28 April 2015

An Interview with Veronica Hudson, Heroine of Demon's Embrace

Not 40s clothing, but she looks the closest 
to how I imagine Veronica
Veronica Hudson is a demon hunter in the year 1948, just after the end of WWII in New York City. She's the heroine and point-of-view character of the forthcoming Demon's Embrace, the first book of the Erotic Apocalypse series.

Veronica is quite the firecracker, as you'll see. I thought it would be fun to interview her so you cold have a chance to meet her.

Bryce: So your line of work is a little... unusual, to say the least. How does one break into demon hunting?

Veronica: I was born into it. I come from a long line of demon hunters, it runs in the family, which is probably the only way I've survived this long. Demon hunting is nearly 100% fatal for your first day in the field, and if you don't get killed the first time, well, there's always the next time. But I trained from my youth to do this.

Bryce: What was your childhood like?

Veronica: Next question.

Bryce: Uh... okay. Tell us something most people don't know about demons.

Veronica: What most people believe about them comes from silly stories and old poems. Way back when, the translation of ancient languages was done by sexist pigs whose bias and blindness permeated the very language they themselves spoke, so it's no wonder they couldn't translate anything correctly. Or that they flat out refused to believe what their eyes saw right in front of them. For example, most demons are referred to as "he" simply because they have cocks and because of sexist language at the root level. But demons are actually more like hermaphrodites: they have the bodies of women in every respect except they also have a cock and balls. And usually also wings, horns, and tails (laughs).

Bryce: So, you're saying they have vaginas and are women except they also have male genitalia in addition to female genitalia?

Veronica: If you want to phrase it euphemistically, yes.

Bryce: And how do you catch these demons?

Veronica: Circle of Binding. You know, Lesser Keys of Solomon, Goetica, what all the old texts say. It helps to know the demon's name, so that I have utter and complete control over her. Once they enter the circle, they're all mine. The hard part is how to get them into the circle. Sometimes you can trick them, but demons are extremely clever and cunning. Luckily, they're as depraved as I am, if not more, and I can usually lure them in with sex.

Bryce: Oh? That sounds intriguing. Tell us more.

Veronica: For a demon to even have a chance to walk the earth in corporeal form is rare. Rarer still is that they get hunted successfully. Since I'm the best there is, I have a sort of twisted fan club in Hell of demons who consider it bragging rights to have been hunted and sent back by me. After my brother died and I wasn't hunting demons his way anymore, I decided to try something different. To hunt them my way, I entice them with a chance to fuck me. Often their own lusts get the better of them and they actually step into the binding circle of their own accord.

Bryce: And so, do you... uh...

Veronica: Do I fuck them? Hell, yes. They are the most sensual creatures, and their abilities in bed are astounding, as are their... endowments. I once gang banged the entire crew of a destroyer during the war, and that was pretty transcendent, lemme tell you. But nothing holds a candle to a gigantic demon girlcock inside you. It's fucking amazing. Pun fully intended.

Now available!
Bryce: I see (coughs). And angels? Do you ever see angels or have dealings with them? With the "other side," I guess?

Veronica: Demons once were angels, only now they're like perverted versions of what they once were. Instead of feathered wings, they have bat-like wings, for instance. I have heard rumors that fallen angels walk the earth, angels that were not part of the original punishment, and have since fallen, but I wouldn't swear to have ever seen one. And as far as heavenly angels go, no, I've never seen one. You never know what's going to happen in the future, though. Why I'm doing their work for them, I don't know, but as long as I keep getting laid and getting paid, I guess I'll keep doing it (laughs).

Bryce: Well you keep writing about your escapades and we'll keep reading!

Read everything in Veronica's own words in Demon's Embrace, free for Kindle Unlimited! And check out my second interview with Veronica, too, in which she reveals some juicy details.

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27 April 2015

Revising and editing erotica - what's your story?

I'm currently taking a little break from revising and editing Demon's Embrace to write you this post. Marketing or laziness? You decide!

I wanted to have a quick discussion on revising and editing erotica and how it differs from other genre or literary fiction. If you're an enthusiastic reader or writer of erotica and you know good writing when you see it, you know that much erotica out there could stand some improvement. Do readers truly not know or care what they're reading is full of misspellings, grammatical errors, and cliches? Some don't care, of course, but generally it's a more literate person who reads erotica instead of watching porn. Erotica readers want words, not pictures. That's why they're reading and not watching. And if they want words, they want good words. Correct words. Sexy words.

That's why I care about grammar and spelling and simply having good writing. Much erotica is throw-away profiteering, this I know.

