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Wicked Wednesday #159 — Give a Dog a Bone

Eliza realized that if her eyes had been open, it would have been obvious to her that something was going on with Rafe. She had noticed that he was spending more time with his phone, but she suspected it was Severine, which they did not speak about. Because she was known about, she was not a secret. But Sandrine…She had always seen Sandrine as his gorgeous ex, and when she finally started not to…this.

When she walked into their apartment, she had not expected it would be so quick to bring the affair up, but give a dog a bone! Right there on his abandoned phone, was an incoming text from Sandrine. Eliza looked at her watch. It was three o’clock in the morning in Paris.

Rafe had a drink in his hand, and sauntered over to her. She could tell he had been drinking too much which was not usually his style. He kissed her, and handed her his drink to sip.

Which she threw in his face.

“You motherfucker!” she screamed, while he wiped his face.

He grabbed her shoulders roughly.

“That stung, what the–”

Moving out of his hold, she picked up his phone.

“The least you could do is not leave your phone out for me to see Sandrine is calling from Paris! But it is late, maybe it is an emergency!”

Eliza thrust the phone at him as if she wanted him to take it, then threw it across the room.

Rafe’s body slackened, and he leaned against the wall.

“Liza,” he called her like he did when he knew he really messed up. “I know I should have told you…”

“You should have told me that you never stopped with Sandrine? How long has this been going on? How long have you both been lying to me? Is that the way to your faithfulness? To be one of of your French girls? Mais oui?”

“Eliza, stop it! You are acting hysterical! Stop it! You know there was nothing after we got together, this is recent.”

He straightened up, and walked over to her.

“Don’t touch me!”

Eliza moved back, and kept moving back.

He followed her as she moved back, until she was in a corner where she crumpled. It all just got to her, and she slumped down the wall until she was crouched in the corner. She heaved violently, but tears would not even come.

She was so done, there was nothing left inside of her. The edge of her engagement ring was like a tiny knife as she caressed it.

Rafe got down on his knees beside her, though she jerked when he tried to embrace her. It was complete exhaustion why she let him hold her, and she heaved all the more.

They were completely silent, Rafe held her until her breathing became regular again which was a long time.

“Let’s go to bed. We can talk about this later. I’ll get you ready you don’t have to do anything, I’ll bathe you. I’ll get you some wine…”

His voice was disembodied in her head, as she caressed that tiny knife that was her engagement ring to her now.

“Let’s end this, that is what I will say in the morning too.”

The gentle force with which she took off her engagement ring, felt like a wish being granted. She put the ring on the floor beside her and got up.

Rafe looked completely sober now, his face stern.

“End us?”

“I am done Rafe, done! I am done with you!”

She went to walk past him, and he grabbed her.

“I’m not done with you, I messed up I know I always do but I have never been done with you. You don’t love me anymore?”

Eliza heard that question like glass shattering.

She realized that this ring that she left on the floor had caused her so much duress, that was how she met Oscar from the demands of that damn ring. Of being engaged to Rafe.

“I will tell your parents and Fiona, if you want me to. I will do whatever you need me to do, to make this easier.”

“You don’t love me anymore?”

“I will pack some stuff now, and then I will have movers come get the rest.”

“You don’t love me anymore?”

Eliza walked into their bedroom, and starting moving her things out of it. They were her things, but they smelled like him because she lived with him. She was not sure she would ever forget how he smelled, she was not sure she would.

“You don’t love me anymore?” he asked her that haunting question again, standing by the door watching her pack.

“I won’t be much longer,” she said.

She continued with her immediate stuff, and then picked up her suitcase.

“I’m done.”

“I’m not done with you…”

He blocked her from walking out of the bedroom.

“If you want to beat me up and make me stay here I cannot stop you,” Eliza said, looking up at him somberly. His hands or words could not batter her anymore than she already was battered.

“You are acting like you do not know me, like you do not know I love you…”

“I know you love me Rafe, and I love you but it does mean much anymore. It doesn’t mean much of anything anymore.”

