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Anybody have a miracle they can spare? February 29, 2012

Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in Boosting the signal, Can-2012-be-over-now?.
6 comments

I have a friend, a SAHM with a lovely little boy who just turned two. Monday morning, minutes before her husband left for work, Susan collapsed. When they got her to the hospital, they discovered that she’d had a massive stroke. They tried to control the swelling with medication, and when that didn’t work, they removed part of her skull. She’s in critical condition, and has not regained consciousness since she collapsed Monday morning.

Susan is 32.

I’m still trying to get my brain around this. Our local group is rallying around her family, with people making sure that food and childcare are covered. But the shock runs really deep, and all week long, we’ve been spreading the word, asking — no, BEGGING — for prayers.

I just realized… I have this platform. Why the HELL aren’t I using it?

So please, do whatever it is that you do, for Susan. If you wish, WISH. If you pray, PRAY. If you commune with the Flying Spaghetti Monster, tell Him I said hi. Whatever you do, please DO!

For Susan.

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Open Letter to the reviewer for JERR February 26, 2012

Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in I-can-be-an-idiot, Princes of Air, reviews.
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Thank you for the lovely review. I just wanted to say that you are ABSOLUTELY right when you pointed out the one failing of the book.  There should have been a pronunciation guide. I swear, when I saw your review, there was a serious Homer Simpson moment — “D’OH!”

Of COURSE there should have been one, and I feel like a right idiot for not including it. If/when Princes of Air comes out in a print edition, I will make sure that there is a pronunciation guide included. I apologize for not thinking of it.

 

Long day is LONG! February 25, 2012

Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in happy-happy- joy- joy, run-writer-run!.
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Today started at 4 AM for me.

Why?

Because I needed to be at EPCOT before 6:15 AM

Why?

Well, because the race started at 7 AM.

What? What race?

Why, the Disney Royal Family 5K, of course!

It was a BLAST! Of course, it was Disney, and everything Disney does, it does to the nines. There were over 6000 people running this morning, and they made sure it went off without a hitch. We started in the Epcot parking lot, went through backstage and under Test Track (where they were running the morning safety checks), between Mexico and Norway and around the Nations (and backstage again after France, coming out in England), out the main drag to Spaceship Earth, loop around the front of Spaceship Earth and back, and then out to the parking lot for the finish line. All along the route were Disney Princesses and other characters cheering people on (first time EVER I have seen John Smith as a character in ANY Disney park!) There were cast members out with noisemakers, and official photographers (which caused a small problem. More on that later).

And people ran in costume! There were more Rapunzels than anything else, which makes sense, because it was a Tangled theme race. I saw every princess possible, some costumed by men. There were Minnies and Mickeys and someone costumed the Beast, and someone else was Prince what’s-his-name from The Princess and the Frog. Oh, and someone ran as Maleficent. Evil Fairies do 5Ks!

The only problem today? Someone stopping for a photo op with one of the official photographers went for a better pose and stepped back with one foot into the line of traffic — right in front of me. I went arse over teakettle, and landed hard on my right hand. This happened at roughly mile marker 2. End of my running — I walked the rest of the race, finishing in just over an hour. And immediately on crossing the finish line grabbed the first cast member I saw and said “MEDIC!” They iced my hand, gave me instructions and told me to go to urgent care if it was still tender in 48 hours. Since I’m now using both hands to type, it isn’t broken. (It actually only hurts when I ice it. I’m weird.)

Afterwards, there was entertainment and food and a whole Expo that I actually went to yesterday when I picked up my race packet.  So I headed back north and went to Weight Watchers, then came home, showered and fell over.

A good day. Can’t wait to do it again next year!

Oh, and here. This is just over 2.5 miles in.


Excerpt: The Succubus (NSFW) February 18, 2012

Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in Best_of_Poll, circlet.
2 comments

I realize that not a lot of people might know the stories of mine that are up on the Best of Circlet Digital Library poll. So, in the interest of informed voting, have an excerpt. This is from The Succubus, which appeared in the anthology Like Clockwork. IT IS NOT WORK SAFE!

