All proceeds from A.R. Morlan’s erotica to go to Catkins Animal Rescue

As some of you know from the news that rocketed around the sf/f writing community in January, longtime Circlet Press author Renee M. Charles, who was well known within all the sf/f small presses as A.R. Morlan, committed suicide. I wrote a remembrance of her upon hearing of her death (read it here: https://www.circlet.com/?p=2001) and we made her books free to download for the past three months as a way to keep her memory alive.

At this point we’re putting them back to regular sale, although I’ll keep the price discounted from $5.99 to $2.99, and I’ve been in touch with a no-kill cat and animal rescue organization in Wisconsin to become the recipients of all future royalties: Catkins Animal Rescue. We chose Catkins as the beneficiary because A.R. truly loved her cats as her family and only a no-kill shelter would have received her approval.

The two books are for sale on all regular ebook retail channels as well here on Circlet.com, so please purchase them on whichever site you prefer. And thank you for keeping the lushly wild imagination of A.R. Morlan alive.

Read an excerpt from Cinnamon Roses: https://www.circlet.com/?page_id=338 or purchase from Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Kobo, Amazon, or AllRomanceEbooks.

Read an excerpt from Shades of Pleasure: https://www.circlet.com/?page_id=245 or purchase from Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, or Kobo, Amazon. Continue reading All proceeds from A.R. Morlan’s erotica to go to Catkins Animal Rescue

Microfiction: Alive by Andrea Trask

The way stasis is supposed to work, as we had always been led to understand it, is that we are in something akin to sleep – suspended animation, a stillness of our bodies and probably of our minds as well, preserving us across the long maddening reaches of the dark until the ship’s nearly interminable journey, finally, terminated.

Somehow, it had not quite worked out that way. We could be kept asleep, certainly, the clever machines exercising our limbs with deft electrical impulses enlivening our muscles to prevent the otherwise inevitable atrophy. But while our minds built their own playgrounds, recombining books, movies, memories into imagined new worlds, our bodies continued to age. It became, eventually, quite clear that we were not the passengers who would arrive at our long-awaited destination. Yet someone had to get there; we couldn’t fill a new world from the contents of an intergalactic sarcophagus.

The clever machines discovered the aging of our cells, and woke us. We discussed the problem, long and hard, until the eventual solution was suggested, discussed, rehashed, and eventually accepted among us all. Most of us returned to sleep, while the programmers constructed new instructions for the machines, providing them the solution they had found.

Fairness, it was agreed, could be found only in letting some choices be made for us. The programmers returned to sleep, perchance to dream.

Our playgrounds became bordellos. Under the gentle attention of the clever machines, electronic impulses enlivened our muscles anew. The most delicious of our fantasies, and those careful, calculated touches, elicited heat in our skin, hormones in our bloodstreams. In pairs and in quads, the machines drew open our pods, relinquishing us into a sort of half-sleep, sliding us into each others’ arms.

In our minds there were silk sheets and candles, cold manacles and hot, sharp lashes. There were slow caresses in the salted afternoon sunlight of the beach, in the half-lit perfumed air of a basement bedroom, leaning up against the wall of an apartment building stairwell. A thousand different kisses pressed lips to lips, lips to cheek, lips to neck, lips to shoulder, lips to nipples, lips to the inner curve of the elbow, lips to cockhead, lips to clit, lips to the valley of the knee, lips to the hip, lips to the scar, lips tiptoeing up the spine.

Half-emerged from our pods, our lips pursed against the air, kissing the future splayed out before us.

In our minds, our lover came to us; linen pants cupped his balls, a knit sweater slipped from her shoulder, his skirt blew up playfully as he walked the fence like a tightrope, her leggings showed nothing and hinted at everything, he teasingly eased his briefs down over one hip, she ran one hand across her lace bra-cupped breast and the other down between stocking-clung legs. We licked his jaw, we drew her head to our bosom, his cock ground against our own through rapidly shedding clothing.

Still glistening with the nutrient-rich waters of stasis, our hips quivered, setting up little ripples that sloshed against the pod walls.