She knew her words about him hitting her, would freeze him. He had never hit her, or done anything to harm her physically. But she was so wounded from everything, she needed to retreat. She needed to stop relying on love as a crutch because it wasn’t…

She needed to stand by herself now…

Sooner than she had expected, she was sitting sunken in the back of a taxi, and running an itinerary of places she run to.
More Wicked Wednesday here:

taxi via wikipedia with dreamstate filter added by f dot leonora

Kink of the Week — June 1-16: Anonymous Sex

I wrote something new for this KOTW post, but as I was finishing it up…completely out of the blue…a good friend reminded me that I wrote this piece. It was part of a blog swap with Kenny C. based on the photo accompanying it, so you might have read it on his blog. If not, here it is appearing for the first time on my own blog! You can read the post Kenny swapped me for here as well.

She had outdone herself. Her taste in men was always particularly bad: an assortment of overzealous creative types, addictive personalities, semi-abusive–she had been lucky to get out of that. And now, now, she smiled as the rain beat against the windows of the car and on its roof like a melody she must observe. Now she was heading to a motel to meet a man whose online darkness was sparkling. He told her he’d do things to her she would be ashamed she asked for. It was all part of the game. He said he could kill her. The rain blurred the image of the motel’s fluorescent lights, but she saw them nonetheless and was prepared to get out of the car. She had no desire to put her umbrella up, so she walked into the pouring rain. The sight of the car that he described let her know he was there, and her response to it was Pavlovian.

In the lobby of the motel, she saw a bride in a very smart suit and a suggestion of a veil about her head, holding hands tightly with her new husband. She rained rose petals everywhere she went, blood red rose petals.

Felice went to the counter, and asked for the keys, the number of the room she had to fumble through her messages from him to get. She did not know his name, so everything related to him was in a folder she marked with a capital ‘H.’

She took the keys and headed up the stairs, where she pressed her damp body to the wall and tried to breathe properly. Her heart raced quickly, as she clutched the keys in her tight fist so their jangling would stop jangling her mind.

There were rose petals leading to room number eight, because the bride had already walked by it. Not because there was anything romantic that was going to happen there. H. had told her that. As well as to arrive without makeup or perfume because he did not want any artifice about her. What she wore was her choice. A little black dress was her first thought. It was would be easy to remove, with her thickly seamed in the back thigh highs. She felt okay even without panties which he did not request, but she felt was right to do.

She opened the door, he jumped her which is what he told her he would do. His kiss was warm like he had extracted summer from the day before this rain. She loved the press of him so close to her.

Then he pushed her away.

“You are wet,” he said.

Felice burned up to her temples, ashamed that he knew just how wet she was and beads of perspiration formed there. Then she realized that she was wet from the rain, and he probably meant that.

“I did not put my umbrella up.”

She looked down on the floor and saw she had dragged in rose petals with her. He plucked one from her shoulder, she had no idea how one had gotten that far up.

The heat from his body could have set her on fire. He put his hand on her thigh and lifted her dress. She saw her legs bare in the mirror straight across the room.

“Nothing?” he questioned as he skimmed her bare bottom with his fingers.

“No, I thought you would like that best.”

He smiled which filled her with relief.

“You are very smart, aren’t you?”

Felice frowned when he said that. Being smart had been the bane of her existence. She had never been able to have her baser desires fulfilled because no one thought she would want them.

“I tried to be intuitive,” she said and he smacked her bottom which made her labia quiver.

Then he touched her there.

“Very wet.”

This time she knew that he was talking about between her legs, and she avoided his eyes.

He raised her chin to look up at him.

“I do not want you to look down, I want you to look at me and observe everything that we do to each other unflinchingly…”

His eyes lingered on hers, then he moved away. Felice felt a shiver when he did. Like he was the only source of heat in the room.

“Well take off your dress, didn’t your mother tell you to take off your wet clothes when you came in from the rain?”

She pulled off her dress, which did not have buttons or zippers to delay its removal. She hated that there was a mirror and she could see herself first naked except for her bra, and then completely naked.

“Sit down, you have time don’t you?”

Felice sat, between her legs was sticky wet. H. was dark online, and even more decadently so in person. Her excitement was at its peak, her nipples indicated it, she could see them in the mirror in the dim room.

Without thinking she walked over to the window, a soft release under her high heels was a rose petal she was sure. She looked at the red lights from the sign which made H. look like Lucifer as the light hit him. She saw in a flash Lucifer’s fingers.

“I can do every dark little thing you want now,” he said his hands about her neck, which pleased her.

She had told him all of her fantasies. He knew the things that she liked, there was no secret from him. Slumping into him, he stroked her spine, soft first then roughly. Every part of her body came to a dark life.

“Do you want to play?”

His fingers squeezed tighter about her neck, and she suddenly felt weak as everything went black.

