Micro Fiction Monday : Yeah, I'm a coffee-porn addict

You heard right. Another bite-sized bit of smut devoted to coffee. 

Double-double was published last night at Every Night Erotica, which means that it's the featured story until a new one comes on tonight!

Here's a little teaser:

Anyone who’s lived in a small town in the Maritimes will tell you that in order to get all of the most recent dirt on the local residents, you need look no further than the nearest Tim Horton’s. Since Eric had lived in most of them, he knew the score. Today’s topic of discussion—and the reason that he was here—was Melissa Thornton.
He was careful to prop a free trader rag in front of him while he nursed his double-double and honey cruller, hoping that to anyone casually looking his way, he appeared to be minding his own business. instead of actively eavesdropping on any bit of gossip the locals were willing to provide on the woman. While they proposed the scenarios, his imagination was free to fill in the much-wanted details.
“All’s I’m saying is that there’s a reason she never comes to the church breakfasts and bake sales. She’s too busy getting sugar from her flavour of the week!”
Forced chuckles recognized the weak pun.
“You guys remember last March, when she was having her living room redone? The painter’s van parked right there at the bottom of her driveway—didn’t even try to hide that he was there three days, and never went home at night. I think the reason she gets all her work brought in from the city is that she hires them from an escort service!”
“Do escorts do housework? I think I want one, too!”
Eric thought of naked, paint covered bodies rolling around together on the tarp-covered floor of Melissa’s living room and the chatter around him faded to unintelligible noise.
read the rest of the story here

MicroFiction Monday: exceprt from a WIP

Hey guys. So I have been writing like a maniac this week. Unfortunately, none of it is a microfic. I don't want to deprive you of the secksy, though, so here's a snippet from one of my WIPs. (WIPes? WsIP?)

Anyway, here it is, enjoy!

Kris leaped back to the couch, and knelt on the cushions, straddling Anne’s lap. She reached forward, and cupped the smaller woman’s face with both hands, murmuring against her lips between soft, loving kisses.

“I don’t care. I haven’t seen you in three weeks and I missed you. So I want my baby, and I want her now.”

Anne moaned and arched up as high as Kris would allow her, sinking her hands into her lover’s short hair, and managing to say, somewhere in between desperate, hungry kisses:

“Mmm... say that again.” She pulled herself up so that her own much larger tits were crushed up against Kris’ perfectly hand-sized firmer ones. She moaned and sighed into the kisses, each time her nipples rubbed against her lover’s chest sent ripples of electric pleasure right to her cunt. She suddenly wished that all those layers of clothes weren’t in between them, but she was too horny to pull away from Kris’ kisses and fondlings to get undressed yet.

Kris slid her hands in between their close packed bodies to cup her lover’s breasts with her hands, tracing teasingly light circles on her nipples with her thumbs. Pulling away from Anne’s mouth, she ran her tongue along her jawline to her earlobe, tugging it in between her teeth, nibbling and sucking on it, breathing out the words in between nibbles.

“I.” She trapped her lover’s nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling them, and rubbing them against the rough fabric of her blouse. Anne arched her back and moaned in appreciation.

“Want.” She thrust her hips, pinning Anne’s ass to the very back of the couch, grinding her crotch against her lover’s, humping her fully clothed. Anne’s grip tightened in Kris’ hair, moaning and sighing in between shuddering gasps for breath.

“You.” She bit down hard on Anne’s earlobe, in just the way that always drove her wild, picking up the pace of her thrusting and grinding against the redhead’s hips. Anne cried out loudly as teeth dug sharply into the soft flesh of her ear, stifling the loud noise halfway through with a gasp and a shudder. She’d have to be more careful: they were still in an open building on a school night. It was getting to be very hard, though, if she had to wait much longer to be properly fucked, she’d wind up coming anyway.

“Now.” She let go of one of Anne’s nipples, and used the free hand against the couch back to propel herself backward, landing on the floor, on her knees before her lover. Her free hand ran up Anne’s thigh, under her skirt, until her thumb ran along her crotch, sliding slickly along the thin strip of her very, very wet panties.

MicroFiction Monday: Special Coming Out Day Edition!

