Tag Archives: Dee Maselle

New Book: Like a Spell: Air: Heterosexual Fantasy Erotica

$2.99 ebook
ISBN: 978-1-61390-165-6
127 Pages

Formats: :

For the Like a Spell anthology, 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 air anthology, we’ve focused on stories portraying the love between men and women. Both Plato and Aristotle thought of air as being both wet and hot, and this seems an apt description of the union between men and women. Air can be gentle or rough, hot or cold; it can draw you closer or push you away. It can caress, but it can also punish.

September Sui’s “Carnival” is like no carnival you’ve ever experienced. It teems with secrets and mysteries, and when a simple farm girl is finally old enough to attend, she isn’t frightened, like her friends, but is instead intrigued and desperately curious. The carnival master in particular interests her, and she is determined to learn his secrets… in the privacy of his tent after the main show.

In “The Alchemist,” A.D.R. Forte tells the tale of an alchemist whose work relies on both his skill and his discretion. His business is simple: women come to him in secrecy, and in exchange for the essence of their sexual passions, he pays them in money and pleasure without ever touching them. But his latest customer is more mysterious than most, and he’s sorely tempted to push past his professional boundaries.

In Dee Maselle’s “Rapture,” Melyse finds herself taken by Ivon the Fiend, despite being neither a damsel nor in any particular distress. In fact, although she knows she should be terrified, the thought of being ravished by the Fiend only makes her more excited, and it is with a small thrill of anticipation that she lets him carry her off to his castle.

In “Refrain,” V.A. Cates introduces us to Marlene, a witch who specializes in brewing potions. When Jack comes to her looking for a love potion—but with no particular love interest in mind just yet—Marlene feels strangely drawn to him. She knows she shouldn’t get involved with him, for his own sake, but one thing leads to another, and her single-minded desires overpower any concern she once had for the innocent, mortal man.

In “Curandero,” Donovan Blake introduces us to Sani, a Navajo curandero, which is a kind of spiritual healer. Most of his patients are just depressed, or have regular medical problems, but Sani is intrigued when a man comes to him with a real, bona fide hex on him. Unfortunately, in curing the man, the hex gets transferred to Sani… and he finds himself forced to track down the witch/succubus/vampire/whatever-she-is to kill her and end this hex once and for all. What he discovers when he finds her in person isn’t quite what he expected, though.

Morrigan Cox plays with the idea of food magic in “Heat in the Kitchen.” Justus and his brother have been sent by their coven to seek out a rogue witch in town, but when Justus sees her food truck—the Kitchen Witch—and gets to know her, he realizes she might be using her magic for good. And the enchantment he feels when he looks at her doesn’t seem to be magical in origin.

Mary Andrews takes food magic a step further in “Potions and Pastries.” Our narrator is a witch who uses her potions mastery to make delicious pastries. While closing up shop one day, her assistant, Leland, asks her to taste-test a new chocolate cake recipe he’s concocted. It’s an aphrodisiac recipe, though, and all the yearning she’s kept buried refuses to stay hidden any longer.

Finally, in “Entwined,” Kassandra Lea introduces us to Canis Cavender, a wizard who has grown tired of peaceful forest solitude and has moved to the city to be part of society again. When Anwyn shows up to bring him the jar of fairy dew he asked for, dripping wet from getting caught in the rain, Canis insists she stop dripping on his floor—but he’s unprepared for her to emerge from the bathroom dressed in nothing but one of his button-down shirts.

Like A Spell: Air
Eight scorching stories of magic users, sorcerers and mages. For the Like a Spell anthology, 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. Stories included by September Sui, A.D.R. Forte, Dee Maselle, V.A. Cates, Donovan Blake, Morrigan Cox, Mary Andrews, and Kassandra Lea.


Microfiction: Latex Hack by Dee Maselle

Latex Hack

My body floats in a gel tank, my brain and nerves wired to the infinite sensations of the exonet.

I can shape my appearance here, but appear I must. Nothing is invisible in the exonet’s virtuality. My shieldcode becomes a skintight suit of black latex embedded with intelligent micromesh, covering me from toes to fingertips to chin. I feel the latex; smell it via the conductive gel bath. The tightness and sheen empower me, make me bold and lithe.

Still–I fall into an unseen trap as I glide around EasBank’s patrols. Nothing is invisible, but destruction can wait beneath a layer of benign code.

