Category Archives: special guest

Super Duper Guest Blogger Oleander Plume Brings Superstar Horatio Slice to Us in a Flash!!!

Horatio Slice is hot af! *Fans* When Oleander Plume asked me to be part of his blog tour, I was a groupie just like anybody else! And she wrote a sexy flash for me which I am going to post here, and at my Friday Flash blog. Oleander and Horatio are just badass like that, gotta spread the love!!!


It’s only rock and roll but I like it…

When I see his name on my calendar, I cringe. Horatio Slice. Just the name sets my teeth on edge. According to my editor, Patty Shane, this interview is top priority.

“Like him or not, the kid sells,” Patty says, “Have you seen the proofs of the cover photos? Sweet Jesus on the cross, Caleb, if I had a uterus, I would fill it with his baby.”

“Why the fuck do I have to meet with him in person? No one does that any more. I interviewed Bono over the phone just last week.”

Horatio Slice, Patty informs me, hates talking on the phone, something about a fear of being misquoted, which I think is bullshit. But, Patty signs my checks and I like to eat, so I reluctantly agree to meet with this new era rock god in his hotel room.

I think I’m prepared, until he answers the door. The dude is huge. Linebacker huge. He smiles and sticks out a hand.

“Wow, Caleb Wallace from Rolling Stone magazine, I feel like I’m dreaming, man.”

I don’t like the firm way he shakes my hand while staring into my eyes. It’s unnerving. The fucker. No one should be that good looking.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mumble, feeling like a dick when I notice the hurt expression on his face. “I mean, you’re probably sick of talking to reporters, right?”

The smile returns. “Yeah, maybe a little, but I can’t wait to talk to you. You’re Caleb Wallace.”

By now I’m thinking the kid is a little stoned. I follow him inside, and we both take a seat in the living room of his fancy suite. I set my mini tape recorder on the coffee table and press record.

“So, Horatio Slice, how goes the tour?”

“Amazing. Happy to be in New York, my home base.” He flips that long hair out of his eyes. “Hey, would you like a beer or something?” A glance at my recorder. “Sorry. You can edit that out, right?”

Yup. Stoned. “No worries,” I say with a force smile. “I understand you’re quite the sex symbol. What’s that like?” Glancing around the suite, I don’t see what I expect, namely women’s panties draped over every available surface.

His expression tightens. “I don’t consider myself a sex symbol. Just a musician.”

“Come on, dish me some dirt, Horatio. Strictly off the record.” He just stares at me. “I’m an old man, kid, let me live vicariously through you.”

After a long sigh, he says, “I thought you’d be different. I thought you’d want to talk about the music.”

The music. That’s the reason I became a rock journalist in the first place. When did I turn into such a jaded prick? “Let’s start over,” I say, rewinding the tape. “Let’s talk about the music.”

And we do. Minutes turn to hours. One beer turns into four. The conversation drifts from sixties acid rock to nineties grunge and all points in between. Somehow, we end up sitting next to each other on the couch. His knee touches mine and my balls tighten.

This is why I balked at the interview, I realize. I knew I’d want him, knew I’d want to touch those firm muscles and stroke that olive skin. Slide that zipper down and suck and suck and suck. Even at 40, I’m in shape, attractive even, but this guy is way out of my league.

And I hate accepting that.

But a few whiskey shots later, my dick tells my brain to fuck off. Something about the way he’s looking at me – lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded – makes me think he won’t mind if I slowly slide my fingers over his bulge.

“I want to suck it,” I say, enjoying the way his dick hardens beneath my touch.

“This is, like, the best interview ever,” he says.

The rumors are true. Horatio Slice has a behemoth between his legs. Erect and majestic. I lick the crown and the taste of him goes right to my head. Now starving for cock, I swallow that beast and suck with all I’m worth.

He likes to talk dirty. “Suck me with that hot mouth,” he says, fingers gently playing with my hair. “Then, I’ll blow you until you come. Or maybe I’ll let you fuck me. Would you like to fuck me?”

Like he even needs to ask.

Yes, you now have an all access pass to Oleander Plume's AMAZING new novel, with my friends at Go Deeper Press! I know I want a slice of Horatio Slice…sigh…


Amazon author page 

Go Deeper Press media page

Go Deeper Press shopify




Horatio on Goodreads

Book trailer

More Friday Flash here:


The End of an Era: Tamsin Flowers Tantalizes with Alchemy xii One Last Time…

This year Mad Men had its series finale, and now? Tamsin FlowersAlchemy xii series has reached its final chapter–I really cannot say much more…I am letting Tamsin take over!!!