Me? I'm writing what I enjoy, and I'm confident that eventually that's going to translate into die-hard loyal fans and a decent income for me. I guess we'll see.

Non-erotic fiction often goes through several revisions and editing stages, whereas erotica does not. I've seen it advised to give it a once-over and then publish it. I am combining revising and editing together into the same stage, though. I'm going about probably more thoroughly than many would.

The biggest slow-down for me during this is changing the point of view from first person present to first person past. I'm reluctant to do this, I really wanted first person present to work, but it's just too awkward and I found myself slipping too often into past tense or dancing around the wording to make present tense work.

At around 40k words, that's going to be a fair bit of work, but certainly do-able. It's also something I won't have to do again for the rest of the series.

Other than that, I'm going through looking to make my word choice more economical, clearer, and more correct concerning details, like names or the order in which the action occurs. Making sure that certain props don't come out of nowhere or mysteriously disappear (and no, I'm not writing a screenplay, but the word prop is just endlessly useful when talking about writing fiction, too).

What's your story? What's your revision and editing process look like? Or do you farm out editing?

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25 April 2015

Demon's Embrace Coming Soon, Cover Reveal!

Demon's Embrace is almost here, and I couldn't be more excited to release it. I'll be working on the other books as well some shorts to go alongside it in the same book world. If you want to know when it's available, please sign up below for my email list, that way you won't miss it.

On a related note, here's the cover I'm going to go with for publication. I created it myself and did it in such a way so that all the books in the series will have a consistent look. When you see them all together, you'll easily tell they're part of the same series. The cover was created in Pixlr.

That's all for now. Have fun, my beautiful pervs!

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22 April 2015

What's the hardest part about writing erotica for you?

It's fascinating to me how, at times, the words flow like lava from a volcano ready to blow; and at other times, it really is (to paraphrase Hemingway) like drilling rock and blasting it out with charges to get any good words.

I feel as though writing is difficult when I reach a spot where I'm not quite sure what's supposed to happen moment-to-moment. I have to sit there, thinking of what action or event or reply comes next before setting it down in words. Does she say something sarcastic and witty? Does the giant futa girlcock go in her ass, yet? Did I forget to mention the giant bone gun? When do their feelings about each other change? Who's deceiving whom? Did I mention earlier the thing she's using now? How are my characters leaking more fluids than is possible for the human body to contain? (Magic, bitches!) Wait... where is her ass supposed to be in relation to the other one's mouth and are all hands and limbs and tails and wings accounted for?

Funny thing is, I thought I had planned ahead. I HAD AN OUTLINE, GOD DAMN IT. But it wasn't detailed enough. Nor could it have been. Or at least, that's what I tell myself--of course that could be incorrect. I got impatient and did not do the "pre-writing" that makes writing the draft easier. Pre-writing is where I go in and block out a scene, putting in the touchstone actions and dialogue but nothing more, then later I embellish. This allows you to blaze through a draft when you finally write it, achieving stupid ridiculous nobody-will-believe-you word counts.

I could have front-loaded this work but instead I grew impatient and thought to myself: No worries, I got this. Then later I come to realize I got this means I'm staring at Scrivener for half-an-hour deciding something that already should've been decided.

The Other Hard Part (or member, or sex, or hot bubbling glue gun of love)


I can only imagine that, after a while, reading descriptions of body parts banging and slapping together gets old. You can only escalate so much before you're blurring the line between sex scenes and the hamtastic melodrama of professional wrestling. Also, note to self: don't use the double horse cock futanari demon right away, save her for later so you have something worth escalating to (Surefire way to escalate with futanari: just give her another cock).

How to not do this, not write like this seems almost impossible to describe, but I've crossed over into this strange territory at least once. It's kind of like how Miles Davis played trumpet: it was all about the notes he didn't play. And some times I enjoy the ridiculousness of it. It gets me hot and makes me chuckle a bit. The stuff I enjoy reading, personally, is mired in gory, sticky, slick, wet, smelly detail. An entire paragraph describing only three second's worth of action?

Yes, please.

What about you?

What's the hardest part about writing erotica for you? Angsturbate with us!

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photo credit: Penis Festival @ Kanamara Matsuri @ Kanayama Shrine @ Kawasaki via photopin (license)

20 April 2015

Talk about what you love, don't bitch about what you hate

This is such a simple message that I wish would get through to more people, but then again, it took a stupidly long time for me to really appreciate its wisdom.

Talk about what you love, don't bitch about what you hate.