Today's MicroFiction Monday is double-dedicated!

Once in honour of Coming Out Day and once to the FABULOUS swties, who entered my contest not once, but TWICE! This is the result of her second entry. Just a reminder that the contest has been extended indefinitely, so if you have a list of three things that you'd just LOVE to see in an erotic microfiction, post them here and one Monday soon, you will!

And so, without further ado: 

A Spoon, a Knife and a Fork

I was asking too much of her, too soon, I knew. Honestly, I shouldn't have brought it up at all, but it seemed like she was at a crucial fork in the road of her life. I worried that if I didn't show her that I was willing to go with her down whichever path she chose, she might make a choice out of fear of losing me, instead of what was best for her. I wanted her to be able to say no, and have me right here to hold her and love her and tell her that was alright. That's exactly what happened, too.

My one. My love. She looked so perfect sitting there on her knees at my feet, wearing nothing but the double-linked sterling silver chain that I had put on her. The padlock that could keep it locked there forever had been open on my palm until she made her decision and wrapped her hands around mine, closing it away again, for now. I could feel a tremble in her hands when she released mine and moved to undo the clasp of the chain at the back of her neck.

“Not yet,” I whispered. “We still have an hour together before we both have to get ready to go to work, wear it for me until then.”

She looked surprised, and then relieved as it sunk in. This wasn't an all-or-nothing ultimatum, how could it be? I'd rather lose an arm than lose being able to be close to this part of her. This was an offer, and nothing more. I pulled her up onto the bed with me, and wrapped her up in my arms, spooning her. Holding her like this, skin against skin, with my bare breasts crushed soothingly against the creamy smoothness of her naked back, everything felt right with the world. If we weren't both so keyed up, we might have dozed off and wound up being very, very late for work. As it was, the hour passed by far too quickly. When I nudged her to show her the time, she sighed with the regret that I felt.

“I don't want to take it off,” she murmured into the pillow. She had interlaced the fingers of her left hand with mine and held them far enough away from us so that she could better admire the matching white gold of our wedding bands. I was struck yet again at how lucky I was that someone as amazing as she was would agree to marry me in the first place.

“Yes, you do.” I regretted saying it, but it was true.

“Okay, I do, or at least I need to. But I also don't.”

“I know, love. It's okay, I understand. There's coming out and then there's coming out. Being gay almost makes us social celebrities in the circles we travel. Being leather and gay might just make us pariahs. I won't push you, I just needed you to know that I will be here, and waiting, with the offer still standing when you're ready to take that step. I have something for you.”

I nudged her until she let me up, and pulled open the bedside drawer where I'd hidden the pendant I'd made her. It was shaped as a lower-case lambda.

“It's the blade from the first cutting I ever did on you. I melted it down while it still had a drop of your blood on it. This, you can wear when you can't wear the chain, as a reminder that the lock will always stay with me, and belong to you, until you choose to have it locked on your throat. I love you Sarah. I love the beauty of your submission to me, and I will never, ever ask you not to give it to me, for as long as you choose to.”

She cried, and I joined her. We kissed, and I was walking on clouds. I was the luckiest woman in the world. We came out as a couple on this day two years ago. Last year, on the same day, we were married. Maybe, a year from now, we will come out as something even more, but not today. Today, we will just celebrate our luck, and our joy.

EBook Review: Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 1

Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 1 is the first 40 chapters of an enormous body of work by the same name that has been released regularly now as a web serial at http://daron.ceciliatan.com. I confess to being a less than religious reader of the serial there. Daron was just the right age on 1986 to have been an older sibling or cousin of mine, the kind whose room I would sneak into at night to steal his cassettes and dub them so that I could listen to whatever he thought was cool and be just like him.

I love getting the whole immersive experience, so I will occasionally take a break from my regular reading or writing and take in a whole chunk of chapters at once, being sure to click on all the youtube links so that I can be musically transported back to the 80s of my tweendom while I read. When I saw that they first 40 were available in ebook format (and for FREE too!) I just HAD to have a copy, but found myself missing the accompaniment. (Each chapter is the title of the song, and in the web serial there is a Youtube link to them. This is obviously not the case for the ebook!)