****

The fourth floor is usually quiet, with only the hum of machinery and the distant voices from the floors below. The men do not return to the fourth floor after their initial encounter with me. They desire something more familiar, more in keeping with their personal fantasies. More safe. So I wait, alone, and the silent servants tend to my needs. This evening will be different. I know it already. I can hear Madame’s familiar step on the stair, and another, heavier step with her.

She enters first, the train of her evening gown sweeping the floor as she moves to the table and lights the lamp. The man lingers in the door, peering into the gloom. He wears pristine evening dress, and the lamplight picking out the gold links in his watch-chain and the gleam of the ruby on his left hand. The walls have already whispered his secrets to me: the second son of a Duke, one who was never expected to take the reins of power. One who came, all unexpected, into an inheritance that was never meant to be his. His older brother was dead of typhoid, gone without a son to succeed him, and so the younger son was now Earl Hathaway. It was no surprise to us that the late, lamented Reginald Warwick, Earl Hathaway had died without issue―he had also borne the collar and lock in this house, and had shown a definite preference for the third floor. It will be interesting to see what the new Lord Hathaway prefers. His name, the walls have told me, is Nigel.

“You can come in,” Madame says. “She won’t bite you.” She laughs, and leaves the lamp to go to the far wall, and the switches there. She throws them, one at the time, and light floods the room.

I hear him gasp, and I know what he sees. The ceilings in this room are high, and although they try to hide it with draperies, you can still see the machines that tower overhead, disappearing into the shadows above the lights. The machines hum and churn, gears half the size of a man moving in the eternal dance that gives me life. Occasionally they release puffs of fragrant steam into the air, making the entire room warmer than would normally be considered comfortable. There is very little furniture in the room, most of it covered with drapery against dust and future need. And then there is me. Shining silver and chrome, gleaming brass and copper, I lie in wait, reclined on the wide couch as might a goddess whilst she awaited her worshipers.

“But… it’s clockwork!” he blurts out, stepping into the room. He looks around, expecting to see a living woman. But, of course, there is no one else in the room.

Madame sniffs slightly, “Of course she is. I did explain that to you, did I not?”

Lord Hathaway has the grace to look embarrassed, “You did, but… the others all look… alive. This one…” he gestures wildly.

“She was the first, created by my late husband,” Madame says, walking over to my couch. She brushes her nails over my shoulder and continues, “The others came later, and I refined the forms to make them more… approachable. Despite her form, the Succubus is the most complex of all the automatons.”

“How can that be? It looks like a statue!” He takes a step toward the couch and points at me. “It is a statue!”

Madame runs her fingers over my gleaming silver skull, “Oh, this is just the focal point, Your Lordship. The Succubus encompasses this room.”

He looks around, his eyes wide, “The whole room?”

“The whole of this floor, actually. As I said, she is very complex.” Madame makes her way back to the wall and stands near the bell-rope. “Now, it is customary for the first appointment to be with the Succubus. Did your brother not tell you this?”

Lord Hathaway shakes his head. “All Reg told me was that I would not believe what I found here. He wouldn’t say more.” He swallows, looking nervously at the figure on the couch, and then back at Madame, “Is it safe?”

Madame laughs, “My dear sir, you’ll be as safe here as in your own mother’s arms, if that is your desire.”

He looks at her sharply, “What does that mean?”

Madame just smiles, “You’ve seen what we offer. Surely it’s no surprise to you that there are some who prefer an element of risk. Don’t you agree?”

He does, although I doubt that any would see it but me. His breathing quickens, ever so slightly. The flush in his cheeks heightens, just a touch. He looks at me again, studying me, silent. After a long moment, he turns back to Madame, “What do I have to do?”

She draws from the reticule that hangs from her wrist one of the shining silver collars, the black lock dangling from the end. She smiles at my soon-to-be paramour, “Take off your clothes.”

