Tag Archives: TS Porter

Halloween Microfiction: An Offering to the Forest by TS Porter

“An Offering to the Forest”
by TS Porter

The dryads survived.

Humanity came, with fire and axes, smoke-belching machines ever larger, and chemicals increasingly caustic, but the dryads survived. The great forests were felled, the fae retreated, and many gods died, but the dryads remained. They learned new words for fear—clearcut, feller-buncher, defoliant—but they never faltered.

Continue reading Halloween Microfiction: An Offering to the Forest by TS Porter

NEW BOOK: Like a Spell: Earth edited by Jennifer Levine

$2.99 ebook
ISBN: 9781613901632
85 Pages

Formats :

Also available on:
Amazon | Apple iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Google Play | Kobo

The magic of love between women ties Like a Spell: Earth together. Four scorching stories of magical erotica.

For the Like a Spell anthology project, we asked writers to challenge the traditional tropes and send us something new—original stories of magic users, interesting twists on the typical sorcerers and mages. The response was overwhelming and exciting, and we decided to publish four separate anthologies, using the theme of classical elements (earth, air, fire, and water) as the focus for each collection.

For the earth anthology, we’ve focused on stories portraying the love between women. When we thought earth, we thought of the Greek goddess Gaia and the Indian goddess Prithvi; we thought of the ubiquitous “Mother Earth” or “Mother Nature”; above all, we thought of fertility and life.

In “Here I Love,” TS Porter explores the dynamic between a hedgewitch and a wizard. All Primrose and Dulcamara want is to open their own witch’s supply shop—together, even if their kinds typically despise each other—and they embrace their differences in order to do so. But in order to make sure it’s ready for business, there’s one more step needed to make the space their own.

In “Water and Air,” Janelle Reston shows us an ordinary young woman, Miranda, who is resentful of the magic that runs in her family but that seems to have skipped her. But when Miranda meets a young water witch, she begins to learn more about herself as well. And if she gets to sleep with the pretty witch in the process, well, so much the better.

Michael M. Jones takes us back to school frustrations in “The Hateful Chime.” Olivia is a hard-working graduate student who prides herself on doing well in class, but she just can’t seem to get the hang of Freeform Magical Techniques. A classmate’s offer to help her study—and a theory about what’s blocking Olivia’s improvisational skills—is too intriguing to pass up.

Finally, in “Amplitude,” Rae MacGregor shows us that some non-magical people can be desperately curious to see real magic up close. Callie is a physics student and a regular at a local coffee shop, where a new barista has caught her attention in more than one way. One thing leads to another, and soon Callie is offering herself as a guinea pig to test the barista’s magic.

Like a Spell: Earth
The magic of love between women ties Like a Spell: Earth together. Four scorching stories of magical erotica.

The first volume of our Like a Spell anthology series focuses on lesbian encounters between magic users. When we thought earth, we thought of the Greek goddess Gaia and the Indian goddess Prithvi; we thought of the ubiquitous "Mother Earth" or "Mother Nature"; above all, we thought of fertility and life.

New book! MakerSex: Erotic Stories of Geeks, Hackers, and DIY Culture

Ebook Price: $3.99
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61390-158-8
31,270 words

Formats :

 

The ebook edition of this title is also available at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Kobo, AllRomanceEbooks, and the iBookstore and Google Play store.

Warning: May void the warranty on a stale sex life.

The punks and rebels of Maker culture have arrived to take sex apart and rewire it into thrilling new forms. They know that skill is sexy. They know the heady power of taking things apart just to see the insides. They know how to get what they want.

Whether building makeshift spacecrafts to fly into unknown astronomical phenomena or staying closer to home and breaking orgasm into programmable parts, these characters tamper when they’re not supposed to, kiss plastic, and involve soldering irons in their foreplay. In the process, they fight corruption, choose who and how to love, and create erotic possibilities both playful and profound.

Edited by Annabeth Leong, and featuring stories by Lillian Marguerite, Renata Piper, Moxie Marcus, TS Porter, Eric Del Carlo, and Kelly Rose Pflug-Back.

For a hot excerpt, keep reading below!

Continue reading New book! MakerSex: Erotic Stories of Geeks, Hackers, and DIY Culture

Microfiction: A Pair of Snakes by TS Porter

The Gorgon is blindfolded when I arrive at the hotel room.

