Category Archives: Loveslice Bestiary

The Ogre Stud and the Motor in the Mud

Here’s the beginning of The Ogre Stud and the Motor in the Mud, a brand-new short story by Cassandra Flicker!


Lisa loved her new house. She had always wanted to live in an old-fashioned little farmhouse, and now she did. It was rickety and drafty and a little spooky at first, but it was everything she hoped it would be.
The land, however, was less appealing. The reason she could buy this land for a steal was that it simply wasn’t very good land — it had been farmed, briefly, but the family gave up decades ago. That’s why the farmhouse had been abandoned.
She went out one day to meet a local with a truck, whom she had hired to come help her. There was a large mud pit on her property, about a half-mile from her house. It was located where a couple of hills met, and it was down in the valley between them all. It looked like it would be perpetually muddy. If there was just a little more rain around here, it would have been a pond.
And there was an engine in it. An entire engine block, as though a car had vomited up its innards then crawled somewhere else to die. It was covered in inky black mud and moss.
So she had hired a local with a truck to pull it out. His name was Frederick, and he spoke like Boomhauer but he was very nice. He wasn’t helpful though. “I can’t get my truck in the mud there, miss, you gonna need a tow truck.”
She sighed and thanked him for trying. She even paid him twenty dollars, which was half of what she had offered to pay him. It felt like a rip-off since he hadn’t actually done anything, but she didn’t want to get a reputation as a skinflint among her new neighbors.
So now what to do? She had a feeling hiring a tow truck to come out here was going to cost hundreds of dollars. She could just leave the engine. It wasn’t hurting anything.
She decided to go to her neighbor, Dwayne. He was a bit weird, very intense and off-putting, so she didn’t really want to talk to him. But he was her only neighbor, and he had a small, successful beet farm. She thought he might know how to get the engine out, or at least he could satisfy her curiosity about why it was there.
“The engine? Oh yes, Martin Huffenpatter was drifting in the mud, doing donuts. He had done a lot of mods on his truck, making it purr like a kitten, and he spent a lot of time making sure the engine worked. He spent very little time making sure it was adequately secured within the body of the car in which it didn’t fit.” He leered and laughed. “As soon as he finished his run, he got out of the car, slammed the door and all of the car’s insides plopped right out in the mud.” Dwayne frowned, disappointed that she didn’t find the story as amusing as he did.
“Oh. I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas on how to get rid of it.”
“I could do it. I’ll get rid of it for a thousand dollars,” he said with a grin.
“Um… Lemme think about it,” she said. She was about to ask if he had a tow truck — maybe she could just rent it from him and do it herself — when he snapped at someone in the house behind himself.
“Hush, Elijah,” he said. He looked to Lisa. “Sorry, that’s my brother. He’s an ogre.”
“Oh. I, uh… Okay.”
She left soon after that. It was clear neither Dwight nor his weird brother, whom she didn’t even know existed until just now, could help her. Dwight didn’t have a tow truck. Apparently his plan, in its entirety, was to take her money and hire a tow truck himself. She could just do that directly.
Overnight, Lisa had an idea that she was pretty sure was stupid. She could, maybe, slide the engine block onto planks of wood that could be slid over the mud, like skis. She had no idea how feasible that was, but it seemed like the kind of thing that might work.
So on her morning jog, Lisa went to the mud pit just to see what it looked like again, with that plan in mind. Could she lift the engine block just a few millimeters to start wedging it under a piece of wood?
But she was distracted when she came near the mud pit because she saw a man standing there. He towered high, well over seven feet tall, and broad-shouldered like a bull. He had a thick, squat face that wasn’t exactly handsome — his features were squashed and thick and bulgey like his muscles — but there was something about him that was appealing too.
He had the engine block in his hands, dragging it through the mud. He glanced in her direction but didn’t acknowledge her. Finally he had the engine block out of the mud, laying on the side of the road. His shirtless frame was sticky with sweat and splattered with mud.
“Hello.” He had one of those ultra-deep voices, so baritone it hurt to listen to it.
Lisa blushed. “Hi.” She cleared her throat. “Uh, did you really just drag that engine block?” She would never have guessed that was possible. Even the strongest man in the world couldn’t do that, she thought.
He nodded and looked at her for a long time. “You are a very pretty lady. I will not eat you.”
“Oh.” Lisa had to blush and giggle because she was so nervous. “I, uh… I won’t eat you either.”

Betsy Bright, Her Minotaur Man and His Labyrinthine Love

Here’s the first chapter of Betsy Bright, Her Minotaur Man and His Labyrinthine Love, a hot erom tale of romance, passion, lust and one incredible maze!

