Oh man. 

So I put on my best silk blouse, pearls, French seamers and sky high heels and made it my mission to meet the man and become a muse. I knew from looking at his other work that I have the colouring and style that his models possess however, I'm quite tall, over 1.83m (6') in those heels - I know he prefers the petite lady. Not to be deterred, I went along to his lecture one cold frosty night and stood in line to have him sign my newly acquired book - It's a Man's World.

When I passed him the book to sign, open at the very painting I love, he stated, eyes down:

"This painting is pure filth, you know."

My heart fluttered.

"Yes, I do know. But I peddle in filth myself and that's why I love it."

"Oh?" he glanced up. 

"Why yes, I write erotica."

Then he looked me up and down with those artist's eyes, assessing, analysing, looking for that thing...

"Hmm, do you have a card?"

"Why of course." How handy, it was clutched in my kid gloves and I passed it over. He twisted up his hip and popped it in his jeans pocket. I demurely walked off, trying not to trip over.

So then I came home and waited.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

I must not have that 'thing'.

So I'm back to being on the other side of the canvass - staring at muses feeling the thrill of the brushes and ink - but I still haven't felt the thrill of the muse.

Oh to be someone's muse! 

Here's a snippet of my story from South Bank Seduction inspired by the strange artist/ muse relationship. (It's a teensy bit saucy of course, so if you are of a delicate disposition, don't read further.)

The Conference

I delicately put my hand to my curls and pat, tipping my head to the side to avoid any lifting of the arm. Seems ok. Though I can smell my own scent wafting from me. It is pure female arousal. I catch a few male cagouled tourists taking a second glance at me as they pass by. Powerful stuff, pheromones.

Perhaps I really ought to visit the ladies. I stare around for a sign to show me the way and there he is. Darting quickly behind a pillar. He's been watching me all along. The sneak!

I smile. Does he know I know? I pretend I don't and stoop to fix my stockings. Fingers slipping up and under the hemline of my pencil skirt. That will drive him wild. I know it. If only I could give them a good yank and sort out these ankle wrinkles.

Suddenly a hand is at my lower back. Hot and heavy. Power and energy slump from my body as I surrender to him in that one motion.

He's here. I'm here.

I'm still bent at the waist and he lifts me by the shoulder, the hand at my back casually smoothes over my buttocks and presses firmly at the dip beneath. I melt. I liquefy. The ache in my groin which has plagued me since I boarded the train in Scotland is now a torrent of heat and desire.

We are the eye of the storm. The stillness in this vast crowded space.

"Come," he says and grabs my hand, almost dragging me behind him as I shimmy in my too high heels and too tight skirt and too nylon stockings. It is highly erotic. I can almost visualise us in black and white with perilous piano music playing along. A damsel being taken by a gentleman in a shabby three-piece suit and three-day beard. God, I am wet. My panties are soaked. I feel wanton and excited. Will we go to his usual studio or does he have something else lined up?

In the taxi he blindfolds me and touches my lips with something cold and sticky. The feathery slippery touch is tickly and strange. Almost like he is painting them with a sable tipped brush. I keep still and silent.

When he's guided me up some stairs and the blindfold is removed, we are in familiar territory. I am glad. I love his paintings. Louche figures in various stages of undress and eroticism stare at us from all angles. They remind me of the 1920s, somehow carefree and decadent with a sizzling dangerous undertone.

"Stand here," he commands sweeping his hand in the direction of a wooden pillar. He has removed his jacket but the waistcoat remains and he has rolled up his shirt sleeves. I do as he bids and face the easel which is set up just in front of it. "Take off your top half."

His voice is gruff and sticky in that way that tells of a life lived on good whiskey and cigarettes. Or is he a brandy drinker? The faint lingering scent of debauchery on his breath and skin, even after bathing, I imagine, gives me a thrill. He gives me a thrill. The fuck you attitude of a man who will not be told what he can and cannot do. I like it. My pussy quivers as he licks his lips and sighs in a contemplative way while he studies me removing my blouse. Happy to be rid of the damp item, I reach up behind my back to unhook my bra but he holds out his palm.

"No. Leave it." He stares at me, my form, with an analytical eye. There is no emotion in a human to human sense but he is so concentrated in an artist to subject sense that I am overwhelmed with need. But what do I need? What is it that brings me to him? He has never touched me yet. Not once. And I have never even caught a glimpse of even a sketch. When we are done, he simply sends me on my way, burning...

What do you think - artist? or Muse?

Thanks for getting this far - that was quite a long post for me :D

x x x

Here's that sexy painting again... (borrowed from Pinterest)

Sexy sales with Jaye Shields!

Hello :D

Another big shout out to the Series Spectacular sale from Beachwalk Press - the first book in every series or trilogy is on sale for only 99c for the whole of November!

Today, I'm spotlighting the first book in the Sex Demon Trilogy from Jaye Shields - who I had the joy of meeting a couple of weeks ago when she came to visit me in Scotland, all the way from California!

Confessions of a Sex Demon by Jaye Shields

Zahra proves that sex demons do it better as she goes from captive to captivator.

Sex Demon Zahra Aniron is a closet romantic. Too bad she spends her time having hot, kinky sex with paying strangers. But she needs the money to pay off her sister's debt to wizard thugs. There could be worse things than getting paid for pleasure, especially since a sex demon needs climax to survive.

As a blacksmith, Lennox Aegros puts his fury to good use pounding steel into swords. When he arrives at a new town, his real cause for being there isn't to sell weaponry, it's for revenge. When he finds the succubus he's been searching for, her beauty means he can mix business with pleasure. But the joke's on Lennox, because as he succeeds in torturing his victim by repeatedly bringing her to the brink of orgasm and then denying her the release that she so desperately needs, he realizes that Zahra's slow demise means the breaking of a heart he didn't think he had.

Beachwalk link

Amazon link (you'll pay VAT here - so go to Beachwalk - they send all the files for 99c!)

About the Author

Jaye Shields is a flight attendant by day and romance author by night. Her addictions include reading, travel, and other activities not even a romance writer will confess to. She’s in a committed love affair with her readers, so don’t be shy! 

Series Spectacular Sale!

Sexy romance fans - there's a sale on over at Beachwalk Press - grab the first ebook in any series for 99c! This will last for the whole of November so LOTS of reading to get through :D

It includes the first book in my Clockwork Butterfly trilogy so why not treat yourself to a little erotic dystopian action?

Reviews for this book range from "Eroticism at its finest" to "Batshit crazy" - descriptions I am very proud of :D