She is always blindfolded and bare, sitting patiently at the end of the bed. She does not move as the dry rasp of my scales across the doorway fills the room, until all of my long tail is inside. The door closes with a click. The Gorgon maintains her composure, as if she has not heard, but her hair is not under her voluntary control. Her snakes weave and tangle, wild in their excitement.

I slither closer, and her breath catches slightly when I check the blindfold, fingers brushing her cheeks and the back of her neck as I do. If the blindfold comes undone I’m dead, but it never slips. She has tied it as firmly as ever. Her snakes wrap around my arms, holding me close, and I smile as I untangle myself.

“Gorgon,” I whisper, caressing the edge of her jaw to tilt her little face up toward me.

“Lamia,” she whispers in answer, and I delicately trace the edges of her soft lips with my fingertip. We have no names to each other. We are merely a gorgon and a lamia, chance met and joined for pleasure.

The bed – always at least king sized, and even that nearly not enough for all of me – creaks and groans under my weight as I climb onto it. I wrap a turn of my tail around the Gorgon’s slender body, squeezing slightly, and she shivers despite the heat of the room. We’re each of us enough snake to hate any chill. I take my time, stroking her back and sides, her throat, her thighs and belly and finally the perky little breasts that adorn her chest. Her nipples are already pebbled up tight; her spine arches and she moans as I pinch them, one and then the other. The first sound of the evening. The first of many.

The Gorgon is drenched slick already when I slide the tip of my tail between her legs. I could fuck her with it, she opens her legs wider to encourage me, but not today I think. I rub against her sex, teasing at the wet heat of her with smooth scales, before moving on. I slither around and around her, loving the softness of her skin and teasing at her pleasures in passing. I move her where I like, her body tiny and helpless against my strength. Finally, when she is panting and whining in her throat, I wrap her up, coiling around and restraining her. It pushes the limits of my flexibility, but I hold her with her hands restrained behind her back, her legs spread wide and my head between them.

My tongue flicks, scenting her tart musk and arousal. The Gorgon trembles when my tongue brushes her.

“Please,” she begs, her snakes twisting and squirming in anticipation as she cannot. “Oh, please…”

For such sweet begging I cannot deny her. I lash the thin tips of my tongue across her tender sex twice more, making her body jolt, before I press in to tend to her pleasure. Her clit is swollen firm beneath my lips and tongue, her flavor creamy and rich in my mouth. My hands are free, and I stroke them over her body, feel her straining muscles and again find her nipples. I pluck them in time with the swirl and flick of my tongue on her clit. Her entire body strains against my unrelenting grip, crying out as her first orgasm takes her. The second takes longer. I suck her clit, lash it hard with the tip of my tongue, and finally wring it out of her. Her body bucks and twists, trying to escape and get more at the same time, before she collapses against my coils that support even as they restrain, nearly sobbing in relief.

I give her no time to recover before I unhinge my jaw and slide my tongue all the way into her waiting sex. My sharp teeth scrape lightly against her lower belly, the tender crease of her thigh, and the soft muscles of her ass. The Gorgon gasps as much from the implied danger as the twisting of my tongue inside her. I have crushed and devoured larger than her – but then she has petrified greater than I.

My tongue undulates inside her, finding the perfect places within her to press and tap and rub. Her moans are deeper now, her voice growing hoarse with prolonged pleasure. Her thighs shake and she squirms as much as my grip and teeth will allow her, fucking herself on my tongue. The creamy slick of her pleasure drips into my waiting mouth as I give her a third and – for today – final orgasm.

I unwrap the Gorgon as I rehinge my jaw. I can feel the pattering of her heart when I lay her on top of me; the little trembles passing through her as I stroke her back.

“Oh, Lamia…” the Gorgon breathes, nuzzling her face into my breast as she cuddles against the round softness of my belly. Her snakes rub against my chest, peppering my breasts with dry snaky kisses. Another time I might ball around her to seek my own pleasure rubbed against her skin, but fall is not my season. It is enough for me now to see hers. The Gorgon knows this, and does not press. I hold her for a time, until she has recovered.

The Gorgon and I always part with a kiss, her hot little lips soft against my own and her snakes caressing my cheeks. Then I leave so she can remove her blindfold. I will be nothing but sensation and memory to her until next we choose to meet for pleasure.

TS Porter may or may not be a collection of knobbly twigs animated by ancient magics and cleverly disguised as a human by the use of glasses and an oversized hoodie. They have sold stories to several upcoming Circlet anthologies, and have a smutty novella with LT3 due out in December and available for preorders now! TS can be found online at ts-porter.tumblr.com.