I found a way to fix that problem, though. See, I put all those chapter titles in a playlist, so that I could timetravel back to the 80s while I watch it unfold in the story. You can't honestly tell me you're surprised at this.

Ebook Review: Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 1

The strength of Cecilia Tan's fiction has always been her characters. She can write delightfully wicked villains that you can't help but love to hate. She can pen a cad with the best of them. But in my opinion, she shines the brightest when her she writes a character who is simply heartwrenchingly sweet, especially when that character seems to hope beyond hope that this wasn't true of them.

The protagonist of this story is one of those characters. Rock guitarists are supposed to be thick-skinned and effortlessly charming cads. Daron isn't this at all: Daron is...well, he's real. It's 1986 and Daron isn't even 20 yet and he's already well on his way to being a future rock god. Unfortunately instead of being a womanizing sweet-talker he's an averagely awkward 19-year old who just happens to be gay (even though he can't even bring himself to say the word.) He doesn't know anything yet about who he really is, or what he needs in a partner, or even if he wants a partner at all. All he knows is that in his business “faggy,” “queer,” and “gay” are the most viciously insulting words there are.

There is a fantastic scene early on the in the book in which Daron is walking around the East Village in NYC with Carynne, a girl his age who is desperately trying to sleep with him while he is desperately trying to come up with excuses not to without confessing that he's gay:

***I kept my own eyes ahead, trying not to stare at the graffiti splashed across the steps ("Queer By Choice") trying not to hear the conversation of the two men coming the other way, trying to shut it all out. My hands felt damp as they brushed against my jeans. Everything here was a signal, a secret handshake, a subliminal image, and I wondered how long it would take Carynne to see right through me. What would I do that would give myself away? Even I had no way of knowing.***

The author does a fantastic job throughout the book of generating empathy for her lead character without provoking pity. We as readers can feel his hurt and his confusion, and share his victories and regrets. Being gay is an integral part of who Daron is, but Ms Tan doesn't fall into the trap of allowing his sexuality to become his identity entire. He is a well-rounded sympathetic and delightful character in a charming, at times poignantly sad but always engaging book. Rock on, Daron, rock on!

Rating: 5/5 Happy Rainbow Flags!

Book Review: Bad Ass

I must begin by planting my tongue firmly in my cheek and saying that someone made a giant grammatical error in the book's title by placing a space between 'Bad' and 'Ass.' This book may be all about asses but they are beautiful, hot, sexy, wonderful to play with and fuck asses, but there's nothing bad about them. If, however, the authors in the anthology meant to name their collection "Badass," well, I'd have no qualms about that one. The authors—and their sexy stories of anal play—definitely fit that bill.

When reading a collection of anal sex short stories, you go in with certain expectations. You expect something sexy, a little bit dirty, and probably expect to find something a little rawer, maybe more aggressive and naughtier than your standard “straight sex” or even oral sex anthology. What you don't tend to expect (or at least, I didn't) is a set of stories that are sharp, smart, sensitive, sometimes silly, that explore the power that people can and do have over one another when they begin any kind of sexual relationship, and that challenges societal gender norms. Whew! It must be that beautiful rolling Ssss at the end of “Bad Ass..ss” that has got me in such a sibilant mood.

Perhaps if I were feeling sssmarter this morning, looking at the list of contributing authors might have given me a hint that I was in for more than just your average plotless whackoff book. There are five beautiful, intelligently written stories in this collection, and since I loved each one of them for different reasons, I just have to give each one its due.

I don't know why, but I have a soft spot for melancholy in my smut. Maybe because it allows for such dramatic contrast when the sexual energy comes into full swing. That's certainly the case for Kristina Lloyd's bittersweet piece, Dark Side of the Moon. This is the first story of Lloyd's that I've had the pleasure of reading ,and she's definitely now on my “to read” list. Dark Side of the Moon takes the concept of a lifelong partnership drifted apart and treats it with sensitivity, intelligence, and lots and lots of heart. Fans of hot sex scenes don't fret, though because where sweet and melancholy reign early on in the tale, the lack of steamy anally inspired sexiness is made up for by the end, I promise!