****

He balks, of course. They always do. Disrobe in front of a woman? Unthinkable! Even though the woman is the proprietress of the most exclusive brothel in London, they simply can’t. I think that Madame enjoys their discomfort, and that is why she does it. Eventually, she tires of his protests and rings for one of the silent servants.

“Lay your clothing there,” Madame says, and points to a chair near the door. “The servant will guard the door and make certain that you are undisturbed. And I will have a room made up for you.”

Nigel looks startled, “Will that be necessary?”

Madame smiles, “The Succubus likes to take her time.” Then she leaves, and the door closes behind her with a soft thump. Nigel stares at the door for a moment, then starts to unbutton his waistcoat, turning away from me in what must have been an automatic gesture. He has already removed his tie and unbuttoned his high collar so that Madame could lock the collar around his throat.

A voice is nothing but air through valves. I can have any voice I choose. This time, I choose a girl’s voice, light and gentle. “I can still see you,” I say softly. “You needn’t try to hide. I like to watch.”

He spins, startled, looking for the owner of the voice, “Who… Who said that?”

I answer, “I am the Succubus. And my eyes are throughout this room. So you need not try to hide from me.”

“You speak?” He starts edging towards the door.

“I do a great many things. Isn’t that why you’re here?” I pause, and he stops moving. Good. Time to begin. “Do you enjoy being frightened, Nigel?”

“No!” he says quickly. “How did you know my name?”

“I know many things about you, Nigel,” I keep my voice soft and low. “I know you seek an escape from the madness that your life has become since your brother died and you assumed his title. I know that you wish for a return to the carefree days of being the younger son. Your life has become structured, regimented. You want excitement.” In actuality, I know none of these things. I do know that he is the younger son, much younger than his brother. Younger sons are allowed some leeway in their dealings, and it is all overlooked since they will not bear the title. And… he is here. If he was looking for a mistress, he would be at the opera, or the theater. If he desired a simple coupling, a push-in-the-dark-here’s-a-farthing-never-see-the-girl-again, he would be in Whitechapel. He wants neither of these. He wants some excitement, but something that carries no risk of scandal. I can tell now that he needs something more than a simple tryst.

The chair hits him right behind the knees, and he sits down hard, the breath exploding out of him. I have him in a trice, bindings snapping closed around his legs, waist, and chest. Cables catch his wrists and pull them into position for the bindings that fix his arms to the chair. He is mine.

He struggles for a moment, opens his mouth to protest, and his breath catches when he sees the mechanical arm rising from the floor between his feet. The knife blade at the end shines in the harsh lights, the edge glittering as I move it this way and that.

“It is very sharp, I assure you,” I say. “Do not struggle.”

“What are you doing?” he whispers, looking like a bird facing a snake, his glassy eyes never leaving the blade.

I don’t answer, lowering the knife back towards the floor. I wait a moment, letting his breathing quicken, then slip the blade into the leg of his trousers, brushing against his skin before I begin cutting. His fine trousers part easily as I work my way slowly up the seam, tracing the blade lightly over the inside of his thighs as my blade travels up each leg. He moans, closing his eyes and trying oh-so-valiantly not to move or even to breathe as the blade lays his skin bare. His arms are ticklish, and he yelps as I cut away his fine silk shirt and trace the blue veins under his skin. When I am done, his skin is shining with sweat, his breathing quick and shallow. His cock, freed at last from its linen and wool prison, stands proudly like a soldier at attention.

I pitch my voice so that it seems to come from behind him, and add a puff of air so it seems to Nigel that I am whispering in his ear, “I see that you appreciate my handiwork.”

My dear Nigel’s only answer is a whimper; his eyelids flutter open, then he gasps in surprise to see the knife a scant inch from his nose. He swallows and struggles to control his need to pull away as I stroke his cheek with the knife, then move lower, tracing the pulsing vein in his throat. I prick his collarbone lightly, not even enough to raise a welt, then gently brush the blade over one of his erect nipples.