More anonymous sex here…

photograph found on tumblr

E[LUST] NO. 71

Photo courtesy of The Shingle Beach

Welcome to Elust #71 –

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #72? Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Backyard Glory
Bra Wars
Versions of Ourselves

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabled characters: who do I write them for?
How Can You Think About Sex Right Now?

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7

days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

How We Started Swinging: Part 2
Notes to my younger self
I am what I am
O-O-O-OMG
Sometimes Submission Requires Standing Up
Tribe
I know how to fix a texting mistake.
Change Is A Four Letter Word
Zero to Sex Pot in 150 minutes
condoms

Erotic Non-Fiction

23 Minutes Of Play
Services Rendered
Depravity’s Communication
Sinful Sunday: The Reveal

Erotic Fiction

No Panties
A Woman’s Experience of Lust
Wicked Wednesday: Three
An Uncommon Case
Misused Petals
(portrait of) desire
Her Turn
A Day At The Beach

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Am I Jaded?
Fury Road’s Furiosa and femdom
Sub power, Domly Vulnerability
In Person I Found You Very Innocent…..
Still A Cherry Tree

Poetry

Catching Up: A Happy Horny Haiku
What You See

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Hey, Feminism? Your ugly is showing.
The Bigger Picture
Naive College Virgin Reads Penthouse Letters
Squirting is Not a Science
Missing “Story of O” scene discovered!

Masturbation Monday No. 41

Nichy could barely get out of the booth when it was time for Gavin to go back to the office. He kissed her when she stood up and pulled her into him, so that she could feel every hard line of his body. She pressed her lips to his cheek, as he handed the check to the waiter.

He had already lingered over time for their meal, but now he had to go back to the office. Neither one of them was able to let go of the other, their arms about each other as they walked out of the bar. The night air was not cool, but because they had been so hot and heavy inside the bar, even the sultry breeze hit them like a bucket of ice.

“Come back to the office with me…” he said.

She knew that he was just as heated as she was, and that was what was talking.

“I am going to go home, because if I come back to the office with you…you will not get any work done…”

He pressed her against their office building–she had to pass it to get to the train–and ran his hands through her hair as he kissed her. She closed her eyes even tighter, because the soft massage consumed her.

Gavin kissed her forehead.

“I know, I know…” he said, looking down at her.

He kissed her pulsing temple again, and hugged her.

“Text me when you get home princess,” he said.

Walking the couple of blocks left to the train, Nichy felt so much sweet congestion between her legs, that she felt she could sit on the curb and pull up her dress. Once her dress was up over her thighs, she would caress the softness of her belly and then let her fingers caress her damp labia. She feared that her shifting as she rushed down the street, made people think that she had just been fucked.

Her legs were spread on the curb in her mind, and she rubbed frantically. Resting on a tire, she bent one knee and rubbed until she came so roughly she almost lost consciousness on the sidewalk. She fantasized herself looking like Marilyn Monroe in that iconic shot where she was sitting in the street in fishnets. In reality, she knew she would look more like the hot mess that she was, later that evening when she got home. In bed, she played with herself until the bedsheets kept getting stuck between her legs, because it was super wet there. Nichy was covered head to toe in her sheets, her entire body damp with the consummation of her pleasure when she heard her buzzer.

The only person she could think would come over this late was Renee. She grabbed her brush, to get her hair into a semblance of something.

“Hello,” she spoke into her speaker.

“Princess?”

Nichy felt a aftershock of orgasm hit her, when she heard Gavin’s voice.

“Hey…”

She waited for him by the door. When she let him in, he pulled her close like he had in the bar.

“I am all sweaty, I did not put the AC on,” she said, lying to explain why she was so damp.

He licked behind her ear.

“You taste sweet,” he said. “I just needed one more good night kiss, princess…”

He kissed her again. Her body so damp she felt pasted to him. His being dressed in his full suit except for his jacket which he placed on the table by the door, and his hand roaming over the soft parts of her that he could not access in the bar made her swoon.

“Tomorrow night, come hell or high water Nichy…tomorrow is going to be our first date…”

They kissed again, her damp body responded to his touches and just his nearness in general as she was molded to his body.

She felt she did not belong anywhere else.

“Tomorrow,” she said within a kiss, panting from the sultry air not from outside…but that they created inside.

More Masturbation Monday here:

Marilyn via duck duck go images

Wicked Wednesday #158 — Make Me!