I find myself in a seamless granite pit, its opening capped with bars. My wrists are shackled to the floor. Electric blue chains had dived to snare me as I tumbled, disoriented by the explosion of the trap.

An agent appears in my prison. He is cleanly bald, his bronze arms wrapped in fine cybernetic wires. Black latex trews cling to his lean legs like wet ink. A dark metal cuirass protects his torso.

He saunters around my straining body and raises an antiquated monocle. He leans to examine me through the lens. I know the device must not be as quaint as it appears; he is probing the data structure of my suit.

“Well, well,” he rasps, tucking the monocle in a compartment on his cuirass. “One of MachEmerge’s. Pretty outfit.  But what were they thinking, sending an ingénue like you against EasBank?”

> YOU’LL NEVER KNOW, I send in plaintext. The intelligent mesh in my gloves has abraded the encryption in the cuffs. I rush the agent. When he grapples me, I steal his monocle. I spring toward the bars above, melt through them, and escape with my fragment of EasBank tech.

> DUEL. The text scorches the rubber of my palm. I keep my grip on the smoking monocle; the pain is illusion. I have won, but the agent wants to meet me in neutral territory.

We are professional exonet specialists, but there is a secret stratum of the curious, the proud, and the inventive who will duel. My breath catches at the notion of a curious, proud, inventive agent in black rubber and cybernetic wire.

He meets me in a frost white chamber. “Let’s talk deal, not duel,” he says huskily. “I’ll study your suit, and you’ll detank with two million fresh toll codes.”

The agent has not hidden the stiff bulge stretching the glossy rubber between his legs. I cannot hide my arrested stare.

“Four million, and I’ll study your pants,” I whisper.

A transparent blade extends from his fingertip. He slices circles from my latex top, allowing my breasts to spring through the holes. The blade comes exquisitely close to my skin, but never touches it; my nerve interface is left intact as the code of the suit is cut away.

My nipples are stiff; my breathing quick. My breasts are pale moons against the darkness of my suit. The agent meets my gaze and allows a twist of a smile. He crouches and slices a careful oblong in the latex at my crotch. I do not stop him. I am sure my tanked body is aroused by this exposure, and I am wet in virtuality. I feel it as the chill of the chamber brushes my shaven cleft.

The agent’s cuirass vanishes, its shieldcode sinking into his skin. He keeps his latex trews. He slices them open and his cock presses forward: thick, veined and tawny. The blade retracts. His hand curls around my core and he squeezes his palm to the mound above my clit, three fingers arcing into my slick opening.  The curve of his wired hand hums with vibration. Curious, proud, inventive indeed. My passage quakes and I whimper with pleasure. I tug him to the white floor.

He sinks between my legs and thrusts into me. We are both on corporate time. It will be a fast mind-body mating for two anonymous rubber lovers a globe apart.

We fuck with the shameless aggression of craving. He presses me into the floor, his clean-shaven sac pounding against my ass. He rests his weight on one wired arm; he catches my breast in his hand and the aching tip of the other breast between his lips. He nips the crown, and laves it with his hot tongue. The processing power! The intricate randomized detail of a realistic tongue!  My gloved fingers grip his pumping ass, stretching his latex and letting it snap against his skin. The smell of hot rubber rises between us.

I gaze at the bars above, my mouth opening to release immaterial cries. I know my body is silent in its tank, tubes in my nose and throat preventing anything but quiet air from escaping. The agent’s cock scythes without mercy through the opening he has cut for himself in the crotch of my suit. He explodes, sending his own low groan to the digital abyss.

I feel his cream pulse hot inside me, and I wonder if he has ejaculated in his tank in EasBank.  He pulls out and smears our mingled fluids on the rubber stretched across my belly.

That–and the image of his essence dispersing like a cloud in a warm gel bath—and I am lost. He rubs his twitching meat against my clit, growling and biting the side of my neck. I wrap my glistening legs around him and crash to a ferocious climax. I cannot stifle an anguished shriek. I pull his hips hard against me to compress my wracking pulsations.

I still quake as a MachEmerge tech yanks me from the tank. “What on earth were you up to in there?” He jerks his head toward my vitals screen. “Got a few million toll codes rolling in, though.”  He begins to towel away the damp residue of the bath. I want to dive back in.