That is all it takes. Nigel wails like a girl, thrashing in his bonds while his seed splatters over his chest and legs and onto the floor. Then he goes limp, his eyes close, and his head lolls back as his chest heaves. I pull the knife arm back into the floor and consider my next move. I hadn’t expected him to spend quite that quickly. As Madame said, I like to take my time.

Excerpt: The Hand You’re Dealt (NSFW!) February 17, 2012

Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in Best_of_Poll, circlet.
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I realize that not a lot of people might know the stories of mine that are up on the Best of Circlet Digital Library poll. So, in the interest of informed voting, have an excerpt. This is from The Hand You’re Dealt, which appeared in the anthology Like a Sacred Desire. IT IS NOT WORK SAFE!

*****

The house shook as the front door was shoved closed, and I heard Nick’s footsteps overhead, moving towards the stairs. The circle had gone well, and with the last of the coven gone, I knew that Nick was going to be in a mood. Circle high, he called it. I called it frisky, when I was being polite. When I wasn’t, I told him that he was a slut.

Not that I minded much. I could be a slut, too, and Nick’s moods suited me just fine. But before playtime came work; I had told Nick that I’d clean up my toys. I picked up the drum I’d used to accompany the ritual and made my way over to the wall and the cabinet that Nick had set up for storage of odd-sized ritual items. It smelled of cedar and incense as I opened it, finding the shelf by touch and sliding the flat Irish drum into its place. Behind me, I heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Nick was behind me, sliding his arms around my waist and pressing a kiss onto my shoulder.

“Everyone gone?” I asked, and felt him nod, the stubble of his late-evening beard scratching on the side of my neck.

“All gone. Just you and me now,” he nuzzled my neck. “Want to play, Styopa?”

I grinned. He knew what my answer would be, and he knew I loved the Russian diminutive of my name that he’d tagged me with back before we’d become lovers. After all, it was a hell of a lot more sophisticated than Stevie. “I’ll always play with you, Kolya. What are you up to?”

“Something… random,” he laughed, backing away. “Get yourself ready, Steven. I’ll take care of the dog and get a few things, and meet you in the playroom.”

The playroom. Oh, that kind of play. My heart sped up, and I nodded without saying a word, hearing him going back up the stairs. Nicolai was the love of my life, my sanity, the single good thing that had happened to me after the accident that had taken my sight, put metal rods in my back and leg, and ended my career as a dancer. He was also one hell of a dom, and if he wanted me on my knees, I’d be there immediately.

But he didn’t want immediate. He wanted me ready, and I knew what that meant. I also knew that it meant I’d better hurry. It didn’t take that long to feed the dog and lock up, and if I wasn’t in position when Nick got to the playroom, he’d keep right on going and head to bed.

Only one thing worried me, and that was his choice of words. Random? What was he talking about? Random and BDSM didn’t usually go together, and especially not where Nick was concerned. Every scene we’d ever done had been precise, structured and intense. Random wasn’t a word I’d ever heard Nick use.

But I wasn’t going to find out what he meant just standing here. And if I didn’t move it, I wouldn’t find out what he meant at all.

* * * *

The playroom door squeaked slightly, something that Nick was always meaning to fix and never getting around to. So I knew when he came in, and I knew what he’d see. Me, kneeling in the middle of the room, facing the door (I hoped―he still teased me about the time I’d knelt off center and had been facing the closet when he came in). I was naked, and I’d assumed the position he’d taught me―knees apart, back straight, with my hands resting easy on my thighs. I’d been hard before I’d even gotten my pants off, and the breeze caused by the opening of the door washed over my skin, raising goosebumps and making me shiver.

“Very nice,” Nick murmured, and I could hear the barest hint of the accent that he could never manage to lose, stronger now than it usually was. He really was in a mood. I heard his soft footfalls, almost-but-not-quite muffled by the thick carpet as he walked around me, trailing his fingers over my shoulders and brushing my hair out of the way.