Dear God, make me disappear, MAKE ME, Eliza thought as she saw that Oscar saw her after he walked into the bar. She was not sure how to respond, but when he smiled so did she. She looked at Marcus who was staring at her.

“Do you want to leave?” he whispered in her ear.

She knew that Marcus would not necessarily know why she wanted to leave, but she was so thankful that he took her hand when he asked. She smiled, and nodded.

When she met Oscar that first time, he bragged about not being married. Now he was all loved up with Polly, and the pain that she had been feeling about him before was fading. Marcus opened the car door for her, and she sat beside him.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere that is not here,” she stated listlessly.

She heard him tell the driver to drive them around. Eliza was silent as the car moved, she looked out at the scenic route that the driver chose.

“Who was the guy in the bar?”

“Former lover,” she turned to look at him. “I came here tonight to be with you, and it has been about Sandrine, about Rafe, about Oscar…”

“You are with me,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m here.”

“I know.”

She put her head on his shoulder, wondering if everything that had happened so far were signs that she should not proceed any further with Marcus. All of her previous relationships she had had she had just jumped into, and she was no happier for any of them. Even being engaged to Rafe was painful today.

Marcus caressed the length of her arm, and pulled her closer to him. When his fingers trickled over her breast, she looked up at him and he kissed her. Eliza caressed his chest, and went to kiss him. He caressed her lips with his fingers.

“I am not going anywhere, I told you I want you to burn with desire for me. You are not burning tonight.”

She snuggled more into his chest.

“Let’s go to your place. I can’t see Rafe tonight.”

Eliza had been at Marcus and Sandrine’s place so much, that she knew her way around it like it was her own place. She was in the bathroom about to take a bath, when her phone rang. Assuming it was Rafe, she almost did not answer it until she saw the caller ID reflected in the bathroom mirror.

“Hello?” she said, stepping into the fragrant rosewater.

“You could have come over to the table Eliza, you know that I told Polly.”

“I know. You don’t know Marcus, and I was not in the mood to be a hostess tonight.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you care so much Oscar? I know that we smoothed everything out when you texted me that you told Polly, but what more do you want from me?”

“I care about you Eliza.”

“I care about you, and I am trying to care about you and support your new relationship.”

“Thank you.”

“I am getting ready to go to bed. I am not home, I’ll talk to you or text you…”

She hung up the phone, and got comfortable in the rosewater bath.

It was not until much later when she was was carried away from the tub–she must have fallen asleep–by Marcus. Her fingertips and toes felt like prunes when she rubbed them. He dried her, and dressed her for bed. When he got in beside her, her body was aroused from the bath. But she knew that he was going to make her wait. It almost seemed like the right thing for him to make her wait. But she wanted him, she wanted to scream at him,

“Make me, make me yours.”

But all she did was fall asleep in the spoon of him, and wish that God would promise her a better tomorrow.

And clarity.
More Wicked Wednesday here:

rose bath via christinechitnis.com

Pick a prompt, any prompt…

I was not planning to enter this contest, but my friend Oleander casually mentioned she would like it if I did. Well right after she said that to me, I was on the train and took this picture based on a comment that sub-Bee made on this post. I cautiously took this photo, because it reminded me of the image that she described:

There is something truly hot about being on my knees in front of a man in a suit.

I chose prompt number eight (spontaneous office sex) for the contest:
You can enter too!

Veronica wanted him so bad, sometimes she couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t because he was one of the top executives in her company, she had ached for him before that. When he was an architect just out of grad school she had, and now he was a partner at the firm. She started as a receptionist, and now she was an executive assistant.

His.

Their careers were in very different directions, but they had known each other the entire time. He did not have that air about him that so many of the others at the firm did. He was always accessible and warm to her. Whether he was going to a meeting and wore jeans á la business casual–the way only he knew how–or he was in a three-piece suit, his affect on her was almost fatal.

He had a particular passion for watches, his one excess, his one vanity and she admired it. He had catalogs from all of the auction houses on a shelf in his library. She got them all, either walking to the one that was near them or having them messengered over.

Veronica bid for him over the phone. He never had a limit, he just expected her to win it and she always did. Including one for his former fiancée. It had been hard for her to look at the delicate diamond piece that he had selected for her. Veronica knew he did not ask for it back when they ended their engagement, and that made her crush on him even harder.

If that was possible.

