Satyrs Lair (Monster Erotica) (Dark Fantasy Erotica)

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Punished by the Centaur Simone Beatrix. At midnight. Is that what you would have preferred? She claimed her ticket, same as you. Now shut your mouth before I put it to better use. Your turn will come. Lucy was now twisting, writhing, rubbing against Justus, pleading for him to fuck her.

She moved against Justus, back and forth, her enthusiasm and arousal quite telling in her actions. Justus moved faster, more deliberately.


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He began to shift her backward, toward a bench near the front edge of the stage. One that would allow the boisterous audience full view of what came next. Although, most of the audience was now engaged in their own interpretations of the lusty demonstration taking place on stage. Vitus poured himself another drink, lifted it, and swallowed the contents of the glass. A pale female hand covered his larger, tanned one, then removed the glass. She drew his attention away from the stage.

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And he certainly has a way of firing up his audience. He noted the necklace. She still wore it and the sight of his ring pleased him. A surge of possessiveness erupted inside him, pooling in his groin, arousing him in a way the stage performance had failed. The burn of desire steadily grew brighter. Caecilia reached up to curl her fingers around the ring in almost a protective fashion. Her hand rested about the curve of her voluptuous breasts. She caught his eye, slowly unfurled her fingers and released the ring. It caught the gaslight of the room as the ring dangled against her skin, finally nestling happily in the valley between her breasts.

It took effort for Vitus to lift his gaze to meet hers. Emotions clashed and sparked inside him. She lifted it, licked the rim, watched him, dipped the tip of her pink tongue into the golden liquid, then licked her lips. She dipped the end of her finger into the glass, then thrust the tip into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked on the digit. He damned Apollo, he damned Aphrodite, he damned Diana. She tipped the glass and swallowed the contents.


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It took every last bit of his self-control not to reach for her, to stroke her slender throat, to press his lips to the beautiful column, to claim what her lips promised. She lifted it and swallowed the fiery liquid. She shrugged. He took her hand between both of his. He stroked his thumb across the silk of her flesh. I vow to you. One day this weight—this pain—will be gone. Something in her eyes shifted. He saw the need, the yearning. He released her hand.

She drew away. How much of your humanity is left, Vitus? After Apollo? After Zevodious? Can you even feel anything anymore? Just a quick like side note here. Yes, it is. I had an idea. How many times do you hear that from an author? I saw an intriguing figure — part man, part woman, but…there was more. Another day passed, and another scene popped into my head. And at first I thought he was the villain. I wrote another scene, and then another. And suddenly I saw the layers to my villain-hero. And I became intrigued, and challenged.

A world of complex people with complex motives. And then another character popped onto the scene, further complicating relationships.

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Would it sell? Would people like it or think I totally lost my mind? I like delving into emotions and attractions and complicated personalities. I want to take someone you should hate and reshape them. I want to take someone you might pity and fashion their strengths through those very flaws that look to defeat them. I want to take that alpha and drop him or her to their knees. I want to take a beta and give her or him strong depth and a keen intelligence and perspective you might not expect. I want to create a romance out of the unexpected. I want to take a city and turn it on its ear, display sexual dominance and experimentation as an art form and negotiating tool ruled over by a class of nobility known as the Dominatae who polish and hone their lifestyle into a fine edge of flawless perfection and darkest power.

I want to blend male and female, human and machine, spiritual and earthly. And then I want to create and play with the machines of that world. Or the intellometer that allows its creator to divine the workings of the mind through patterns punched onto gold Politico-issued punch cards, offering intimate insight. Fight against the Politicos along side the Metallitionist Resistance Fighters who seek freedom for the humanotics.

Have a drink at the Music Box Saloon that offers the best in festish humanotic entertainment. Enter this city at your own risk. Risky, twisted, and always conniving, never completely at rest. Worlds are fashioned and formed a piece at a time. I slide the pieces together, sometimes reshape a piece here or there. I wait for revelation and a-ha moments, and reshape some more. I listen, and I listen some more.

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Now, back into your cave, writer. The whip cracks and I feel the sting of creativity flick keenly across my senses. Back, I say, into that complex world, to the twisted muse that ever calls for more. And I must obey. No better way to finish off the year than with a book sale, and even better when some of those books are free. Wind down with a good book, grab a cup of what makes you happy, and enjoy some of these free and discounted books on me. Hope you enjoy. GLBT scifantasy intersex erotic Born to freedom. Molded into submission. Pleasure is her only weapon. Silver, born female, is now an owned gender-mated trinex thanks to the edicts of the Politico Judicalati and time imprisoned at the Factorium.

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Not all is as it seems—allies who may be traitors, lovers who are more than they appear. A power-mad government, a machine known as the Elite Logical Life Core that uses human intelligence for its knowledge source. The Factorium that acquires humans as research fodder for their experiments and then spits them out when they are of no further use. Sex used as a tool to unearth enemies and traitors, and intimately align allies.

Love that is not simple, relationships that are dangerously complex. Minister Lel Kesselbaum was not where common masses would have expected a government minister to be. But most of the Politico nobility held interests far beyond their public duty to serve. He sat in the private office on the second floor of the exclusive Music Box Saloon, overlooking the dance floor below where six platforms replicated music boxes. The Music Box catered to humanotic fetishists. Every employee was at least one percent robotized, several being as much as forty-nine percent, just shy of the slender fraction of a percentage that turned a human into possessable chattel under the laws of the current government.