Alchemy xii – December: It’s the end of an era…

First of all, thank you, F Dot, for having me over today – I love your blog, so it’s a great thrill to be able to come and visit it!

It probably hasn’t escaped your notice that today’s December 1. It certainly hasn’t escaped mine, because it’s a day of beginnings and endings for me. As the first day of December, it’s the first day of my annual Superotica Advent Calendar – there’ll be a new story by a different writer every day over on my blog until the 24th. But sadly, it’s also the end of an era for me, as today sees the publication of the final episode of my Alchemy xii serial, Alchemy xii – December. Sniff. Excuse me while I wipe a tear from my eye.

Harry and Olivia, the two central characters in this epic BDSM club saga, first saw the light of day in December last year when I published the very first instalment, and intrepid readers have been following their exploits ever since. Today’s episode will tie up all the loose ends and bring the story of the two protagonists to its final conclusion.

So how do I feel? Sad and relieved in equal measure – there are things I’ll miss about publishing an ongoing series and things I won’t!

Things I’ll miss about Alchemy xii:

  • Harry Lomax. If ever I’ve fallen in love with one of my own characters, it’s Harry. He’s such a charming rascal, it’s no wonder literally no-one can resist him.
  • My beautiful cover images by White Room.
  • The slightly panicky feeling I get when I think I’m not going to manage to finish the next episode on time.
  • The wonderful support of my three beta readers, Malin James, Delilah Night and Jade A Waters – not that they’re going anywhere – they’re wonderful friends as well.
  • The excited tweets from the series’ fans when they realise a new episode has arrived in their in-box.

Things I won’t miss about Alchemy xii:

  • The slightly panicky feeling I get when I think I’m not going to manage to finish the next episode on time.
  • Editing and proof reading – though as a writer, I’ll never escape from those two!
  • Formatting each episode. It’s not hard but it is boring.
  • Confronting my failures as a marketer.
  • Readers who let me know in no uncertain terms how irresponsible I am not to make my characters wear condoms. (As if I have any control over them!)
  • Raf Castro!

If you haven’t read any of the Alchemy series, you’ll need to start all the way back at Alchemy xii – New Year’s Eve, but for those of you who’ve been following the story, here’s a short snippet from Alchemy xii – December to whet your appetite.



Harry came to my apartment, just a few days after I’d topped him. He didn’t announce himself—just turned up at the door, clutching a little black velvet bag.

“Hello, darling,” he said, sweeping in and backing me up against the wall for a kiss, in which we lost ourselves.

But finally I had to know what he was doing here.

“I brought these,” he said, holding up the black bag. “They came in the post today, and I couldn’t wait to try them out on you. They’ll be just your cup of tea.”

“What are they?”

He pulled open the bag’s drawstrings and shook it over his hand. Small silver clamps scattered across his palm, jingling like loose change.

“Clamps. For your tits and your clit, and your labia. And wherever else on your anatomy I choose to attach them.”

Excitement, hot and wet, bubbled through me.


“Yes, now, you greedy girl.”

He wasted no time in divesting me of my clothes. Then he laid me flat on my back on my bed, while he, still fully dressed, knelt above me.

“I think I need to tie you up for this,” he said. “Otherwise you could flick them off as quickly as I put them on.”

I grinned.  “I wouldn’t want to.”

But he insisted and I was delighted. It would make it a whole lot better if I was restrained. Pain is always better when my wrists are bound. He tied me up quickly and then grabbed his bag of clamps. First, he applied two of them to my nipples. The pressure was strong and the pain deliciously sharp. Nipple clamps were practically my favorite thing and Harry usually kept a pair of them in his jeans pocked whenever he saw me. But having a row of clamps attached slowly, one by one, to my labia? What a revelation.

I relaxed back into the pain, letting the tension flow out of my body as the intense physical sensation cleared my mind. I murmured my approval and Harry bestowed a quick kiss on my clit before carrying on. It sent a delicious shiver through my core. I closed my eyes and arched my back as I became more and more aroused. When I moved, I heard a soft tinkling as the steel clamps skittered up against each other. When each of my outer labia was adorned with metal, Harry applied some to my inner lips. The pain was way sharper as the flesh was thinner. I gasped, my breathing now labored. I was so ready to climax that it would only have taken the softest touch to my clit. But Harry was nothing if not diabolical, and with a snap, he attached a clamp there instead. I shrieked and when he shoved two fingers inside me to massage my g-spot, I exploded. An orgasm barrel-rolled through me, as sweet and sharp as the pain from the clamps.