Following this simple rule makes life so much better in so many ways. Let's say someone posts a link in their stream to a music video I don't like. What is there to be gained by expressing my dislike? All that will happen is I will alienate the person and make myself look like a grade A fuckboy. I don't need to respond at all, or I could say: It's cool you like that. This is what I like. And I can share what I'm into.

Creative efforts, such as writing, thrive on this approach

In the context of writing erotica, for example, let's say that, in a fit of uncontrollable negative emotions, I rage out on my blog or on social media about how I hate bad book covers.

If I say that but provide no examples, how can I bolster my own argument? Without proof, I'm just talking out of my ass. So, now I'm virtually obligated to point out examples of bad erotica covers. Suddenly the whole thing becomes mired in bad vibes. Who wants to read that? Why would anyone want to follow that?

Is there a way to do it without coming off like a douchenozzle? Sure, after much semantic acrobatics, but you know what? It would've been a hell of a lot easier to simply say what I think good book covers should look like. Nobody's searching online for how to make bad book covers, but many authors would appreciate good ideas on what makes for a great book cover. 

Shine the light on the good, let the bad remain in darkness

Furthermore, it's just an opinion. Maybe my taste in book cover art isn't as great as I think it is. Who died and put me in charge of what constitutes a good erotica book cover? Since the most common fallacy we commit is to believe ourselves exceptional and above average and overly competent, perhaps my first obligation is to not fall for these illusions at the start.

The person who gets called out as an example of something bad because I'm bitching may have liked me, but now they feel rejected and scorned. Or at least they had no reason to hate me before, but they sure do, now. All because I wanted to bitch and moan and tear something down instead of building something up. Everybody loses in this case.

If I come out and say I love great book covers and provide examples of those, anyone not included in my example is not going to feel personally insulted, because they are Legion. And those that were included will probably feel good about it. For someone who wants to create better covers for their books, my examples will help them, not drive people away. No one will feel called out in a bad way, but they have positive examples to strive for. Everybody wins. There's no down side.

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19 April 2015

The Drive - Do You Have It?

Every moment not spent writing tells me to write.

At some point I need to sleep, but why am I sleeping when this book isn't yet finished?

And once this book is finished it will be time to move on to the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that. Books must be written before they can be sold.

My life is stable in some ways, but not necessarily in ways I want. I made some pretty stupid mistakes to end up where I am, but I have a place to live and time to write, so writing is my ticket out of here and back to creating a life of my own. I'm good for nothing else.

Motivation? Yeah, I got that. Got that in the bag.

How do I have time to write? Because I choose to. Anyone who says they have no time to write is a liar. How you spend your time is a choice. We all have 24 hours in a day. You can't choose not to write and then say you don't have time to write. The real reason you're not writing is probably fear of one kind or another: fear of failure, fear of success, fear of rejection, fear that you're more of a dirty perv than you want to admit to yourself, fear your family will find out and disown you, fear your significant other has no clue about your true sexual depths.

Fear, not time. Time is something everyone has--until they don't. When your time is up, what will you regret? Will I regret that I wrote dirty stories? No, but I would definitely regret not writing them.

Writer's block? My bank account is too empty to enjoy the luxury of writer's block. There's no such thing as writer's block, only undisciplined, unmotivated writers.

Ideas? I'm full of delightfully filthy ideas. I doubt I'd ever run out. But even if I was the most unimaginative fucker on earth, I could still write erotica. All the plots and templates are already there in every other story that's already been written. All I'd have to do is write my own versions of them. You could be utterly lacking in vision and simply emulate the top sellers in a category and you'd be fine. So there's no lacking of ideas.

It all comes down to drive. You either have it or you don't. No one can give it to you. You acquire it by simply making a decision to have it. Then every decision you make from then on is in support of it. It's not easy, but it's simple.

The drive. Do you have it?

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photo credit: March 05, 2013 at 10:23PM via photopin (license)

18 April 2015

Demon's Embrace Excerpt - How do you describe a fucking machine from the 1940s?

In this scene, Veronica Hudson, demon hunter and demon lover, has gone to visit her old mentor for help with a particularly nasty demon she's trying to capture. Eli lives in an underground bomb shelter off of an abandoned New York City subway station (the abandoned station is real, and is still there today). The price for Eli's help is... well, you'll see.

“I have built a new one,” he says as though he’d just decided on what to order at a restaurant. I think I’ll have the steak. Rare. I try not to let the fear show in my face. I merely raise an eyebrow.


“Yes, I’d love it if you would break it in, christen it, if you will.” Eli does have a way with euphemisms, I’ll give him that.

“Show me,” I say.