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All employees of the Music Box were free citizens and had free choice insofar as it went— Lel made certain of it. They could choose to work at the saloon, or not. But, situations being what they were in Quentopolis, common citizens grappled for what steady work they could find. Working at the Music Box was better than starving in the workhouses.

Three of the dancers were female-fused humanotics, their names chosen to titillate the interest of the elite patrons. Each dancer also wore the delicate wire-net cap Lel had designed, allowing them to communicate with the patrons of the Music Box. The round, gleaming, black-and-white checkerboard tables placed around the perimeter of each platform contained small silver-plated communication horns that allowed patrons to listen to or speak to the dancer. A silver vacuum tube connected from the table to the base of the platform, allowing patrons to tip the dancers. There was no touching of the dancers during public performance at the Music Box.

But a patron could request private audience for a weighty additional fee. As Lel watched, Ebony released the minuscule leather triangle barely covering his thick, rigid prick, apparently in response to a request from table fifteen. Ebony smiled at the man, thrust his hips and proceeded to masturbate in as lewd a fashion as he could manage. At some level he found that realization slightly troubling. He favored variety—or at least he had before her acquisition. For a man in his position, it was dangerous to focus his attentions on one sex chattel—both to his position in the Dominatae and to himself personally.

Let alone to the chattel. Complicating his current state of affairs was the fact that Silver was still settled at the Factorium for her latest modifications. He found his domicilia uncomfortably silent without her presence. They could not satisfy his more refined tastes for a special brand of humanotic—one he had designed himself.

All he could think of was his trinex and the feel of her tight passage wrapped around his dick. He forced the thought away. He was of the Dominatae, and sexual variety for his class was almost a law. A knock sounded on the door to his private office, and he turned away from the erotic scene acted out on the main floor.

Read another excerpt from Silver. Since I also have an interest in photograph and some measure of graphic design, I set myself on a learning curve to do my own cover design. Life is all about taking the side roads and curious paths in our journey. What fun would it be without challenges to keep us energized? So, new releases are coming slowly as I travel along this creative learning curve, and adapt to this evolving technological age that changes with every breath.

Body Parts was originally released under my other writing pseudonym, Adrianna Dane, in Body Parts is now re-released with a new cover and is currently available on Amazon and as a kindleunlimited section. I hope to design it for paperback very soon. An erotic twisted romance to Frankenstein mythology. Athan is the embodiment of male virility unbounded: eternal lust designed by and for the pleasure of his makers and their thirst to discover the secret to eternal life.

An incomparable Frankenstein creation without flaw, his parts melded by alchemy and science, infused and fed by sexual energies of lust and desire, Athan survives through the acts of pleasure, in all its varied and seductive forms. Yet Athan is a tortured soul who walks eternally alone, always hungry, forever hunting for his one, true perfect mate, that one person who can accept who and what he is. Not a monster, not a collection of perfect parts, but a man.

novel | Darcy Abriel

Korrie trembled with excitement, as well as fear, as she stumbled into the library the next afternoon. She was still stunned by her discovery. She had taken the morning to delve into some of the shadowy nooks and crannies these older structures seemed to hide, looking for someplace else where documents might have been hidden away. She had even gotten up the courage to go into the master bedroom. Documents that had been hidden by someone not so earthly bound as they were.

In that room, more so than any of the others she had entered that morning, it was as though there was still a presence in residence, hovering just out of sight as she scoured the room. Then the ice-cold breeze she had become accustomed to over the last few days descended, drifting over her like a misty cloud, drawing her deep into its lair. Whatever energy that was in there had drawn her to a silken powder blue and gold chair near the window. Vibrations of sensual excitement spun around her like ribbons of oozing honey, overpowering in its sweet clinging texture, imprisoning her in the sexual atmosphere that now hovered within the room.

She could smell the scent of lust that clung to the air. And to her. Korrie turned to look at the canopied bed and it was as though she could see the imprint of bodies sliding seductively over the covers. Shadows of movement pressing against the bronzed satin comforter; the indentation of a head on the pillow, thrashing wildly. Then she sensed that someone had once sat in that chair, watched the twining of bodies, the pressing and penetration, heard the moans and the slapping and sucking of heated, damp flesh, smelled the scent of musky bodies.

She felt his presence, and it was definitely a man; unable to stop herself, she pressed a hand to her throbbing, feminine flesh. The room grew darker, the lighting subdued, as she concentrated on the bed. It was no longer her own female flesh she felt beneath her hands, but a large prick at full mast, hot and throbbing, as whoever it was that was watching the display of passion stroked himself. Electrical impulses seemed to emanate from the thick stalk, shocking the palm of her hand, shooting down through the tips of her fingers.

As surely as she knew her own name, she knew the name of the man whose body she now seemed to be wrapped in. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, feeling the male arousal fill her. She felt his hand stroke the heat of his sex, smearing the liquid across the glans. More and more pre-ejaculate coated her fingers as she gripped the massive tool. One hand moved downward as the testicles drew up close to the male body. The hum of arous ing energy spiked through her body. The groans and murmurs of pleasure coming from the bed were clearer now, and she was no longer alone.

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