“Damn,” said Harry. “You came much too quick.”

“It was lovely,” I sighed.

“So now I’ve got to take them all off again.”

“Leave them on for a bit,” I said. “It’s heavenly.”

“Oh, Liv, you always say exactly the right thing at the right moment. I rise to the challenge of making you come again.”

It wasn’t difficult. Nor for the third or fourth time. Admittedly, to make me come for the fifth time, he did have to remove the clamp from my poor squished clit and give it a bit of tongue love. But we got there.

“Now take them off,” I said. When you want clamps on you want them on, but when you’ve had enough, they can’t come off fast enough. “Quick.”

If you have not been reading, I recommend that you start with Alchemy xii – New Year’s Eve like Tamsin said, and work your way up to Alchemy xii – December !!!

Never Too Late for a Take This Man Excerpt by Oleander Plume!!!

When my dear friend and Chemical [se]X (which you can currently get for free!!!) editor Oleander Plume told me she was in another anthology, I jumped at the chance to host her (again!) on my blog! Take This Man is the brainchild of Neil Plakcy. Neil tells us a bit about his process below:

When I put out the call for Take This Man, I wasn’t sure what I’d get from authors. So much of gay erotica is based on the thrill of meeting someone new—making that first connection, the attraction of opposites and so on. Would my idea about sex between committed couples work?

I was delighted when the first stories began arriving in my email box and I realized I shouldn’t have worried – talented writers can take any idea and make it sing!
Not every story was great, of course. Some authors’ idea of “commitment” seemed to be having sex with the same person more than once. Others didn’t seem to grasp the idea that erotica requires the characters to engage in sexual intercourse at least once during the story. Others got bogged down in details of “how we met, how we fell in love, how we moved in together” and so on.
But the ones that made the cut? Pure gold!

Enter the golden Ms. Plume, who describes a little about her inspiration:

The submission call caught my imagination and wouldn’t let go. Here is the kind of story Neil Plakcy was looking for:

A rarity — romantic erotica focused on male couples in committed relationships — Take This Man comes from one of the top-flight gay fiction writers, Neil Plakcy. Many erotic stories focus on the thrill of first contact, but Take This Man is thrillingly different, taking a close look at how much sexier an encounter can be when the two men involved have been together for long enough to make a commitment to each other. Formalized or not, the fact remains that knowing what turns your partner on — and vice versa — makes encounters even hotter, especially when the erotic encounter is an expression of an emotional bond.

After I read the prompt, an idea formed almost immediately. (That does not happen often!) I typed out a rough draft from start to finish, and the story never really changed. (Another rarity.) 

Once I had the story fleshed out, I added a few details about the characters, Braiden and Tony. I developed a fondness for them, maybe because they are my age. Writing a contemporary romance story was a creative stretch for me, but I loved it and will definitely delve into that genre again. I also enjoyed writing about lovers who have a history with each other, I think the story is richer because of that relationship. 

Wanna sample? Here you go, an excerpt from “Never Too Late.”

He grabbed me and kissed my lips as he pushed me back on the bed. I dug my heels into his back and ground my cock against his. The heat between us roared back to life, igniting us both until I thought we might burn alive.

“Fuck me, right now. No foreplay, just get up in me.”

“I need a shower.”

“Tony, please, I need it so bad. There’s lube in my suitcase.” I felt like I would die if I didn’t get his cock inside. My clothes flew in all directions, but Tony just unzipped and pulled out his dick, it was harder than I had seen it in years.

“Braiden, my balls feel like they’re going to explode.”

His hands were shaking when he greased up his dick. I pulled my legs back. Tony licked his lips while he stared between my legs.

“It’s still so pretty, fuck, I’m so hard.”

“Tony, hurry.”

“Yeah, yeah, here it comes, baby, I can’t wait either.”

I groaned as he pushed in, it had been awhile, but I loosened up quickly. This was what I had been craving, the feel of his hardness mingled with my softness. To be one with him, joined in mutual satisfaction. His cock spread me open wide when he drove in deep. Tony growled.

“That’s it, the sound I’ve been wanting to hear. That sex growl you always make.”

He did it again, I got goosebumps all over when it rumbled from his throat. 

“Sweet angel, you’re so tight.”

“Keep talking.” I wanted him in every way, to hear his voice, to feel body, to smell his male musk, to taste his lips, to see the lust in his eyes, all for me. 