He gestures to the chapel. The place doesn’t have much. It is, after all, a bomb shelter. But it does have a chapel. The chapel is an appropriate place for Eli’s machines, considering what he truly worships. I take the flask out of the pocket of my coat--a shapeless old French military motorcycle jacket, in this case--and offer it to him. He refuses, and is probably perturbed as hell that I offered, but he’d never let it show. I had to know. If I’m going to put my body in his hands, tonight, I need to know he’s going to be fully in command of himself, because I sure as fuck won’t be. I am under no such self-imposed restrictions, and take a long swig. I’ve reached the point where it doesn’t burn, anymore, and I’m drinking it like it’s not going to do what it’s doing to me. Except, of course, that’s exactly why I’m drinking it. Such funny creatures, we human beings are.

The chapel is lit by banks of candles to the left and right, stuck by their own wax onto the old pews. The ceiling of the chapel is gabled, and is the most surprising component of this place. Upon the ceiling are painted quite skilled and lovely scenes of the damned burning in Hell as, off in the distance, a mushroom cloud rises. In a floating phalanx around the crown of the mushroom cloud fly angels, which are glowing so brightly they’re all but abstract. I don’t know who the artist is, but I have the feeling I’m looking at one of the world’s greats. Something painted in secret, just one more secret of the Manhattan Project. At the end of the room on the wall hangs an elaborate crucifix, as though they raided some fancy Spanish cathedral and stole it. Considering its size, it would’ve had to have been a big cathedral. It is life-sized and extraordinarily realistic.

In front of the crucifix, so that its occupant faces it, is Eli’s machine. “Occupant” might be too generous a term, however, “captive” is too severe, since Eli never forces anyone to do anything they don’t want. He just has ways of making you want to do what you never thought you would. It is a large X-shaped rack on a circular pedestal. The rack has padded cuff restraints at the end of each arm of the X for my hands and feet, with particular attention paid to the bottom ones so that my weight will be supported comfortably enough without needing to stand on something solid. Sprouting out of the base are several articulated arms and motors. The motors drive various belts or rotate axles or flywheels and pistons, like on a locomotive. There are gears, and levers for changing gears. There are large click-clack style metal throw switches and safety lights on metal boxes. Wires snake here and there and out and away from the machine in several directions, heading for plugs that provide Eli’s stolen power. At the ends of these articulated arms are objects that would make no sense to most people because in 1948 they don’t see or own such objects. Nylon and plastics are still relatively new, so “marital” or “hysteria” aids tend to be made of wood, as these are. I can picture Eli carving and sanding and varnishing each one by hand until it is perfect, thinking the whole time perhaps only of me. Some of the them are pretty big, but not as big as Ashti’s or Tauthe’s demon girlcocks.

The sight of his “machine” (understatement if I ever heard it) makes me realize that despite how much I’ve drunk tonight, it won’t be nearly enough. I finish my flask off and open my bag, where the remainder of the fifth of bourbon resides, padded by some spare clothes I wisely chose to bring. I unwrap the bottle, pull the cork, and take a big swig. I’m gonna need it. Part of me is dreading it and part of me wants to start undressing right now. Part of me will always be that young woman in love with someone older, wiser, showing her the hidden mysteries of the world, both sexual and demonological. That young woman will always want to please Eli and I’m not the least bit angry with her about that. I turn to look at Eli and he’s watching me look it over with an eager, slightly disturbing light in his slate gray eyes.

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17 April 2015

Possible Cover Art for Demon's Embrace

When you're broke as all fuck but trying to publish your first book, paying for cover art is not going to happen. Not when you have digital image manipulation skills, certainly. While these cover mockups don't have original paintings of sexy demons or demon hunters on them, they won't put me in the adult dungeon, either.

There is much magic circle artwork floating around out there that is far too old to be copyrighted. This is good for a couple reasons: I can safely use it, and there's enough of it to last through many book in a series. Out of these three, I'm partial to the last one. These aren't final. If I picked one I'll make sure everything's centered and lined up perfectly.

Reactions and feedback are welcome.

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15 April 2015

Writing Erotica: Leaving Out the Parts People Skip

About writing, Elmore Leonard famously said: "I try to leave out the parts that people skip." As far as writing advice goes, that's about as good as it gets. It depends on the person, though. When I was a kid, I loved The Hobbit, but found the lyrics and poems boring, so I skipped them. When I read it now as an adult, those are some of my favorite parts. In literary fiction and genre fiction, people say they often skip sex scenes.Why anyone would consciously purchase erotica and then skip the sex scenes is beyond me. When I read erotica, I tend to skip stuff that's not a sex scene.