“Very nice,” he repeated. He linked one finger through the heavy silver chain I always wore and tugged on it. I closed my eyes and took a sharp breath; he laughed and let me go.

“All right. Hold your hands out.” I did, and he dropped a pile of something slippery into my waiting palms. I grabbed them before I dropped them, feeling slick, narrow cards.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“That’s a tarot deck. I want you to think about what you want tonight while you shuffle the cards,” Nick said as he moved around. I heard cabinets opening, and knew that he was getting the toys ready. “Once you shuffle the cards, I’ll lay them out. Whatever the cards say is what I will be doing to you tonight.”

I almost dropped the cards. “Nick, I don’t know about this…”

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

I nodded, “You know I do.”

“What’s your safe-word?”

“Nick, you don’t think I’m going to need….”

“Safe-word?” he repeated, his voice a little harsher, a little more stern, the accent even more pronounced, the tone edging towards strict formality. His dom voice. I ducked my head in response.

“Oatmeal,” I said quietly. I heard Nick move, and then he was kneeling in front of me, tugging on my chain again, pulling me towards him and claiming my mouth in a hard, possessive kiss that left me gasping and wanting more.

“I made a promise, Styopa,” he whispered into my ear, sliding his hands up my arms. “I promised you that I would never hurt you. If you do not like what the cards say, we will stop. We will play another way. Or not play at all. Do you understand?” I nodded, not sure I could speak at the moment, still trying to find my breath. He kissed me again, more gently, then stood up, “Good. Shuffle the cards.”

So I shuffled, trying to focus on all of the wonderful, horrible things that Nick did to me in this room. The sounds of the room became a soothing drone as I concentrated―Nick’s breathing, the hum of the fan blowing, the hiss of the rain outside, all of them harmonizing around the bass line that was my own rapid heartbeat. Finally, I held the cards up, “I’m done.”

Nick came over and took the cards from me, “Good. I’ll lay out the pattern, and then we’ll get started.”

I nodded, returning to my resting position, “May I speak?”

“Go ahead.”

“Which deck is that? That’s not the usual one, is it?” I was sure it wasn’t; as I’d handled the cards, I’d noticed that it had felt different from the deck I knew Nick used when he did readings. Not as heavy… no, that wasn’t it. The cards felt like they were the same paper-weight as Nick’s usual deck, but for some reason, they felt like they had less of something. They were… different.

When Nick answered me, I could tell my question pleased him, “One of the art ones. One that you gave me, as a matter of fact. How did you know?”

“It feels different,” I answered, letting my confusion show.

He laughed, “Of course it does, mily. My working deck is consecrated. This one isn’t. I keep telling you that you’re more sensitive to magic than you give yourself credit for, Steven. ”

I restrained the urge to snort; just because I was sleeping with a High Priest didn’t mean I believed in magic. I was a long-lapsed Roman Catholic, and didn’t give any religion any real credence any more. The extent of my participation in the coven was to play drums for them, and that was how I liked it. But I couldn’t get over how different those cards felt.

I heard the snap of the cards, “What are you doing?”

“Laying them out. Face down, so it will be a surprise for both of us. I did keep one card out. The Knight of Cauldrons. Tell me why.”

Oh, this was going to be a lesson, too? I knew the answer to this one. “That’s my card. For my age and coloring, and because I’m a musician.”

“Very good. All right, next card.” Another card snapped, and Nick snorted. “Well, that makes sense.”

“What?”

“The Devil. In this deck, it’s called Temptation. But… the meaning behind it is perfect,” Nick moved over to walk around me again, lacing his fingers into my hair and pulling my head back, making me whimper with delight and need, “Depravity. Submission. Perversion. Lust. I think that’s a very good description of what’s going to happen to you tonight, don’t you?”

I swallowed, trying not to shake from wanting him so much, “Yes, sir.”

He kissed me again. “Next card.” He moved away; I shivered and tried not to break position. I missed the snap of the card, but not Nick’s delighted laugh.