Microfiction: Fallen Leaves by TS Porter

And since you were good enough to enjoy our deliciously sexy trick, please, have this treat to see you off into the night. Don’t worry about the things in the yard and the things in the trees and the things that go bump in the night–not every nocturnal sound is a scary one, after all!

TS Porter is a talented newcomer who thought it would fun to slip this into the mailbox, and again, we forgot to get a bio before they vanished…but I can tell you that a piece by this author will appear in the forthcoming Like a Haunted Trail sometime next year.

Happy Halloween, Spooky Samhain, and so on and so forth to all!

Fallen Leaves by TS Porter

They lived for that one night every year – not that either of them were alive, anymore. The days turned crisp and cool, the trees erupted with a riot of reds and golds. Summer died on the cold teeth of winter, and for just a single night the lines between the spirit world and the physical world blurred completely away.

Eliza could feel it in the house as October lengthened. Increasingly she felt a prickling at the back of her neck, as though she were being watched. Things moved in the house, not where she’d left them. Doors opened and closed on their own, and quiet footsteps echoed across empty floors. Occasionally she felt the ghostly touch of fingers on her arm, her cheek, brushing across the back of her neck. It was an old house, Eliza had built it for her love centuries before. There had obviously been renovations since then, but at its core it was a very old house. It would be easy to blame it all on a draft, on the settling of an old building as it adjusted to the cold of winter. She knew better.

Eliza dreamed full lips against her own, the softest golden skin in broad curves under her hands – rubbing her face against plump breasts and running her fingers through long dark hair. She dreamed endless kissing, caressing touches all over her body. She yielded eagerly to insistently probing fingers that entered her, stroked and filled and brought her to the peak of pleasure. She dreamed the heat of a pulse shuddering under her teeth and the intoxicating sweetness of her love’s blood on her tongue. No one else tasted so good.

She woke in the evening with a second depression on the bed beside her and ran her cold fingertips across the silk sheets, feeling the ghost warmth with a smile.

It was like this every year as the walls between them began to fall away. Eliza purchased the latest fashion magazines and left them in a neat stack on the coffee table. Over the next days she found them other places around the house – as though someone had been paging through one curled up in the window seat overlooking the night garden, or lounging across the bed, or on the couch by the fire.

Eliza sometimes caught a glimpse of a raven haired woman in a red dress as she walked through the house, just a hint from the corner of her eye, but whenever she looked back there was nothing. Just mirrors that reflected an empty house back through her.

The month wore itself to a close, vivid dying leaves fell from the trees, and finally it was time. Eliza brought up a bottle of rich red wine from the cellar, a good year from a wonderful vineyard that tasted like home. She let it breathe while she dressed herself in the very best of her clothes.

She sat by the fire and poured the wine as the sun set, the welcome dark of this one night settling in. Eliza could feel the change in the air, a presence when her love could finally join her. Lightly glowing fingers wrapped around the stem of one of the wine glasses, and Eliza finally looked up to see her love seated on the other end of the couch.

Rosabel was every bit as gorgeous as she’d ever been in life. She wore a very modern slinky red dress with a slit up to the thigh, but her long black hair she still wore in a crown atop her head, bound in ribbons. She moaned as she sipped the wine, a happy hum with ruby drops on her soft lips.

Rosabel’s warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile as she set the glass aside.

“My love,” she greeted, reaching toward Eliza. Eliza took Rosabel’s hand in hers. It was warm and her skin was smooth, so very much like how she’d felt in life.

“Eliza?” the ghost asked, reaching up to softly wipe away a tear from Eliza’s cheek.

“It’s just been a long year,” Eliza shook her head. “I missed you.”

“No, dolcezza…” Rosabel crooned, tugging on her hand, and Eliza couldn’t hold back any longer. She fell into her love’s arms, holding as close and tight as she could. “I know, I know,” Rosabel soothed, gentle fingers stroking through Eliza’s hair. “I’m here now. I’m here.”

Eliza leaned up to kiss the smoky wine from Rosabel’s perfect lips, her own glass forgotten. There would be time for wine later. There would be time for talking, to tell the most important of everything that was new. There would be time for dancing, Eliza had new music of their old dances to share. There would be time to make love. Eliza would have the chance to worship Rosabel’s body, to feel and taste and brand her love into her memory for another year.

They lived for this one night every year – neither of them alive, but each eternal in their own way. They were nothing but bright leaves fallen from the tree – but did not leaves dance as they fell?

They would dance as long as they might.