When I write my own stories, I'm keenly aware of this and try to keep the parts between sex scenes short and, most of all, too interesting to skip. I have no idea if I'm succeeding, but I'm trying. Exposition is the worst culprit, and yet some is necessary. Thank goodness I write paranormal erotica, where a bit of choice info dumping is expected and there are ways to do it well. I geek out on the lore of my made-up world and I love to give readers glimpses of that world.

Important conversations between characters are another way to hopefully not be too boring. I try to make dialogue juicy, revealing of character, and not "on the nose." I try to make important things happen during conversations: someone gets hurt and storms off, a character learns something devastating or enlightening. Or I try to have some other action during the conversation take place that moves everything forward. At the very least, one of the characters can be lusting after another, which is fun to write. Especially if that character is constrained by circumstances and cannot act on that lust.

How about you? What parts do you tend to skip? In your own writing, how do you try to make your stories un-skippable?

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14 April 2015

Demon's Embrace Excerpt - 'Yes, Miss Hudson'

In a previous excerpt, Veronica goes to confession not to confess, but to receive her next demon-hunting assignment in secret. While there, she has a very naughty encounter with the priest. In the booth comes a young woman with a naughty confession of her own. Veronica catches up to her afterward and hires her as her new office cleaning lady. The girl has no idea Veronica knows her dirty secret.

This excerpt begins after a full day of demon fucking adventures, Veronica is trying to unwind with two fingers of bourbon and two fingers inside herself when suddenly there's a sound from the front of the agency...

I pull my wet fingers out of my pussy and hurriedly slurp the juices off them as I stand up. My feet splash through the liquid on the floor as I walk around my desk, drying my hand on the inside of my skirt.

“Miss Hudson? Hello?”

I try to act normal as I walk through the main meeting room up to reception. A wetness on my chin tells me I need to swipe my wrist across my mouth. Eleanor turns around as I enter the reception room at the front of the office and smiles shyly at me. Just looking at her makes my pussy hungry and twitchy.

“It’s Monday, so here I am, and I’m wearing a skirt like you said, Miss Hudson.” I bite my lip before replying.

“Yes, you are, thank you for remembering.” Below the dark tartan skirt she’s wearing white knee-highs and black loafers and, oh, God, I should not have had this much to drink so soon. I’m normally not such a lush, but, you know, it’s just been that kind of day.

A day that’s not over.

“Are you the only one here, Miss Hudson?”

All the better to get you alone, my dearest...

“Yes. Darlene, my secretary, is taking a few days off.”

“Who’s the other Hudson, if I may ask? I noticed on your card and on the door it says ‘Hudson & Hudson.’”

“That would be my brother, Ben, who’s no longer with us.” To a more socially sensitive adult, my tone would suggest the subject be dropped, but Eleanor is young and oblivious and just too fucking cute for me to care one way or the other.

“Oh? Is he doing something else, now?”

“Yes, rotting in his grave.” Her hand flies to her mouth and her blue eyes widen.

“Oh, gosh! Oh, Miss Hudson, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to--”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Don’t be. I shouldn’t have tried to be cryptic in the first place.” I turn around and motion for her to follow me.

“This is the meeting room, past it is my office. Bookshelves need to be dusted but please don’t handle the books themselves, many of them are very old.”

“Yes, Miss Hudson.”

I will never tire of hearing her say that.

I can tell she’s slightly perplexed. She must be wondering why all the old books for private investigators? But she has the good sense to keep her pretty mouth closed.

“In here,” I say, leading her into the War Room, “I keep the weapons and gear I use. You are not to touch anything on this wall or the workbench. The day I let dust collect on my gear is the day I deserve a forced retirement with extreme prejudice.” Her eyes bug out at the guns, swords, shields, axes, bows, more guns, daggers, spears, and yet more guns.

“I won’t touch a thing, Miss Hudson. Just what kind of private investigator are you?”

“Something like a bounty hunter,” I say. She frowns and brushes stray black hair out of her eyes.

“This is sort of the broom closet and bathroom. Got broom, dustpan, mop, and so forth. Industrial sink there. I’ll leave you to it, any questions, just come get me.”

“Oh, you don’t need to stay on my account, Miss Hudson, you should go home.”

“I have... unfinished business and I have to go out later and meet a colleague. Thank you for your consideration, though.”

She smiles shyly and again brushes her hair away. I want to reach out and do it for her but I stay my hand. I watch her bend over to pick up the dust pan and gather the cleaning implements she needs.

“Say, Eleanor, you wouldn’t mind some music on the record player, would you?”