In our minds we fucked. In our minds we made love. In our minds we submitted, we dominated, we surged and fell between the bodies of both our lovers at once, our hands were busy at the crux of our thighs watching our lover climax. We cried out, and we came, and came, and came.

We came, and the clever machines directed semen toward eggs, one and two at a time, and slid us away into our pods. Stasis did not work as we expected; it was beyond our wildest dreams.

Andrea Trask socializes widely in the intertubes under the name Bliss Morgan and, as the Duchess of her digital demesne, the borders of Blisstopia are always open. A writer in a variety of genres, editor of both fiction and academic works, and burgeoning audio narrator, you’d think that she wouldn’t also have time for knitting, weaving, and other fiber arts. Then again, maybe your mind is as open to possibilities as hers. Find some of her work on Amazon at https://amzn.to/1So5VNe – her blog with occasional updates and perfume reviews at www.callmebliss.com – and the woman herself at https://plus.google.com/+BlissMorgan from whence all other social media attachments can be deduced.

Nobilis strikes again! LIVE AUDIO from #porncamp!

Nobilis Erotica, proud attendee of the 2016 Circlet Writers Retreat, was kind enough to record the round table reading at #porncamp. With the microphone dangling from its stand like (as the other attendees noted) a pendulous “robot dick”, and the various laptops propped up on a carpeted cat tree, Nobilis captured a few minutes at a time of sizzling-hot nerdy smut.

Listen to the snippets of porn and the writerly ambiance here!

Microfiction: Excerpt from “Becoming Alice” by Jean Roberta

The Knave opened up a portable throne and placed a cushion on the seat. “I must gird my loins,” said the Queen. She removed her skirt and stood in a pair of pantalettes, with a harness around her hips. Set into the harness was a slender godemiche or dildo made of bone but covered in white silk, embroidered with the royal monogram.

“Come here, maiden Alice,” commanded the queen.

“Yes, your Majesty?” asked Alice. She was not sure what was expected of her, but her self-consciousness had formed itself into a burning in her cunny, which now felt as moist as a mouth that expects to be fed.

“Would you like to sit facing me, or back-to-front?”

Alice was now standing quite close to the Queen, whose features were more handsome than delicate, and whose whole demeanor unnerved Alice, despite her desire to be deflowered and honored for it.

“Back-to-front, if it please Your Majesty,” she answered.

“You please me greatly, my dear,” said the Queen, smiling so broadly that she looked almost amiable. She wrapped her arms around Alice’s backside and pulled her forward until Alice was standing between the Queen’s knees. The Queen then held Alice’s left breast and lifted it while bending down to bestow a long, sucking kiss on its hard little nubbin. She then switched sides to give its twin the same treatment.

“I could spend the whole day kissing you, Alice,” she said, “but we have more serious business to attend to. You must sit on my lap and lower yourself onto my love-spear until you are fully seated like a general in the saddle. It will hurt you a little the first time, but once the deed is done, you will be glad for it.”

Alice climbed onto the Queen’s lap, and found that even the royal thighs were hard under their thin covering. Nervously, Alice reached back and positioned the godemiche so that it barely penetrated her lower lips. As the Queen held her arms to steady her, Alice began a slow backward descent.

“Go, Alice!” shouted one of the men in livery.

“Be brave, Alice!” urged the Knave.

“Open yourself for me, darling!” added the Mad Hatter.

“Courage, dear!” said Dinah the cat, the throbbing rhythm of a heartbeat faintly audible in her voice.

The group of onlookers began clapping in rhythm as Alice lowered herself, inch by inch, onto the very solid object that forged a path where none had gone before. “Oh!” she said, feeling a burning tear deep inside her. Luckily, the fluid she had produced earlier helped pave the way.

“Becoming Alice” appears in The Princess and the Outlaw: Tales from the Torrid Past (Lethe) and The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 13 (Running Press).