DISCLAIMER: Do not read Alison Tyler's Pegged while in your office, or your kitchen, study, sewing room, or garage. You might want to consider steering clear of doorknobs, rounded handles, pegboards, large utensils and small bottles, too. Trust me on this, you'll end up perverting half your hardware and being distractedly horny in those rooms for a long while afterward. Pegged maintains a frantically lustful pace throughout the whole story, and by the end of it, you might just be asking your copy of this story “was it good for you, too?” My book answered 'yes' to me, and the last line, which I will not repeat here so as not to give anything away, had me grinning like a hyena. Pegged is definitely making it to my 'I need to get turned on in a hurry' re-reading list.

Didn't every bi and straight woman at one point in her life dream of snagging herself a hot, macho yet sensitive at the same time cowboy? The girl who's got Jax Baynard's Night at the Rodeo star in her sights has certainly decided that she wants one right this second, for hot n dirty out in the back alley butt sex right this minute! She's not exactly the type of arm candy that big macho guys tend to want to be seen with though, and our hero certainly proves his sensitive side by being able to say 'fuck it' to what other people might say about her, and 'yes, yes, hell yes!' to what their mutual lust tells them they want to do to each other instead. Lucky readers, because that means we get to voyeuristically enjoy the whole sexy, sexy show. And boy is it hot. One thumb up, but only because the other hand is um.... busy right now. A second, exhausted thumb up will come later, I promise.

Power play and lots of delicious, well-written and hot as hell anal sex. Win-win, in my book. Sophia Valenti's Power Plays had me purring from beginning to end (and possibly drooling a bit, too.) It also reminded me how much fun it can be to have two equally strong and naturally dominant characters rolling in the hay together, so to speak. Hot, hot, hot!

Sommer Marsden is a woman after my own heart. I don't know who let her in on my fetish for storytelling as a sex toy, but it still wasn't fair for her to use it so openly, thus guaranteeing that I would be incapable of disliking her story. Not that I think I would anyway, since like I said, a hint of melancholy for some reason makes porn attractive to me. I generally don't associate 'anal sex smut' with sweet, sensitive, gentle and loving, but Sommer pulls it off beautifully. I fell in love for her characters in this story, and found myself cheering them on the whole way through. Admittedly, this story turned my heart on more than it did my naughty bits, but that was okay too, because my hand was pretty tired by the time I got to story five.

Bumping Up the Contest!

For the sake of some fantastic new readers (thank you thank you thank you for reading!) I am bumping my microfiction contest, and calling for more submissions. On those Mondays when I don't have a new microfiction being posted on an affiliate site (like Trollop with a Laptop and Circlet) I will be combing the below comments for ideas that strike my fancy, and then dedicating a MFM piece to you, my amazing, fantastic, and delightful readers! If you haven't entered yet, and would like to, the details are below. If you have, and I haven't written yours yet, not to worry, I will eventually! And if you *have* entered and had your story written and dedicated to you, there is no reason that you couldn't submit another idea, if the fancy strikes you!  I can't wait to see what you all come up with!

Hugs and virtual love to you all,

-Mad




I was lurking around Circlet Press' lovely Livejournal today, because it's always a fun place to waste some time. They host the occasional author chat with their published authors. This week's featured author is Kal Cobalt who I hadn't previously heard of, but appears to be full of much awesomeness.

During the author chat, Kal's set up a contest, and asked for readers to submit a list of 3 things that they'd like to see in a story. The winner gets a story written with those things in it, cool eh?

This is a game that I LOVE to play as a writer, so I thought I'd see what happened if I posted the same type of offer. (apologies, and many thanks, Kal!)

So here it is: anyone who posts a comment here with three things (as specific or arbitrary as you like) that they would like to see in a story has a chance to see those ideas put to fiction in an upcoming Microfiction Monday!

Microfiction Monday : For Fulani

In April, I posted a contest that promised the winner(s) a MFM entry based on their list of three things they'd like to see me put into a short story. Now that MFMs are back after such a long break (shame, shame, Mad!) I am finally going to make good on my promise.