Her fingers moved languorously over the red tab that marked the pocket watch that he had his eye on. She let her finger linger over it, imagining it on his lightly haired wrist. Veronica especially wanted to win this watch for him. He was moody since he had broken up with his fiancée, and it was would cheer him up.

Veronica waited on the phone, while she was looking at his schedule. Being his right-hand also meant that she was responsible for all of the administrative staff, so when a literal fight broke out between two of her admins…she had to run to break it up.

When she came back to her desk, she had underestimated the time it would take for his lot to come up. Damn it! She had missed the lot! His lot!

It was with a heavy tail between her legs, that she knocked on his door. He sat inside facing it.

“Can you close the door, Veronica?”

She nodded, her tight chignon even tighter as she did.

“You were not at your desk, and you missed the lot.”

“How did–”

She wanted to snatch back her words, how dare she question him? Nervously, she tugged at the edge of her silk blouse first, then her pearls.

“How did I know? I just happened to get off of my conference call early, and was going to tell you I could do it for a change. When I buzzed you, you were not at your desk…”

She twisted the pearls, and bit her lip.

“You’ve never disappointed me before V, this is uncharted territory for us. You are always perfect. How are you going to make me feel better…about this?”

The length of his gorgeous tall frame was slouched in his chair.

“So much is going wrong around me V, and now even you…”

“I always want to please you–”

He raised an eyebrow at her. His desolate expression shifted, as he studied her face.

“I usually please you don’t I?” she asked.

He sat up straight, and suddenly in her silk dress that was only sheer on the top and the edge of the skirt, Veronica felt transparent.

“You always please me V, you always have…”

Veronica was unable to breathe, as he stood up and walked toward her. His finger caressed a tiny polka dot in the sheer area of her dress.

“There is only one thing I want more than that watch, and it cannot be bid on. You do not have a price tag do you Veronica?”

“What do you mean?!” She huffed, her breasts rose between them.

“I phrased that clumsily, I meant you are not for sale. But I want you…I’ve always wanted you.”

Veronica saw that iconic scene from Butterfly 8, when Elizabeth Taylor writes “No Sale,” on a mirror with lipstick.

“But what about your fiancée?”

“I wanted you first…”

“But you never…”

“We work together so I never, but now only you can make me feel better…”

He kissed her, and she pulled away from him panting. He caressed her scalp and loosened her chignon, before he steered her back gently against the door. Veronica held his hand, her finger slipping inside the band of the gorgeous watch he wore today. He took her hand and put the watch on her, slipping it up along her arm until it fit.

“That’s all I want you to wear right now…” he said pulling at his tie.

Veronica took his hand, and kissed it.

“You can leave your suit on, and tighten your tie.”

“Why?”

“It’s how I always imagined it when I fantasized about you…”

Read more about this post here!

filtered photo by f dot leonora

Masturbation Monday No. 40

Nichy’s hand was almost stuck between her legs when she woke up. She pulled it slowly, letting her fingers brush her labia. A small jolt tremored through her, and she let her hand stick there just a little longer. On her side, in bed, she felt deliciously languorous and rubbed her labia over and over. When she was slippery enough, she moved faster and faster until she closed her eyes and came. Her orgasm was not hard, but fully gripped her. She felt it as she tossed her legs over her bed, and looked down at her bare legs which just touched her floral curtain.

She had that feeling all day at work. It was date night, and she was very excited to be with Gavin…at last! She did not have to work late, everything was set. And she still savored the delicious remnants of the pleasure that had gripped her that morning in bed.

Gavin came over to her desk, the look on his face gripped her in a different way.

“I have to work late tonight, and nothing as cool as what you did the other night. No party, and I will probably be here until midnight.”

“Do you get a dinner break?”

“Sort of?”

Nichy beckoned him with a rose-polished nail, as he leaned into her and she felt that grip sweeten between her legs again.

“Then I am “sort of” it.”

Gavin stood at full height, his face softened with desire.

“I’ll go to the bar after work, and you come meet me.”

“Oh, I will come,” he said.

Nichy turned back to her paperwork, with a soft smile on her lips.

That same smile hovered over the cucumber gin tonic she sipped at the bar, waiting for Gavin. She stirred her drink sweetly, when her phone vibrated. She told Gavin not to text her unless he was coming, she was running out of tolerance for canceling their first assignation.

He slid into the booth with her easily, his leg rubbed against her bare thigh.