The only part of her job that didn’t bore Betsy Bright was looking at Mr. Tauren. He was a nearly seven foot tall stud who filled out his tailored Italian suits perfectly. He owned a mining services company, and he was one of those rare CEOs who had really worked his way up the ranks. He had begun slinging coal when he was just out of high school, and received an executive position in his early thirties.

He was impressive, not just because he was a self-made man, but also because he was black. There were very few black people anywhere in this part of Tennessee, and virtually none of them were in the coal industry. Betsy respected the hell out of Mr. Tauren.

And she lusted for him like a schoolgirl. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with a gruff, no-nonsense manner of speaking. When he got angry with someone, like he was today, he bristled in his suit, muscles remaining tense all day as though they might jump right off his body. He was also scrupulously nice to Betsy whenever he was mad at someone else, seemingly because he worried he would be accidentally mean to her and went out of his way to be nice to avoid that.

“Betsy, I wanted to thank you for your work these days,” Mr. Tauren said. “I know I am not always an easy man to deal with.” His voice was clipped and angry.

“Oh, Mr. Tauren you’re no bully! You’re so nice! You’re easy to deal with,” Betsy said. Then she blushed, not sure if she was obvious in her crush on him.

He smiled. “Well, thank you for all your attentiveness. You can send Walter in,” he said. He was interrupted by more sirens — they had been active for the last hour or so — blaring past outside. “I wonder what’s going on…”

He went into his office then, and Betsy gave him a minute or two to settle in at his desk before nodding for Walter to enter. Walter was a mid-level manager who fidgeted in his ill-fitting suit as he sat there in the waiting room. He took a deep breath and went into the office.

Betsy smiled at him as he went by. She knew he was in trouble. That must be why Mr. Tauren was in an angry mood. Walter was about to get yelled at.

But Mr. Tauren didn’t “yell” exactly, not when he was angry. His deep rumbling voice was loud enough to be audible to Betsy, but she couldn’t make out the words. All she heard was a stentorian mumble of syllables, and Walter’s occasional pleas.

Was Walter fired? It sure sounded like he was begging for his job.

Betsy was distracted by yet more sirens. She went to the window. The cop cars were on their way to South Memphis. That much wasn’t so surprising, since South Memphis was the ghetto. But that had to be just about every cop car in the county heading there all at once. What was going on?

There was nothing on the local newspaper’s website. She was intensely curious, but before she could investigate further, Walter came out of the office. He kept his head held high, but his eyes were reddish and his face was tense — he had definitely been fired.

When Betsy saw him out, he nodded politely and left. He didn’t say anything else. It was tense and nerve-wracking for Betsy, but she felt safe since Mr. Tauren was nearby. He was very protective of her — when Betsy had said she got catcalled by a miner on the way into the office once, Mr. Tauren had left and come back an hour later dragging a miner by the ear to apologize to her.

Mr. Tauren was in his office, working out. He did that when he was bothered by something. It was always obvious what he was doing because he took off his suit — he wore workout clothes underneath — and hung the jacket up outside his office. He believed that it would pick up his sweaty scent from the air if he kept it in there with him he exercised.

Betsy was aroused by the thought of him in that t-shirt-and-track-pants look, which she had only actually seen twice. But both times, it had left her panties tingling.

She idly refreshed the browser on her computer, and shock flooded her at the sight of the updated homepage — Riots in Memphis! She gasped and clicked, her lust for Mr. Tauren forgotten.

There wasn’t much in the way of details at the moment, but over the next few hours, the story became apparent. A black man named Albert White had been shot by police this afternoon, apparently because he was mistaken for a different black man. The most alarming part of the story, for Betsy anyway, was that the riot was not really in South Memphis — it was right here. It was around the corner, or it had started there.

The chaos was all over the city. Betsy wasn’t sure it would be safe to walk back to her car. And when she went to the window, she gasped again — the riot was right there.

Two black men in masks streamed past the window, carrying something burning and possibly a gun, she couldn’t quite see. Betsy squealed at the sight of an overturned car not that much farther away.

“Walter? Get outta here! I-“ Mr. Tauren poked his head out of the office, apparently assuming that it was Walter who had caused Betsy a fright. Mr. Tauren saw Betsy look anxiously out the window and he joined her. He saw the overturned car. “What’s that? A car accident?”

“No… Well, yes,” Betsy said. “But there’s a riot.”


“A riot started a few hours ago. It’s something to do with a police shooting,” Betsy said.

“Those fuckin’ idiots… Pardon my French, ma’am.”

Betsy giggled. “I’ve got news for you, Mr. Tauren. That’s not technically French.”