Winner number one is the marvelous Fulani who, despite the unfortunate use of a Whartenburg wheel and a feather for an avatar (two of the most despicable things to ever have stumbled upon creation) is a kinky smutter of no small talent for Excite and Pink Flamingo. Really, you should check it out!

This entry actually inspired a 7000-word paranormal D/s story that I just finished. The MFM story below is purely fictional wishful thinking on my part about its first beta reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Raw Onion, A Book, and a Green and Purple Dream

Kel got the spanish onion from the freezer. On top of being a fantastic practice dummy for all my rope bondage inventions, she was a font of such wisdoms as “freeze an onion for thirty minutes and it won't make you cry.” I, on the other hand, stick to only one wisdom—surrounding myself with friends who can make me look smart so I don't actually have to be.

Sure enough, the onion was sliced tearlessly. I was supposed to be re-braiding Kel's waist piece, but mostly I was watching her dance around the kitchen as she prepared our lunch. She was wearing the black leotard she always wore to my “brainstorming over her body” sessions, and shiny white nylon rope was still coiled around her wrists and ankles, and crisscrossed over her black spandex-shrouded torso. Gift wrapped. The problem with working with such a delicious-looking practice partner was that I always wanted to unwrap and play with her before we were done.

There was a twirl, a wiggle, a flourish and a mandatory moment of me cheering and applauding as her lunch creation was revealed. Despite the fact that the accolades were for her performance and not the food, lunch was pretty fabulous. She'd taken ground turkey, feta cheese, kalmata olives and spices and turned them into burger art. Served on a ciabatta bun with thick onion slices, spinach leaves and—because I'm only capable of straying so far from familiarity—ketchup, they were beyond a doubt the tastiest burgers I'd ever tasted.

Kel snatched the file folder from the table in between our place settings with an excited “ooooh, is this it?”

I answered with a glare and pointed at my mouth which was full of burgery goodness. She took the hint and started to read the first few pages of the story to herself.

Yet another of Kel's sundry talents was that she was a phenomenal beta reader—she had a perfectionist's eye for typos and grammatical errors, and always knew how to couch the more...constructive...criticisms with encouraging praise. When she volunteered to help me copyedit my short stories, I promised her that the tenth one she read would have a protagonist based on her. This was story number ten, and all she knew about it was that “her” character's name was Colleen, and that she was somehow supernatural.

She was on page four by the time I'd finished lunch.

“Okay, I have to know: this cool superpower I have in the dream sequence, the one that lets me sense people's emotions as colours and, you know, taste them and stuff—do I get to keep that when I wake up?”

I grinned. “Forever and ever, bay-bee.”

“Neat. So, this guy here, he's all purple. What does that mean?”

“Purple's spite. Tastes like slightly fermented plums.”

“Ah. And green is envy, I suppose?”

“Please. Give me credit for not being that cliché. I didn't actually use green, but in my mind it's not envy, it's hope. Probably tastes like pesto or something.”

“You and your worlds you create. I bet you've got a whole mental rainbow catalogue of colour and flavour combinations that don't appear anywhere in your story.”

I held up my hands in self-defense. “I plead the whatever-it-is we have instead of a fifth amendment.” Stupid Law and Order ensuring that the entire Canadian population know more about American law than our own.

“Alright, fine. If you won't answer that one at least tell me what my character is, for crying out loud! I'm on page five and you still haven't revealed it. Is she a psionic, a robot, a witch, a vampire, what?”

“Nope, none of those.”

I stretched out the pause with a grin. “She's a were-coyote.”

“A were-coyote?”

Kel paused to give that adequate consideration, then she nodded.

“Sexy. I like it!”

I fucking love my friends.

Yup. Pimpin out my blog for free swag....

...but it's free paranormally smutty swag for you, so that should buy me a pass, right? The contest linked at the bottom of this page is giving a way a yoooge stack of free stuff. I eat through books at a crazyfast rate. If you do too, why not see if you can add a new author to your favourites by maybe getting a free book of theirs to try out? I mean, it's free, right?