“This is going to be like a speed date,” he lamented.

“Depends on what you do with the time…”

He kissed her forcing the breath from her, before chewing on her lip.

“Seems you are very hungry…” she whispered, as he caressed her cheek.

When he kissed her again, he caressed her neck and the soft swell that was the tip of her spine.

Their food came. Nichy had ordered before he walked in. Mussels and frites with a rich saffron sauce, that aroused her as much as his mouth. She licked his lips, and in the corner of his mouth tasted a burst of coffee that she knew he must have been drinking so he did not fall asleep. He was very awake now, as was she.

The grip of his hand, replaced the feeling of his leg on her thigh. Nichy luxuriated in lying back in the high plush leather booth that she picked out for them, as Gavin licked the tip of her earlobe and kissed her neck. She lifted her arm to one side to brush her hair over her shoulder, when she felt the gentle tickle of Gavin’s fingers along her arm and the side of her breast. Nichy closed her eyes tightly, relishing the feeling.

They pulled away from each other, but Nichy kept her arms wrapped loosely about him. Gavin dipped a lengthy frite into the saffron broth, before swirling it around in the homemade ketchup that came with it and fed it to Nichy. Nichy let him feed her, and sucked on the tips of his fingers. Her tongue caressed the tips, until any evidence of the broth or ketchup was gone. Pulling his fingers away, Gavin caressed her lips with his damp fingers.

“You’re making me so damn hard,” he moaned quietly.

His words were treated as an invitation for Nichy to run her hand over his stomach, pausing to tug on his belt buckle before she caressed the very damn hard bulge below it. She felt his hand cover hers, as she caressed him. It turned her on that he was was this hard, and that she had made him so.

Nichy searched for a lengthy frite of her own that she let get soggy in the mussel broth , before she swirled it in the homemade ketchup and kissed him before she fed it to him. She gasped when he roughly sucked her fingers, not just the tips. His tongue lapped at the flesh part of her palm, licking along its curve.

“I want to eat you,” he said.

Nichy thought about Renee and Tyler in the stall of the unisex bathroom, Tyler’s hands on Renee’s breasts, and she almost wanted to drag Gavin there. But she did not want their first time to be so careless and unremarkable.

“I want you,” he continued. “I could have you in this booth, but I don’t want the first time to be like that. I want to seduce you properly, slowly princess. I want to treat you like my princess…”

He kissed her forehead gently, before picking up more frites to feed her.

Neither one of them ate anything that the other did not feed them. Their feeding each other was like they wanted their lovemaking to be: slow and filled with caring.

More Masturbation Monday here:

photo by my friend, Exposing 40

Sinful Sunday, Week 217 — Rosier

Yesterday in the rose garden…with a rosier hue…

More sinful hues here:

Total Blog Takeover by JG Faherty Featuring An Excerpt From His Latest, THE CURE!!!

