Sally Bend is my fellow Sister in Smut, and shares my love of horror! Obviously, Sally had to be a guest blogger around Halloween…so here is Sally!!! (think of The Shining, but much sexier as an intro!!!)
Although I usually write imaginative erotica, kinky tales of sin and submission, horror was my first literary love. I vividly remember the book that started it all, that copy of Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, sitting atop the paperback rack at the corner store. The colors, the lettering, the misspelled title, that cat staring back at me – I was absolutely enthralled. It did not take long for me to read through the works of King, Koontz, Matheson, and Masterton, before moving on to Laymon, Lumley, Skipp and Slade . . . and then sneaking home copies of the Hot Blood anthologies and feeling my entire world shift.
I never got farther than writing it – I was far too self-conscious to let anybody read it – but the first ‘adult’ or ‘mature’ short story I ever wrote was for that series.
So, why horror? And why erotic horror, in particular? Well, the truth is that I spent much of my life in hiding, burying my identity. I was so afraid of exposure, I practiced holding my emotions inside, lest they betray me, and I’m sad to say I got rather good at it. Unlearning those habits has not been easy, but writing allows me the freedom to express myself, and nowhere are passions and emotions stronger than in erotic horror.
Gender Swapped by the Haunted Brothel was my first work of erotic horror, and Fear, Love and Broken Things is my latest, but I stopped by today to talk about my twin tales, Alpha Surrender & Alpha Transformation . . .
Alpha Transformation excerpt
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” He scrambled at the walls, but it was no use. He could feel cracks and seams sliding beneath his fingers, but the walls were so slimy, there was no way he could find purchase. Instead, he kept sliding down until suddenly there was nothing beneath him. His heart dropped into his stomach as he fell through the air, crashing down into a hidden reservoir of water several feet below.
Even as he scrambled upwards, his head breaking the surface with a desperate gasp, he recognized how clean the water was. It smelled and tasted of that same rich, loamy smell he had noted above. It was sheer madness to drink it, of course, but he’d already swallowed enough in his fall to kill him if it were poisoned, and all he felt was stronger, more alive than ever before.
Better yet, as bobbed there, slowly treading water, he found his eyes slowly adjusting to the green glow of the luminous moss that covered the ceiling. It was hardly a bright glow, but having grown up in the darkness of the Church slums, it was rather comforting. Almost like being back home with Brandi.
“What was that?” Something had brushed his leg from below. He stared into the water, twisting and turning about to see all around, but the ripples he generated made it impossible to see anything. Twice more he felt something brush his leg, and each time it seemed to rise higher than the last. That strange, alien touch terrified him, and yet it left behind a pleasurable tingle.
That’s when it pulled him under.
With his head beneath the water, he could see a pair of green tentacles wrapped around his legs. They were so startling, so unexpected, that he was momentarily distracted from his panic – until they coiled about him, slithering from ankle to thigh, until suddenly they were holding him under. He thrashed against them, desperate to escape, but they simply held him in place. They didn’t squeeze or pull any farther, they just held him there.
Just as he was about to black out, they seemed to thrust him upwards, allowing him a gasping breath of air, before pulling him back under. This time they pulled his legs apart, leaving him awkwardly splayed beneath the water. He reached down to grab one, to yank it off his leg, but his hands slid right off. Bent over as he was, though, he could see the new tentacle slowly rising up from below, coming up between the other two.
Another thrust, another breath, and he was back down below.
This time he found a fourth tentacle waiting, floating before him, the slender tip of its appendage bent in a come-hither kind of motion. He instinctively knew what it wanted, but there was no way he could do it.
He was an Alpha. He loved, he embraced, he penetrated.
It didn’t work the other way around.
That tentacle darted in faster than he could blink and expelled a bubble of fresh, earthy air against his lips. He reflexively sucked it in and found himself refreshed. When the tentacle below began gently stroking his balls, though, he just as quickly lost that breath in an exclamation of surprise.
Fortunately, the face tentacle, as he was coming to think of it, was there to feed him another bubble.
Stephen simply floated there, several feet below water, held in place by tentacles that wanted something of him he had never given another. He and Brandi had talked about surrendering to the Beast, but that was for a purpose. That was to obtain the cure. That was to save Brandi’s life.
Really, though, was this any different? If he didn’t surrender, he would die here, his body forever lost to befoul the wondrous waters. He was an Alpha, but that had to mean more than just being on top, being dominant, being in control. The desires of women like Brandi were as alien to him as these tentacles, but it occurred to him now that always being in charge was exhausting. It had been years since he’d last let down his guard, half a lifetime since he hadn’t felt the comforting burden of caring for another life.
This time, when the tentacle delivered its bubble of clean air, it remained there, pressed against his lips, waiting for an invitation. It meant surrender. It meant giving himself up to an intimacy he neither wanted nor needed, but one that would allow him to save the one he loved. The other tentacle was becoming more insistent as well, pressing its tip against his anus, not poking inside, just sitting there against the tightness of his entrance.
To surrender was to lose something of himself, but to resist was to doom two lives to a lonely, painful death.
Sally Bend is a genderfluid author and reviewer of erotica, romance, and genre fiction who loves dragons, unicorns, ancient treasures, dominant women, and pretty boys.
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