Jean Roberta teaches English and creative writing in a Canadian university, and writes in several genres. Her fantasy erotica includes “Taste” in Best Erotic Fantasy and Science Fiction, “Smoke” in Best Fantastic Erotica, and “The Way to a Man’s Heart” in Like a Sword, all from Circlet. Her bisexual pirate saga, The Flight of the Black Swan: A Bawdy Novella (Lethe) is available in several formats, including audiobook. She blogs here: www.ohgetagrip.blogspot.com and here: www.erotica-readers.blogspot.com.  More here: www.JeanRoberta.com

Microfiction: Hibernation by Jean Roberta

 

The moon is full tonight.  I can’t see it shining on the billows of snow outdoors, but I know they look like the curves of a voluptuous woman, sparkling like a queen’s jewels.   I want to remember all the words of that French song:  my country is winter.  Je suis une citoyenne de l’hiver.

I can’t sleep, even though my comforter is as warm and soft as the sympathy of an old friend.  Tara’s last words are like an annoying song in my head:  “You’re not really my type.  You can’t meet my needs.  Let’s face it.  I’m not putting you down, but you have to admit it.”  Her canned speech was meant to justify her escape, so she could rush into the arms of Bo the jock, heartthrob of the under-30 crowd.  I wonder how long the new couple will last.

If the three of us were stranded in the northern woods, I wonder who would survive.  My womanly body can withstand the cold, and I have good instincts.  Weightlifter’s muscles and cuteness don’t catch fish or muskrats or rabbits.  Political correctness and popularity don’t count in a life-or-death situation.  Some women have lived such trendy urban lives that they never get to meet their true selves.

A warm heart behind warm breasts always counts, or it should.  I would appreciate a woman with my qualities.  I would hold a woman like that with all my strength, and not let her go.  I could live in a cave with a woman like me, exploring her body like an old-time voyageur ranging over the True North.   Pressed against her in our bed, I would start with her breasts.

Tits like mine deserve hands like mine:  knowing hands that can support them, making them feel weightless but generous.  The homage of those hands would send tingles from the flash-points of my hard nipples through my warm flesh, over my ribs and all up and down the central power line of my spine.  My belly would flutter, and my clit would turn on like a lightbulb.

In the short days and long nights of winter, I could spend months in bed with a woman like me.  We would not give a damn about the world outside, and we wouldn’t lose interest in each other like bored children looking for new toys.

My old, favorite toys would give us endless pleasure.  I wouldn’t even mind getting out of bed to look through my sock drawer for my thick purple candle with the undulating shape that looks like a Coke bottle on speed.  A woman like me would love to be stroked with a thing like that, and she wouldn’t care what it was made for.  Women like me are household witches who can make magic out of anything that comes to hand.

Wax grows warmer and softer when you play with it, almost like human flesh. My candle is more responsive than some women.  More reliable too.  Rubbing it between my lower lips makes me feel as if I’m melting and changing shape inside.

I want to be filled to bursting by someone like me.  I can smell my own heat, and it warms the space between my sheets like some essential oil.  My candle absorbs more of me each time.  Someday it will smell more like me than I do, and then I can share it with a woman who will appreciate it whenever I can’t be with her.

I am the butch and the femme, the doer and the done-to.  The right woman would value my versatility.  I am persistent.  I’m almost there.  Just a little more — oh!  Yes!  I am so good for me.

How I wish I could hibernate in my cozy suite until spring.  I’m not sure the rest of the world is ready for me yet.

“Hibernation” appears in the charity anthology, Coming Together: By Hand (www.eroticanthology.com)

Jean Roberta teaches English and creative writing in a Canadian university, and writes in several genres. Her fantasy erotica includes “Taste” in Best Erotic Fantasy and Science Fiction, “Smoke” in Best Fantastic Erotica, and “The Way to a Man’s Heart” in Like a Sword, all from Circlet. Her bisexual pirate saga, The Flight of the Black Swan: A Bawdy Novella (Lethe) is available in several formats, including audiobook. She blogs here: www.ohgetagrip.blogspot.com and here: www.erotica-readers.blogspot.com.  More here: www.JeanRoberta.com

 

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