Hi, there. My name is JG Faherty, and I’m your guest blogger for today. Leonora has thrown open the doors and let me do whatever I want! Which I can do—I’m not shy when it comes to promoting my own stuff! But I want to do more than just talk about my book. I want to explain why I’m talking about it on a blog that’s usually focused more on the romance and erotica ends of the fiction spectrum.
I could say it’s because I’ve written plenty of erotica and romance myself, both under the name JG Faherty and under various pseudonyms. I could say it’s because Leonora enjoys a good scary book now and then. I could say it’s because we’ve worked together on projects before. All of those would be true. But the real reason is, horror and sex go together like, well, sex and anything. What doesn’t go well with sex? (Except picturing your parents while you do it.)
My novel The Cure is no exception. Depending on who you talk to, it’s a paranormal thriller (that’s what I call it), a horror story, or even a mystery. But at its very heart, it’s a story about love, sex and fear, because those are the things that drive so many of the things we do in real life.
In The Cure, Leah DeGarmo has the ability to cure animals and people by touching them. But she’s also as cursed as she is blessed, because whatever she takes from the sick and injured she has to pass on to something/someone else, or suffer it herself. This not only makes her valuable to the wrong kinds of people as a potential weapon, it makes her life very lonely.
Like most of us, Leah longs for love. After losing a fiancé to a freak accident she couldn’t prevent, she’s become an emotional recluse, refusing to share her heart or body with anyone. It takes police officer John Carrera to unlock her doors, to get her to feel again.
And what happens when she does? People find ways to use her love against her, to force her to do things she doesn’t want to do in order to save John’s life. It is the horrors they experience together that bring them closer, and also threaten to destroy them as a couple. When they finally consummate their love, it’s in the worst possible situation, captured, in fear for their lives, and monitored by shadowy figures. Yet they still do it, because sex, like fear, is such a powerful urge that it can break through boundaries, knock down walls, make everything else seem insignificant.
Think about it. What else besides sex and fear can make people do such crazy things? Love? Sure, in some instances. People will risk their lives for love. At least, some will. Money? Sometimes. People will lie, cheat, and even kill for money. But not everyone.
Sex, though, sex short-circuits rational thought like nothing else. Think of the insane things people do when it comes to sex. We take perfect strangers—potential murderers, thieves, perverts—into our bedrooms because we want to fuck them. We spend every last dime in our wallets, even our bank accounts just to get someone into bed. We risk our health on prostitutes, or skip using protection rather than miss out on great sex. For thousands of years, sex has been used as a weapon, a method of coercion, a blackmail tool, and even as a way of bartering for goods. The need for sex can drive prisoners to homosexual acts. It’s such a powerful driving force that men and women were (and still are) routinely shorn of their sexual organs in order to create easily controlled slaves. Sex causes people to ignore social and familial mores, commit adultery, and even break religious vows.
The only thing that compares to it is fear.
Fear can be so powerful that it not only creates a state of temporary insanity, it can cause physical harm. Your heart beats too fast, adrenaline courses through your veins, your pulse pounds in your temples until your head aches, and your stomach clenches. If this goes on too long, a person could have a heart attack, a stroke, or just plain pass out and crack their skull open. Fear can be so intense that it causes you to piss yourself, toss your cookies, or soil your pants. Fear can turn the bravest man into a whimpering coward. We all would like to think that in a life or death situation we’d be the hero. Save someone from a burning building, stop the mugger with the gun, or tackle the person about to cross the street in front of a truck.
But would we? Or would we freeze in terror while disaster strikes? Think of what people do when they’re frightened. Drop a spider or snake onto someone who has a fear of them, do they quietly brush it off? Hell, no. They scream, frantically shake their arms or dance in mad circles. They’ll fling that deadly animal off themselves with no thought of where it’s going to land—on their spouse, their mother, their child. Shout fire in a theater (no, don’t, just imagine you did!) and watch as people trample each other in panic, run face first into walls, pound frantically at doors they can’t open because they didn’t read the sign that says “pull.”
Like the quote from Dune by Frank Herbert, “Fear is the mind killer.”
The only real difference between fear and sex, is that sex (for most of us!) is enjoyable, while fear is not.
In The Cure, fear is more of a driving force than sex. Leah is forced to confront her fears, both psychological and physical. Her mind and body are abused until finally she simply can’t take it anymore. And that’s the crucial element of the story. Will she snap, let insanity take over, or give in to the darkness? Or will she overcome her fear and master it? It’s a quandary we all face, albeit on a smaller scale. Deadlines, presentations, first dates, illnesses; all the things in life that create fear. Do we submit or conquer? Give up or fight?
The same can be said of sex. Sex has the power to drive us over the edge. People become addicted to it. They need more sex, have to have it. For some it’s porn. For others, it’s the actual physical act. What was once enjoyable becomes a compulsion.
That is why I’m blogging today. To let you know that horror and erotica/romance have always been, and always will be, entwined. And if you don’t believe me, I’ve got a book for you to read. It’s all about lesbianism, bisexuality, fetishes, dominance and submission, rape, oral sex, and bestiality.
It’s called Dracula.
And now back to your regularly scheduled blog programming!

Thanks, Leonora, for having me.

Excerpt from:

Leah knew only darkness and pain. They surrounded her, encased her in walls of black fire. There was no conscious thought, no sense of body or mind. Just endless torture.

Just when she thought she might explode from the pain, a glowing sun appeared in the distance, its light enticing her with salvation from the eternal hell of her existence. Without being aware of moving, she reached for the golden promise of deliverance.

The moment she touched it, the brilliance poured through her, melting through the burning dark in waves of cool, soothing pleasure that was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Better than an ice-cold drink quenching a parched throat, better than stepping into a frigid mountain stream on a hot day. She let the waves wash over her, wanting to bathe in them forever. As the yellow light grew stronger, she felt its energy recharging her, revitalizing every cell in her body. In her mind, she shouted with laughter as conscious thought returned.