Win a copy of A Safe Harbor by Moira Rogers!
Find out how it all began...
During the bite of the Great Depression, sole female dominant Joan Fuller struggles against the rise of cruelty among her alpha counterparts. The men tolerate her interference--until she breaks from the pack and allies with a witch and a vampire. Now the Boston alpha intends to bring them all forcibly back into the fold--and teach her a lesson she may not survive.
Seamus Whelan and his werewolf bootleggers intend to retire from smuggling and savor their fortune, but first they must do a favor for an old friend: escort some female wolves to safety. An easy job, if their leader wasn't a prim ex-debutante with enough power to challenge Seamus himself. Chance makes them allies; powerful need makes them lovers.
Together, they have the opportunity to build a sanctuary for their kind, but first they must free themselves from Joan's past, and the powerful man who would see her destroyed.

If you, too like things that are free, and wanna win a digital copy of A Safe Harbor, leave a comment here and next Monday, right before the next microfiction installment, I'll draw a winner at random and poof, you're one book richer! (and yes, books are a valid form of wealth. They are!)

This contest is a part of Moira Rogers' & Vivian Arend's Fall Frenzy Event. For your chance to win books, gift certificates, ereaders and more, visit http://www.moirarogers.com/contests/

Eeee! A REVIEW!

Okay, I admit it. I'm vain. In an effort to find something that I'd lost into the vast unknown of cyberspace, I googled myself, and then I found I just couldn't stop looking. During this moment of extreme narcissism, I stumbled upon this snippet of review by Tori Rebel for my story in Please, Ma`am:

"Mr. February" by Madeline Elayne is by far the most endearing and romantic story in the book, which is a nice change in an erotica compilation, especially that in the D/s genre. It tells the story of the All-American guy-next-door husband who discovers his submissive self and though afraid, presents his desires to his loving wife, expecting the worst, but he is pleasantly surprised.

It seems I enjoy hearing nice words said about what I write even more than nice words about me!

 I'm all grinny now, hee. The rest of the review is here

And of course the book (which really does rock, by the way. The stories in it are delicious!) is available here:

Please, Ma`am

Ebook Review: The Lord of Misrule, by Kannan Feng

Ebook Review: The Lord of Misrule by Kannan Feng

I feel I must start with a disclaimer. I began reading this book with a very strong bias toward liking it before I even cracked its virtual cover. Not because I already knew that I liked Kannan's writing style (though this is true), or because I had already read and enjoyed the short story that became the basis for the novella (also true.) I was biased toward this book because it's my kink on the pages. Despite obvious anatomical incongruities between me and the protagonists, I'm most deeply attracted to pairings (or multiplings) on the queerer end of the spectrum, and a blend of sadomasochism and power play blended with a nice, sharp edge of pushing and seeking for intangible limits pushes ALL my buttons. So needless to say, this novella turned me on, and isn't that the holy grail of erotica? Honestly, though, I really couldn't say how someone whose tastes were more contrary might view it.

I found Lord of Misrule delightful. Rich, privileged and brilliant scholar Verity is the type of character that you can cheer to see taken down a notch or seven with no misgivings, and the choice of his servant—cool, unreadable and ever-so-proper Iskander—as the one to bring on the taking down brings about many opportunities (well taken, I might add) to play with the more interesting aspects of power exchange as a sexual mechanism.

The relationship between the two of them is in a constant state of flux that appeals to me greatly. Verity struggles with the fact that his wants and needs when it comes to Iskander are contrary to his normal role in a relationship, and the intensity of his feelings for him are often on the edge of becoming just too overwhelming to handle. I'm happy to say that he does manage to eventually crack that implacable shell of Iskander's. Once or twice, a little bit, at least. The emotional honesty with which the characters are written, especially Verity's struggles, allow the reader to identify with, and even like, a character who has more than a few flaws.

I found the writing style flowing, easy to follow, and paced at such a rate that I wanted to keep turning e-reader-pages until I'd run out. As is the case with many e-books, especially in the erotica genre, there seems to be a slightly higher concentration of copyediting errors than their paper counterparts, but it passes the litmus test that I use to measure such errors with ease: never did I find myself being wrenched out of the book, or otherwise unpleasantly distracted by their occasional blips.

A solid 4.5 stars (or erect nipples, if you prefer.)

Highly recommended to anyone whose idea of good smut involves a bit of the queer and kinky.