Published: May 5,
2014
Stories and Authors:
Eight
mistresses of the erotic bring you eight original, never before published
stories to excite and arouse, including USA Today Bestsellers Alessandra Torre
and CD Reiss, and NY Times Bestseller K. Bromberg.
*******************************************
These
are not your mother's erotic stories.
We're
not giggling about foul language over tea, or avoiding smut talk at the
Tupperware party.
This
book is slick fingers and flesh on your lips. It's twisted bodies late at night
when the city sleeps and the moans fall where no one can hear them. This book
is pain and pleasure, lust and passion, a body brought to the breaking point.
It's drenched in the the musk of sweat, shuddering at the touch of a Master.
It's
not your mother's erotica. It's yours.
*******************************************
Kick
The first
novella in Songs of Perdition.
by CD
Reiss
FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/CDReiss.writer
TWITTER: @CDReisswriter
Fiona Drazen,
sex addict, submissive slave, celebutante, trapped in a mental ward until Dr.
Elliot Chapman can help her remember why she's there. But once she does, she
might not want to go home to the Master she tried to kill.
EXCERPT
The
club is thick with humanity. The dance floor stinks. The voices are like a bag
of broken glass. The music is a throbbing heartbeat. And the man is gone.
I
put my hands on bare, sweaty skin, pushing through. Amanda finds me, blonde
hair stuck to her forehead, lipstick fading, her bodyguard, Joel, two steps
behind in dark glasses and firearm. She kisses me on the lips. I push her away.
“You
see a guy in a suit? Tall? Hair like this?” I make a motion with my fingers.
“Hot?”
“Hot.”
She
points to the exit with a wink. I smack a kiss on her lips, and continue
pushing through.
She
calls my name as I walk away, but I pretend I don’t hear her. I have a man to
find.
Nothing
like coke to make the impossible seem within reach, or to make it within your
rights to shove, tread upon, growl and curse to get through a crowd just to get
a look at some hot stranger. Nothing like that expansion of the ego to make it
okay to push some squealing teeny bopper out of your way when she screams
“Fiona Drazen! You’re Fiona Drazen!” in your fucking face as if your name alone
is front page fucking news.
Of
course, they wait outside in a cluster, pressing against the red velvet ropes.
Paparazzi don’t care about the weather, which is rainy and cold for Los
Angeles. Lights flash. They call out my name as if I even answer to it any
more. Let them get their pictures. I have him in my sights.
He
hands the valet a tip and takes the keys to a black Range Rover.
He
is a thoroughbred, and there are twenty assholes with cameras between him and
me, which is too bad, because I have to have him.
I
put my knuckles out to them, both middle fingers extended for all it’s worth. I
have rings on top of rings, and I know the lights are going to glint on them
like hell in the pictures. I’m going to look like a flashy rich bitch and the
coke tells me I don’t give a fucking shit what Daddy thinks.
I
turn to the doorman, skinny ex-cop with a pencil moustache. He looks at my
chest, then at my face. I know Irv. He’s a hustler. He keeps these assholes off
us when we’re around, but he takes cash to let them know when Amanda and I show
up.
“Irv!
What the fuck?”
“I
got it,” he says.
“Outta
my way cocksuckers!” I shout, plowing through, with Irv’s help. They back off
for him in a way they’d never do for me. I know they’d chew me up, spit me out,
and photograph me crawling to the hospital.
I
get to the Range Rover and pound on the passenger side window. It’s tinted. The
car doesn’t move and the window stays up. Do I have the right one?
“Fiona
Drazen!”
They’re
behind me, and I’m on the curb, in the drizzle, out of Irv’s field of
influence. If he comes to get me, he’s leaving the door, and that’s not cool.
I
pound on the window again. Bursts of light flash on it.
I’m
about to get mobbed.
“Hey,
asshole,” I shout.
The
window rolls down so slowly I feel as if I’m in a movie about falling.
And
there he is. My heart jumps out of my chest.
“Hi,”
I say, sticking me head in. I can feel them behind me. I can hear them calling
my name, over and over. “You took something of mine outta the bathroom.”
“Really?”
He’s older than I thought, and this makes him more attractive then humanly
possible. “What?”
“My
heart.” It’s a stupid come on, but I’m a girl. I can get away with it.
“Ah.
I thought maybe your shirt buttons.” For the first time, he glances at my
chest, and I feel that my breasts are chilled.
My
shirt is wide open. Fucking Earl with his octopus hands.
“Don’t
make me turn around,” I say. “They already got enough pictures.”
He
takes a second to think about it, looking me straight in the face. A little
smirk plays on the perfect line of his lips and I think I just might die.
*******************************************
Worth
by Shay
Savage
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/ShaySavage7289
TWITTER: @savage7289
An injured
Roman Tribunus finds comfort in the touch of the slave commanded to tend to his
wounds. As a slave, her value is measured as a couple of coins, but as Tribunus
Faustus learns more about her, he begins to understand her true worth.
Still, a
man of his station can never acknowledge feelings for a slave, and she is
already owned by another man.
Excerpt
Aia
squeezed my hand gently before releasing it and moving back to her bench. She
reached for a cloth and dipped it in a bowl of water and then ran the cool
cloth over my forehead and down the side of my face. She continued, apparently
determined to wash whatever remained of the blood of battle away from my flesh.
I
closed my eyes and evened out my breaths as her ministrations lulled me. My
shoulders still ached from the constant position against the bed, but I tried
not to think of the discomfort. When I opened my eyes, I saw Aia looking down
my body and couldn’t help but respond with a smile.
“Do
you still think of it?”
Aia
looked back at me.
“Of
what, Faustus?”
“My
cock pressed against your belly.”
She
looked away, but I could still make out the crimson shade of her cheeks and
neck in the glow of the candles on the table. I wanted to reach out and grab
her hand again, but she was too far away.
“I’m
still in need of distraction,” I reminded her.
“I
think you need sleep,” Aia rebutted. Her lips pressed together, and I was sure
she wanted to comment further, but chose not to do so. I found my eyes drawn to
the front of her dress as she leaned over me, partially exposing one of her
breasts.
Despite
the discomfort, my cock took notice.
“Distract
me,” I commanded again.
“I
think you know everything about my life now, Faustus.”
“Then
distract me another way,” I suggested. I kept my eyes on her, and when she
looked to me, I raised an eyebrow and smiled suggestively.
Aia
turned to drop the cloth in the bowl, and I watched her eyes as she looked down
my body. From my supine position, the state of my cock was becoming noticeable.
Her blush returned, and she looked back to the bowl again. Her hand trembled
slightly as she wrung out the cloth and hung it beside the table.
Reaching
out, I took her wrist and guided her hand to the hard length of my cock.
“How
long will it be,” I asked with lowered voice, “until I can fill you with this?”
The
Erotica Consortium was the brain child of CD Reiss. In December 2013 she asked
JA Huss to help her pull together the hottest erotica writers to start a
private Facebook group that would encourage support in all areas of bookish
things. Members of The Erotica Consortium were personally invited by JA and CD
and the group is complete with six additional authors: Shay Savage, Andrea
Smith, KI Lynn, K Bromberg, Ella James, and Alessandra Torre. BEND is their
first anthology together.
Giveaway
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