“Oh, no, Miss Hudson, that sounds wonderful!”

I put on some Dinah Shore and walk back to my office, trying not to let too much wetness leak out down my leg. Instead of sitting down at my desk, I peek around the door jamb and watch Eleanor. Everything she has sways as she dusts and sweeps. Even her breasts are cute: not large, but perfect little bubbles made to be squeezed and ah, God. I’m touching myself, stretching out my panties with my hand inside them as I press against my clit with my thumb and work my fingers inside. I’m masturbating while watching my employee work as though I am some kind of dirty old man. Funny how you never hear about dirty old women. If I survive long enough, I’ll probably the dirtiest old woman alive.

Suddenly I need to not be standing and I hurry to my desk, hiking my skirt back up and sliding my soaked panties all the way off as I sit down on the wet leather. I lean up on one buttock so I can slide fingers into my newly altered and extra-sensitive asshole. I don’t know whether to silently thank Tauthe for her treachery, or curse her. Right now I’m leaning toward thanking, though. My asshole hungrily swallows my fingers and flexes around them. Pleasure shoots up through me like fire along a fuse and I cum just from fingering my asshole while I imagine it’s really Eleanor’s tongue back there and her saying, Gosh, Miss Hudson, I love jamming my tongue up your dirty shithole, it’s so naughty! How she can talk while she’s tongue-plugging my pooper is irrelevant. It’s my fantasy, damn it, and it doesn’t have to make sense. I’m biting down hard on the meat of my forearm so I don’t cry out, my head down on my desk, my back arching up like a cat. My fingers are making wet sounds as they slip in and out of my ass and the patter of falling liquid sounds deafening to me.

“Okay Miss Hudson, I’m all d--Oh, my God!”

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13 April 2015


I was writing, chugging along merrily. I'd written well over a thousand words.

Then my laptop overheated and shut off.

When I got everything up and running again, I discovered I had lost all my progress.

I was so angry and so devastated at the thought of having to write all of that all over again that I just decided fuck this, I'm done for now.

I didn't say I can't do it, because technically that's not true. But I don't think it would've turned out well. I was too angry and upset and I didn't want to bother trying to change my emotional state. Again, notice I didn't say can't, I said didn't want to.

Everything's a choice. When it's your decision, there is no can't. Can't is a lie to yourself, and when you repeat it to others, you lie to them, too.

At some point soon I'll need to get over my dread of writing those words over again. Meantime, I'm just going to blow off some steam and maybe go learn something.

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photo credit: via photopin (license)

10 April 2015

Demon's Embrace Excerpt - Interpersonal Relations are Hard

 In this earlier scene, Veronica returns to the agency after just hunting, bedding, and killing her first demon on her own after the death of her brother Ben several months ago. Her secretary, Darlene, doesn't take to Veronica's new method of demon hunting and lets her know it in no uncertain terms. Veronica... well, Veronica can be a bit of a shit, sometimes.

As I walk in the door to the agency, Darlene yanks her hand up from under the desk as though electrically shocked. She rises to her feet and puts her hand to her mouth. At first I think she’s going to lick her fingers, but then I remember how I look and realize she’s just shocked in the non-electrical sense.

“Oh, my God! Miss Hudson, what happened to you?”

“I decided to hunt demons my way, Darlene.” I tilt my head to one side. “It’s decidedly more... satisfying.”

I drag my feet into the War Room but stop halfway across when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I knew it was bad, but holy fuck. My icy-blues peep out at me from a blood mask, like a crazed creature caught by bright lights in the dark. There is not an inch of me that isn’t covered in blood, jizz, or both mixed together.

I burst out laughing.

I fall to my knees, rifle and sword clattering to the floor on either side of me. I hold my hands out to my reflection, the bloodied demonic goddess kneeling before me, and I laugh. I can’t stop laughing. I’m laughing so hard I’m having trouble breathing. My face careens to one side and I feel a sharp sting. Looking around in surprise, I see Darlene standing over me with her hand raised.

“What is wrong with you!” she screams at me. “You’re supposed to hunt them, not become one of them!”

“That was the best sex I ever had,” I mused, “man or woman. Come to think of it, she had both sets of plumbing, so...”

“WHAT!? You... you...”

“I fucked her, Darlene. I fucked her, and it was great. In fact, I can’t wait to do it again.” Darlene is so appalled I can’t help but laugh in her face. I rise to my feet, pick up my sword, and hold it up diagonally to her pretty little throat. She stands perfectly still, fear setting across her face. Her gaze bounces from the bloody sword blade to my eyes and back again.