“The Emperor,” he announced.

That caught me by surprise, “That’s your card!”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” he said, still laughing. “Well, I suppose that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to think that you were going to submit to someone else tonight. Although… do you know what the meaning of this card is?”

I was caught in spite of myself, fascinated by the game he had orchestrated for us. “I don’t have a clue.”

“This card signifies the masculine force of the universe. Dominance and discipline, and at the same time, paternal. The Emperor is the universal father figure.”

I cocked my head to the side, “Did you choose the card because he was a dom or because he was a dad?”

Nick laughed. “Both. Neither. The card chose me. Now, let’s see what the next card you chose is.” Another card snapped, followed quickly by two more. Nick grunted, and then all I heard was movement. Nick walked away, and then came back towards me, standing behind me. I stayed still, and was rewarded by the slithering of a silky rope over my shoulder.

“Nine of Swords, the Six of Swords, reversed, and the Chariot, also reversed,” Nick murmured. “Hands behind your back.”

I nodded and crossed my wrists behind me; he lashed them together firmly and then drew them up, running the ropes over my shoulders and down, crossing and recrossing my chest until my arms were immobile. I could feel the ends of the rope trailing down my belly in a long tail, and I shifted slightly so that the rope swayed and slid over my cock. That felt good, but the movement earned me a sharp slap on the thigh and I fell still.

“You look very good in rope and nothing else,” Nick tugged on the ropes, checking their placement. “There’s no point in blindfolding you, mily. Except for aesthetics, that is.”

“And while we’re at it, we can take owls to Athens,” I muttered.

Nick snorted his amusement, and there was a steady tug at the center of my chest; he had gathered up the tail and was using it as a leash. “Come on.”

“Are you going to tell me what the cards mean?”

“In a minute,” he answered, pulling me along for a few steps before stopping me pushing me up against a table edge―the massage table that stood off to one side of the room. He bent me over it and pressed one hand on the back of my neck, forcing me down until my cheek was pressed against the surface and all I could smell was leather. Then he pushed me forward; when he was done, my head and shoulders hung off of one edge of the table, and my rock-hard cock was pressed against the other. “Don’t move,” he ordered me, and then moved away again. When he came back, it was with heavy cuffs that he locked around my ankles, and a spreader bar that he used to force my legs apart. “How long can you hold this position?” he asked.

I thought about it for a moment, shifting gently in the ropes and judging how it made my back feel. “I don’t think this will be a problem. I’ve got pretty good support from the table. If I start to cramp, I’ll call red.”

“Good boy. Oh, and the two cards? The meaning of the nine of swords really doesn’t apply to anything we’re doing here tonight, but the artwork shows a lovely young man tied up with rope.” He patted my ass and moved away, and I felt a tug on the rope leash as he pulled it towards my chin and then down over the edge of the table. Nick moved around the table again, and there was a tug at my feet as pressure was put on the spreader bar.

Nick patted my ass again when he was done, and then ran one hand slowly down over my hip. “Can you move?” I tried and failed, finding myself unable to stand up straight. He must have tied the rope tails off to the spreader bar, trapping me over the table. I could move a little from side to side, but not much, and I told him so. He ran his nails down my spine. “Good. That’s the next two cards. Six of swords, and the Chariot, both reversed.”

“What, they mean bondage?” I asked, shifting a little, testing my limits.

“Not in so many words.” He slapped my ass and then slid his hand down, between my legs, stopping just before he reached my balls. I whimpered and thrust back, and he laughed and pulled his hand away. “Reversed, the Six of swords means hindrance, and the Chariot means lack of control.”

“Which means bondage,” I said again, pushing my ass back towards him. “Well, I’m hindered, and I’ve got no control. Is there a card in there that says I get fucked?”

“If that’s something that you were focusing on when you shuffled, then perhaps. There are five cards left, and they’re all face down. So… let’s see what the next card says. Maybe it’ll say you need to be gagged; you’re awfully chatty tonight.” The next card snap was so close to me that I jumped when it sounded. Nick made an odd sound, and then another card snapped. “Interesting.”