He smiled. “Oh. Well, le riot est stupide. Is that better?”

“Sounds right.”

He sighed. “Well, you can’t leave.”


“That’s where your car is parked, right? You can’t get to your car, and it wouldn’t be safe for you to drive anywhere anyway. Don’t you live on Martindale? That’s not a nice neighborhood.”

“Oh, I’ll be okay.”

“I insist. I don’t want you to be afraid,” he said. “You can stay here as late as you need to tonight. Don’t clock out, I’ll pay you until it’s safe for you to go home.” He paused. “Or until tomorrow morning. Sorry, I can’t pay you forever. You know how the Board of Directors has been riding-“

“I know, Mr. Tauren, that’s fine. I can’t imagine that the riot will still be going on in the morning,” she said. “But you can’t leave either, can you?”

He took a deep breath. “I guess that’s not really safe either.” He bit his lip. “You might think I’d be safe cuz I’m a big black guy.” He waited, but Betsy wasn’t sure she could say anything that wouldn’t sound racist. “But, uh… It ain’t like that.”

“Mr. Tauren, I never thought that.”

“I look like a cop, okay?”


“They’ll say I look like a cop. I can’t take on every black guy in Memphis,” he said.

“I don’t-“

“It ain’t fair, but that’s how it is. I get accused of being a cop every time I go to South Memphis. They’ll see me and they’ll assume I’m a cop because I don’t sag my pants and I don’t have any neck tattoos, and I’m not a fat nerd or a hipster, so what else could I be but a cop?”

“A lot of things…”

“So I guess I’ll stay here too,” he said. “Just a couple hours.” He paused. “Let’s see what we have in the fridge. I’m getting hungry.”

Betsy wasn’t hungry yet. It wasn’t even technically quitting time — it was four-thirty, so it was awfully close. Betsy didn’t want to eat in front of Mr. Tauren because it would make her feel self-conscious. She wasn’t fat, but she was bigger than she wanted to be.

She had been so distracted by the riot that she barely noticed Mr. Tauren come out of his office wearing that sleeveless t-shirt. His bare arms were the size of her head. He was so tall she had to crane her neck to see his face. His body heat was palpable. He didn’t smell like sweat at all, though she did catch a whiff of his deodorant like it was working overtime.

She tried not to stare at his ass in that sheer track pants fabric as he put together some sandwiches from the small office refrigerator. Luckily Mr. Tauren was a big man who was very active, so he ate frequently and kept food there in the fridge. He had plenty of deli meat and condiments. There was no bread at all — Mr. Tauren didn’t eat carbs — but Betsy didn’t mind that so much. She ate a sandwich minus the bread, while Mr. Tauren finished his work in his office.

When five o’clock came, the riot had only gotten worse. It was starting to get national attention. There was a fire not that far away. Betsy didn’t even feel safe standing near the door anymore.

“I think these people are overreacting,” Betsy blurted out. “This isn’t going to solve police violence.” She blushed, thinking she had offended him. She looked away from him.

“I’m not offended. You’re right. It won’t solve anything in itself,” he said. “But doing nothing won’t solve anything either. The police won’t negotiate policy changes without a gun to their head. If you do put a gun to their head, they won’t negotiate with you, but they will negotiate with those more reasonable protesters they’d been ignoring until then.”

“You’re so smart, Mr. Tauren.”

“You should call me Paul.”

“Okay, Paul,” she said. She blushed. She had never called him his first name before. She shuddered as a bolt of desire ran through her.

“It looks like we’re going to have to sleep here,” Paul said. “Do you want the couch in the waiting room? That’s probably the most comfortable.”

She nodded. “Sure, that’s fine.”

He took a deep breath. “Betsy… I need to tell you something. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Of course. I signed the non-disclosure agreement to work here.”

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s not work-related,” he said. “I… I’m not actually human. Or rather, I am human, but I’m not a normal human. I’m a special kind of human.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re cursed. That’s what separates us from normal humans.”

“Mr. Tauren… Paul… what are you talking about?”

“I’m a minotaur.”

“A what?”

“A minotaur.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

“What? No, it’s not a metaphor,” he said. “It’s a literal description of what I am. My natural shape is a half-man, half-bull creature. I can look human, like you see me now, but only with effort. When I sleep, I will turn back to minotaur shape.”

“Mr. Tauren…”

“I will show you,” he said. “I am sorry, I will be naked.” He transformed then into a minotaur, brown muscles sprouting fur as he shot up to maybe twelve feet tall. Horns sprouted from his forehead, and his nostrils flared.