“You ever raise your hand to me again like that, and you’ll be joining Ben in Hell.”

Darlene’s face goes slack in horror, then crumples into ugly sobbing.

“Ben wouldn’t... You heartless... He’s not... You think you’re so great,  but you couldn’t save him AND NOW HE’S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!”

She runs from the room.

Well, I guess I’ll never bed her, now.

Find out more about the Erotic Apocalypse series, coming soon.

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09 April 2015

Common Dreams, Uncommon Writing - Angsturbation of a First Time Erotica Writer

I suppose it's the height of common folly to think that somehow MY stories will be all the rage, get a million sales, have people freaking out in reviews (both for and against). Especially when my writing is not in a popular category like BDSM. But that's every writer's dream, and even though it's common, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't my dream as well.

I'd like to think that writing well translates into more sales as long as I'm smart with my marketing efforts, but I know this isn't necessarily the case, either. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or bad that awful writing and awful covers are selling well. It could also be the height of common folly to believe my writing is better than anyone else's, because for one thing it really might not be and for another, comparing oneself to others is always folly. I should only worry about how well I'm doing compared to my own previous efforts.

Except I don't have any previous efforts, I'm new to all this. I'm still writing my first story. I haven't published or sold a fucking thing, yet.

So here I am, angsturbating.

I know what I like and don't like. I can try to be discerning without being judgmental. Instead of thinking in terms of better or worse, I can think in terms of like and don't like. Because everything's subjective, it's all personal. It's too damn easy to be an asshole. People are enjoying themselves, having a good time, and they don't care what I think. Maybe I'm just like Squidward from Spongebob: the idiot who thinks he has "standards."

I want to write the stuff that I love to write, I want for it to be better-than-average, and I want to make decent coin doing it.

That's all I want.

Thanks for listening to me rant. Now to get back to that first story!

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Demon's Embrace Excerpt - No Cumming in My Car

What does a demon hunter from the 1940s drive? A Mercedes 770K, of course.
This just might be one of my favorite scenes so far. Veronica has captured the minion of a high-ranking demon and is taking her on a road trip (she has her reasons, which I won't get into here). Veronica has the demon, named Tauthe, (an ancient Sumerian name) driving. The demon is a futanari and both demons and futanari aren't exactly known for their self-control.


“Aahh! Ahh! Hungh! I’m sorry! I can’t stop!”

“Well, suck on it or shoot it out the window or something!”

“Aahh! Oh! Oh FUCK!”

I should’ve known this would happen. I never should’ve had her fuck my asshole with her tail while I jilled myself off into multiple extended orgasms while she drives. I’m so wrapped up in my own pleasure I forget to keep an eye on her. I open my eyes to see her looking at me for one terrified moment and then the first spurt jets out of her cock. The little minx was steering with one hand and stroking herself with the other. Cum is raining down on us inside the car because it’s splashing off the ceiling. She gamely tries to clamp her mouth over it, but ends up shooting herself in the eye. She can’t take all of it, can’t swallow it fast enough, so I lean over and put my mouth on it. Of course the same thing happens to me and inside of three seconds I’m choking and coughing cum out of my nose. In the middle of all this I hear:

“I can’t see!”

When the road gets extremely rough I look up from her ejaculating dick to see we’ve veered off of it entirely and are hurtling merrily across a field.


She stomps a foot on the brake and the clutch and the Mercedes tears through the grass for a few feet before slowing to a halt. Once the car stops, she forgets to release it from gear or turn it off, so when she takes her feet off the pedals, it lurches forward several times before stalling, throwing us back and forth inside the jizz-slicked interior.

We share a moment of dead silence as we look around to make sure we’re not dead. We look at each other and burst into crazed laughter, collapsing into each other’s arms.

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07 April 2015

What No One Tells You About Writing Erotica - It's the Best and the Worst of Everything

The world of erotica is the same as the "normal" world, except more magnified. When you look at non-erotic fiction, most of it's shit, some of it's good, and a tiny fraction of it is transcendent.

Erotica is the same, but more so. There's no end to the flood of bad erotica. Gives the entire genre a bad name. The stuff that makes people think erotica is shit written by hacks who only care about money.

Good erotica?

Really good erotica?

It is rare. It is a treasure to hold onto in your heart. It becomes a part of who you are, more so, I would argue, than "normal" fiction can. Because we are sexual beings. Normal fiction touches everywhere but our sexual core. Good erotica touches us in all the normal places and taps into our sexual core.

More than just taps it.

You could say really good erotica fucks you, good and hard, in a way you'll never forget.