This was it! She’d finally reached heaven!

Leah opened her eyes, wanting to see the beauty of the afterlife.

And found herself face-to-face with a monster.

All of Leah’s good feelings shattered at the sight of the shriveled, twisted mummy standing less than a foot away from her. She cried out and jerked away, but it followed.

It’s got me! It’s got—

Realizing she was holding on to the creature and not the other way around, she let go, her hand unclenching like she’d grabbed a red-hot pan. The thing slowly toppled backwards and hit the floor next to her, its limbs as shrunken and deformed as its face.

Leah gasped as she recognized the monster for what it really was.

The corpse of Tal Nova.

JG Faherty is the Bram Stoker Award®- and Thriller Award-nominated author of four novels, seven novellas, and more than 50 short stories. He writes adult and YA horror/sci-fi/fantasy, and his works range from quiet, dark suspense to over-the-top comic gruesomeness. He enjoys urban exploring, photography, classic B-movies, good wine, and pumpkin beer. You can follow him at www.jgfaherty.com, www.twitter.com/jgfaherty, www.facebook.com/jgfaherty, and http://jgfaherty-blog.blogspot.com/.

Wicked Wednesday #157 — Three

Marcus kept his hand on Eliza’s thigh. She was not crying or emotional, but he caressed it nonetheless.”I thought Rafe told you, I thought they would decide to tell us at the same time.”

Eliza shook her head. Rafe had not told her anything, not yet at least. She concentrated on Marcus’s hand on her thigh because she did not want to think, she did not want her thoughts to wander because they would only venture into pain.

“I think the part that bothers me the most,” Marcus said as he squeezed her thigh. “Is that when I had the chance to do the same thing to Sandrine, I chose not to do it.”

Eliza nodded, and sipped her drink.

“When I was just starting out, I was insanely attracted to one of my co-stars. I’d never been attracted to a man like that before. He was incredibly good-looking, and got my attention that way. I was open to it you know? But when I started noticing the signals…it is not different between the sexes I find. If you like someone it is always obvious, and it was obvious he liked me and I realized I liked him because he liked me…We were at a bar, and it was intense because I was in a play with him and that is a different experience than being in a filmed production…He was sitting next to me, and he had his hand on my thigh.”

He squeezed her thigh with emphasis at that moment, and Eliza felt herself grow soft between her legs.

“Like your hand is on my thigh?”

Marcus grinned, and looked at her.

“Higher.” He squeezed her thigh more, and continued. “I held his hand in mine, and told him I was seeing someone. That it was open, but I needed to tell her if I wanted anything to start with him. He respected that. Oddly enough it was the three of us at the wrap party, when the play finished its run. Sandrine came with me, I figured it would be okay if she saw us together. So it was the three of us at a table, and she actually put her hand on my thigh and asked me if I liked him. She could tell, because I had been talking about him at home and simply because she was not stupid.”

Eliza saw their reflection in the mirror over the bar, and she knew that anyone seeing them would think that she was having an affair with him. Or that something steamy was going on, as opposed to him talking about his now wife and a former lover.

“So did you get together then?” she questioned him.

Marcus squeezed her knee again.

“Yes, we got together several times after that, and he is still a friend. He is a producer on the show actually.”

Eliza nodded.

“He saw me chasing you, and told me the last time that he saw that expression on my face was when I was just starting to see Sandrine. I thought that you just wanted to be with me because you were mad about Sandrine and Rafe…but…”

The names Sandrine and Rafe made Eliza wince, but then she was still.

Marcus’ hand slid up her leg, and it felt like fire. Eliza leaned into him, her hair came undone and she did not bother to fix it. The round mound of his palm was on her hip, and his fingers trailed along her backside.

“I don’t want to be with you Eliza, to drown your pain.”

His hand slipped down her thigh, to rest on her knee.

“It would not have been like that, I would not fuck you to forget…”

She looked away from him, and she saw Oscar. He and Polly were walking into the bar, and Eliza laughed. The irony that the three of them would be in the bar at the same time. Splashing liquor on herself as she attempted to have a sip of her drink, Eliza was pensive as the alcohol trailed down her leg. Marcus no longer touched her, his hand floated off of her knee. Her eyes floated to the picture over the bar of a woman looking out of a window, and she wished she could crawl out of one.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

photo of a grete stern dream photo by f dot leonora