“Tell me more.”

You better take this book!

Lana Fox Is the Cream of the Crop!

Yesterday was my one-year blog anniversary, and I honestly cannot imagine a better way to kick off my blog’s second year than with the cream of the crop! I feel like I have already gushed about Lana before on my blog…you see I was a fan of hers before I knew her at all. I wrote this blog post about her story “The Silver Belt.” Her writing is extraordinary, in the vein of our muse Anaïs Nin. With Cream, she masters the craft–again. Her writing really is like the best cream filling. Read her interview and excerpt below, and tell me you are not licking your fingers after!

1. You’re such a romantic! Tell us more about your romantic side and your love of Anais Nin.

Well, I grew up in England with parents who were living very traditional, religious lives. I was different to them — very different. What’s more, I was bullied at school, and generally treated as weird and strange. But I truly found myself in the books my parents so readily bought me. In these stories, from fairy tale to fantasy to comedy to Shakespeare, I discovered my love of words. (Dear God, I love words!) There’s a line in Carol Ann Duffy’s poem “Little Red Cap” that explains how I still feel about words and stories. In this lovely, twisted retelling of the fairy tale, Little Red Cap (aka Little Red Riding Hood) goes willingly home with the wolf after they’ve met at the theatre, no less, and stays the night:

“As soon as he slept, I crept to the back
of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books.
Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head,
warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.”

I lived through books, breathed through books, and even when I was sent away to Christian Science Boarding school, it was stories that kept me sane, kept me brave.

Then, years later, when I was sexually ashamed, dissociated, and recovering from sexual trauma, I found Anais Nin’s “Delta of Venus” on a bookstore shelf. I picked it up, opened it, and felt an instant connection. Here were books, written *most* romantically and poetically, about the very sexual fantasies I’d locked away inside myself lest anyone see the truth about me — the truth that I was fiercely, intensely erotic, in spite of my attempts to be the “pure” girl my parents wanted.

That’s how Anais Nin saved me. And she has done, ever since. (In fact, she brought us together, dear friend!) Her words, like the wolf’s, are crimson, gold, aglow, truly alive on the tongue — and for me, they always will be.

So now I live in a world of books. In fact, I just published Cream: An Erotic Romance, which was so exciting and rapturous to write! And by the way, at Go Deeper Press we currently have a contest running for indie writers. So if you want to win a book cover design and e-book formatting package, do take a look!

2. Cream: An Erotic Romance is your new erotic romance novel! Now, isn’t it both dessert- and music-themed?

Yes! Thank you for asking! I’ve been a fan of smoky jazz numbers for a long time, largely thanks to amazing performers like Diana Krall, Ella Fitzgerald, Natalie Cole, Miles Davis, and others. So it was a joy to write about a jazz singer called Caroline who brings music and sex — and creamy deliciousness — back into the life of her new romantic partner, Marcus. Here’s a little blurb of the novel:

Sultry jazz singer Caroline Spence has a penchant for smokier numbers—and, as it turns out, men of a similar temperament. So when the darkly dominant Marcus takes her on as his submissive, she surprises him by sharing his love of double cream, both in a bowl and on her body, as well as a passion for kink that could lose him his job.

Still, it turns out Marcus isn’t the only one who wants Caroline. The young, rich, and audacious Kyle could listen to her sing forever. Caroline soon finds out, however, that Kyle’s obsession has a dangerous side. But with his charm and smoldering good looks, she finds it easy to let him push her a little too far.

Two men. One siren.

And a challenge that changes her life.

You can also listen to the Cream playlist here, thanks to Angela! (Some of my faves include Diana Krall’s version of Frim Fram Sauce and “The Lady is a Tramp” by Frank Sinatra. I hope you enjoy!

3. What are your feelings about Valentine’s Day?

You know, I’m a big fan of romance–and that includes solo romance. I’ll share a little story: After my first marriage was over, and before I met my lovely wife Angela (we co-run Go Deeper Press together), I lived with a group of wonderful friends, but I wasn’t dating on Valentine’s Day. All the same, I still took myself out to celebrate! I bought myself flowers and a box of chocolates (all for myself!), not to mention a brand new sex toy from Good Vibrations. On the day itself, I went to Trident Book Store on Newbury Street in Boston and had dinner out with a brand new book. And you know what? I discovered that Valentine’s Day can be just as romantic when you are single.