I wanted to ask what was so interesting, but I really didn’t want to be gagged, and I can take a hint. So I waited. Patience is a virtue, and virtue gets rewarded. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.

It seemed to work in this case. I heard another snap, different from the sound of the cards. This one I recognized as the top of the lube bottle being opened. It was followed by a cold dribble down the crack of my ass. A third snap, and I almost cheered; latex has a very distinctive sound―Nick had put on a glove. He ran his gloved nails up the back of my leg, making me twitch, then slowly started to spread the lube, making long sweeping strokes that ran from my balls to my anus and didn’t come nearly close enough to either. I groaned and tried to push back more, earning myself another slap.

“Stay still,” he ordered. He circled my anus with one finger and then slid it in slowly. The next stroke was two fingers, and then three, and I moaned in response, closing my eyes. He growled, leaning forward over me and reaching forward with his free hand, shoving his fingers in my mouth, “Is this enough for you, Styopa?”

I whined around his fingers and set to work, sucking as hard as I could and running my tongue over his knuckles the way I knew that he liked. He growled again as he started to finger-fuck me into a frenzy, then whispered into my ear, “You are such a hungry little slut, aren’t you, my Styopa? You want nothing more than my cock up your ass, down your throat, however you can get it. Don’t you?” I whined again. He was right, of course. I did want him, however I could get him. As often as I could get him, and as hard as I could get him. He laughed, pumping harder and shoving his fingers further down my throat; I had just enough slack in the ropes to pump against the edge of the table, and the sweat pooling under me made it easier, so I was building to a wonderful come…

And the phone rang. My eyes flew open as Nick laughed and pulled his fingers out of my mouth.

“So that’s what those cards meant!” he said. I heard the snapping of latex as he stripped off the glove, then the padding of his feet as he walked away…

An honor to be nominated February 16, 2012

Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in Boosting the signal, SQUEEE, wow.
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Boy, THERE is something I never thought I’d say!

Circlet Press will be 20 years old this year. Since the beginning, they’ve been a publisher of some wonderful erotica, including mine. And no, I’m not just saying that because they are my publisher. I’ve been reading Circlet Press erotica since the early days. That’s why I WENT with them.

They’ve decided to put out a best of anthology, and have opened a poll to pick the best of the digital library. And I am truly flattered that two of my stories have made the cut, and are on the poll.  What is amusing me is that the two stories that they’ve chosen are the two that have spawned novels: The Succubus, which appeared in Like Clockwork, and was the springboard for House of the Sable Locks, and The Hand You’re Dealt, originally appearing in Like a Sacred Desire, and which was the launching pad for Heart’s Master.

Now, I’m not saying you should run over and vote… what, am I nuts? OF COURSE I’m saying you should run over and vote! I’m just not saying you should vote for me. There is a LOT of good erotica on that list. Go check it out!

A new POA review! (spoilery) February 7, 2012

Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in Princes of Air, reviews, SQUEEE.
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A new review for Princes of Air, from Just Erotic Romance Reviews! (It is not up on their site yet — I saw it in the newsletter. I’ll link to it once it goes live).

The review is a little spoilery, but here’s the meat of it:

Princes of Air draws deeply on Irish legend to create an interlocking web of stories full of romance and danger. The stories
are each told by Niall, Diarmud, and Petran. Having sex described from a man’s point of view is surprisingly arousing!
Each of these stories contributes to a mythic tale, ensnaring the reader from the first page. The characters are believable,
heroic, and engaging. Elizabeth Schechter has crafted an epic tale of love, loss, battle, and happy endings. My only
complaint is the lack of an Irish pronunciation guide. Princes of Air earns a heartfelt recommendation and a place in my
“special treasures” pile.

EEEEE!!!!!

(If you want to download the newsletter (the review is pages 36-37), here it is! JERR Newsletter Issue 189 – 02-05-12