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06 April 2015

Confession Time - Demon's Embrace [Excerpt 4]

Demon hunter Veronica Hudson receives her assignments cloak-and-dagger style because the Church doesn't want the world to know corporeal demons walk the earth, and they don't want to be seen to associate with her (they don't like her very much). Veronica shows up to confession to secretly receive her payment and new assignment. When she decides to join the priest on his side of the confession booth, things start to go a little crazy.


He jumps when I open the door to his side. From the light shining in I see he’s made a little tent in his robes. I should just take the package from him and leave.

But I don’t.

I hike up my skirt and put a high heel on the bench so he can get a good view of my panties.  Oh, wait, I forgot to put on panties. I knew I’d forgotten something!

Silly me.

He looks like he just got injected with a drug. Smiling, I close the wood panel door behind me so we’re now in the dark.

The envelope with my money in it disappears into my handbag. Now that his hands are free, I grab them and place them on my breasts, a sensation I doubt he has felt for a long time, if ever. The sigh that escapes from him puts a wicked grin on my face.

A few more buttons of my blouse come undone and I’m feeding him, holding him by the back of his head. His hands find my home and stumble against the door, but I don’t mind. I know he’s inexperienced. It’s not his technique (or lack) that turns me on, but his eagerness to sin, and sin so egregiously, so readily, to leap into the taboo without a second thought. I reward his unpracticed eagerness with my own, more experienced hand.

Suddenly a penitent enters the other side.

Father freezes, but I don’t.

A breathy girl’s voice from the other side whispers, “Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

“How long since your last confession?” He manages to not sound too flustered.

“A week.”

“What do you wish to confess?”

“Lately I’ve been having these crazy urges to... to touch myself. Inappropriately. Especially in front of other people. I stop right before they see anything, but when they look away I touch myself some more, you know... down there.

"But that’s not the worst thing.”

“No? What is the worst thing, my dear?

“The feeling builds up until I can’t stop it anymore and then all this liquid shoots out. At first, I thought it was pee, but it doesn’t smell like pee.”

I put my mouth on the priest’s ear so he can feel my lips moving against him and whisper oh, so quietly.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re saying, why don’t you do it for me, now, while you’re safe in here.”

“What? Oh I don’t know...”

I breathe a few more words into the holy father’s ear.

“If you do it for me, now, here, it won’t be a sin.”


“Yes, child,  truly.”

“Oh... okay.”

I hear the sound of rustling clothing.

“I’m doing it, Father.”

“Doing what, my dear?”

“Touching myself. Down there.”

“I don’t hear anything. I don’t think you’re trying hard enough.”

“I’ll try harder,” she breathes, and I hear delicious  little wet sounds through the grate. Little noises escape her mouth, cute hitches of breath, stifled moans.

“Do you like knowing I can hear you? Do you like doing that right next to me so that I know you’re doing it?”

“Oh, yes, Father.” More slippery slick sounds, her breathing is speeding up.

“How much do you like it?”

“More than anything!”

I’m not telling the priest what to say, anymore. He’s getting into the spirit of my wicked little game quite nicely all on his own. I give him a kiss on his neck below his ear, then lift up his robes and kneel before him in the tiny booth. Funny how there’s enough room for the two of us to be in this position. Almost as if the confessional were designed this way. He’s not as big as demon girl-cock, but then again, who is?

“Father it’s going to happen, what do I do?” she hisses in a panicked voice.

“Let it happen, child!”

“Uh... uh... Oh, God,  I can’t stop, I can’t stop, oh no!

I hear her  juice spraying against the panel with a hiss. It makes an almost musical drumming sound against the thin wood. She’s squealing with her hand over her mouth by the sound of it. As she sprays the inside of the confession booth, the holy father erupts and sprays the back of my mouth. He’s trying to buck against my mouth but I’m holding him down with my forearms on his thighs. I rise. In the dim light of the dark booth he can see my finger pointing at the grate.

“Well done, my child,” he says, a little out of breath himself, “Say five Hail Mary’s, go forth and sin no more.”

I hook a thumb into his mouth to hold his jaw open and drool everything I have from him onto his own tongue. He swallows it all and says, "I'm not sure exactly what side you're on, Miss Hudson."

Learn more about the Erotic Apocalypse, which features smoking hot futanari demons and angels involved in a plot to prevent (or begin) the Apocalypse. But you can't stop the Erotic Apocalypse! If you love power-mad, sex-hungry bisexual women from the 1940s (or is that sex-mad and power-hungry?) hungering after giant demon girlcocks and spewing enough sexual fluids to take a bath in, you won't find a hotter, more sacrilegious tale.

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