Oh! And another thing, while we’re on the topic of romance! When I studied literature at university I was taught that people originally gave one another roses because the rose was thought to represent the anatomical beauty of the female genitals. All those lush petals and the way they surround the core so sensually. Isn’t that lovely? So if anyone out there is still learning to love their genitals, buy yourself some roses this Valentine’s Day and tell yourself they reflect you, perfectly. Just an idea!

4. I know you love yoga! How does this tie in with your life as a writer?

Yoga helps me to do the opposite of escape — it helps me to become myself in the moment. I have one of those minds that wants to be continually creating, but unless I feel the calmness of the present moment, I’m always mentally rushing around. And of course, when my mind is still during both yoga and meditation I am lighting the pure flame that drives all that creativity and romance. I have to remember that yoga and meditation help everything to flow — sometimes that is hard to remember when I’m trying to meet deadlines, but avoiding yoga and meditation is rarely to my benefit!

Angela and I like to do yoga together and because we run Go Deeper Press from home, we can actually have yoga sessions at the start of the day, or during an agreed-on break. We then bring all that calm and strength back into the office and we write or promote or blog or connect. It’s quite lovely!

Thanks so much for having me! And folks can buy Cream: An Erotic Romance on Amazon in both print and e-book — I’d love to hear what you all think of it, so please feel free to follow me and tag me on Twitter at @foxlana.

And now, let’s open this creamy confection! Here is a delectable excerpt from Cream!


In this excerpt from Cream: An Erotic Romance by Lana Fox, the dominant Marcus, who has just spent the evening having kinky sex with Caroline, has poured her a bath. He has also brought up a glass of white wine for her, along with a terracotta jug of cold double cream.

“Now,” he said. “Are you ready for cream?”
“Cream, Sir?”
“Double cream,” he said. “Get ready for some coolness on your back.”
Then he held the jug over me and poured. It was the most incredible sensation. Thick cream—the kind you whip into clouds—fell down my back, unctuous and cool. I moaned just to feel it, and I heard him moan, too. Then I felt his hands on my back, rubbing the cream into me, massaging my skin. I relaxed into it, aroused by the sensations, and asked, “What are you doing?” before quickly adding, “Sir?”
“Cream is a perfect reward,” he said, “and you’ve earned it, Miss Spence.” There was a heaviness in his voice—a lustful appreciation—as the cream swirled through the water and against my thighs. Then he rose to his feet and made me fall back into the bath before slowly pouring more of the cream over my chest. It splashed onto me and ran over my breasts in rivulets.
I gasped to feel the cool thickness pouring over my nipples, caressing them, chilling them, hardening them with pleasure.
I heard him unzip and when I looked up, he’d set down the jug and was producing his hard cock. “Rub it in,” he said, cock in hand, his voice faltering slightly with lust. “The cream.” He was breathless now. “Rub it…into your breasts.”
I did as he asked—and God, did I feel horny, my fingers rubbing voluptuous cream into my nipples and skin, while Marcus Sir breathed heavily above me, his hand jerking faster and faster on his cock.
“God, Miss Spence,” he said. “How many times can you make me come in one single night?” He moaned again, long and low. “This is a record.” His face seemed to pain with pleasure as his gaze swept down my body. “Rub the cream into your pussy, too,” he said.
The cream had trickled down my belly, so it was easy to arch my spine a little and rub the silken fluids into myself. Marcus Sir was jerking off crazily now, his teeth gritted, his eyes filled with the wildness of an orgy. I felt it, too—and just rubbing the cream into my clit was enough to bring me to the brink of climax. I rubbed harder and harder and he didn’t tell me to stop—just kept moving his hand faster until he stumbled forward, gasping, “I’ll cream your body, I’m going to…,” before coming over me in streams.
Against the coldness of the cream, the heat of his come felt warm, and I found this so deliciously dirty that I climaxed against my fingertips, bucking and bucking as the room spun and blurred. When I finally came down from the high, the bath water was a mess of spinning, clouding cream. I saw him above me, candlelight flickering over his features as he gently tugged at his still-hard cock. His gaze seemed to be filled with glistening amazement. “God, you,” he said. Then he repeated, “I knew you were extraordinary as soon as we met. But I never imagined you could make me lose control.”
I smiled, parted my lips, and sang the opening bars of The Mamas & The Papas’ “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” telling him that the stars were shining brightly, and the night breezes were whispering “I love you.” And when I sang those words—I love you—they didn’t seem out of place at all.

Okay, stop licking your fingers! Isn’t she the best? Now go get Cream!