It all happened so quick that Betsy couldn’t process what was happening. She watched him change, still thinking about what he might mean — maybe the Minotaurs was the name of his favorite football team? Was it short for something? Some sort of hip hop crew? Was it a black thing?

But no, she realized, it was real. He was being literal.

A twelve foot tall minotaur stood before her. His dense fur was very real. His horns gleamed. He was naked, a massive bull-like cock dangling right in front of her — that sure looked real too. He let out a baritone roar that sent a shudder through Betsy’s body.

She wanted to go home, but she couldn’t. There was a riot out there, and she wouldn’t be able to find her way anyway. The rioters had probably changed the streets, turning them into an impassable maze. She didn’t live far away, but she could get lost, and that would be dangerous in a riot. She had to stay here with this monster.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was she really going to be here all night? Why not? Nothing had changed, had it? Of course, something had changed. But he was still Mr. Tauren. He was still the same overprotective, strong man he had always been. He was just… a minotaur.

“Here,” Paul said. He handed over a ball of string. “I want to give this to you. It will always find me. No matter where I am, the string will lead you to me.”

“Why give it to me?”

“Because if I go missing, you will likely be the first to know it,” he said. “I have no family. I have no friends.”

“Oh, Paul, that’s terrible…”

“I travel too much. This is why I travel,” he said, gesturing to his minotaur body. “Any place I stay in for too long will turn into a labyrinth.”


“It is the burden of the minotaur. The first minotaur was cursed so that no one would ever be able to find him. The curse embodied itself in a force called labyrinthium, which minotaurs exude all the time. It causes geography, and reality itself, to alter. It turns any location into a maze. If I stayed here in Memphis long enough, the entire city would become a long, winding labyrinth, and the people here would be my guardians. That would take many years. It is a slow process. But it begins very quickly.”

“That’s terrible… You poor man…” She clutched his arm, shivering at the feel of his coarse bull fur.

They were both silent then for a moment as gunshots rang out somewhere. There were young black men running past the building, carrying what appeared to be one of their friends. A trio of police officers chased after them, guns drawn. A line of blood marked the trail they had followed.

“I am glad to be stuck here with a beautiful woman,” Paul said. His minotaur voice was even deeper than his normal voice. It boomed and resonated in the office. “I can think of no one I would rather spend the night here with.”

His words hung there for a brief second. Then Betsy giggled and blushed. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that, especially in his giant minotaur form. It felt strange

He transformed back to his human shape, and she was annoyed to see that his clothes shapechanged with him, so he wasn’t naked. She blushed even more intensely.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so forward. In minotaur form, I find it difficult to censor myself. Minotaurs are brutish by nature, after all.”

“So that’s how you really feel about me?”

He paused for a long time. “Yes. You are stunningly beautiful. If you weren’t my employee, I would have asked you out a long time ago.”

“Well, tonight we can’t go out, on account of the riot,” she said. “We have to stay in.” She made a kissy face, and he smiled at her. At first he didn’t kiss her, making Betsy wonder if she had done something to offend him.

But then he planted his lips on hers, and she kissed him back. She threw her hands around his broad, strapping shoulders. His muscles writhed beneath his suit.

Somehow they ended up naked. Betsy didn’t remember taking her clothes off, but it happened. All she noticed was Paul’s body above her own, his bull-like snorts and roars, his heavy breathing, his tender lips kissing every inch of her delicate frame.

When he entered her, Betsy was shocked at her own willingness to go all the way with him — she was not the kind of person to be sexually active with someone she didn’t really know well, especially not a coworker and, in this case, a boss. That was unthinkable to her, utterly unacceptable according to the rules she had set out for her own life.

But those rules were gone now. All she cared about was running her nails into the smooth skin of his back. She scratched at him as he sped up his motions, his manhood drilling deep into her with each thrust of his hips.

She rode him just as hard as he rode her. She wrapped her legs around his body and gripped his shoulders with his arms, until soon she was not even on the floor. She literally rode him as he stood up, supporting her in his powerful arms.

Betsy had never done anything like that. She had never had sex in an exotic position, but now she was on his body, humping with all her might as he passionately fucked. He easily supported her, while she continued to claw at his torso, feeling like she might fall no matter how tight a hold he kept on her.

At last her orgasm approached. Betsy could feel it gathering deep within her, reaching its crescendo bit by bit with each thrust of Paul inside her. She moaned. He grunted. His hands tightened around her, and she squealed like a calf in his arms.

Finally it was all over. Betsy let out a long, low sigh. She couldn’t believe this had happened. The sex was shocking enough, she thought, but this was with a minotaur. She didn’t know how to take that.

“Thank you, Betsy,” he said as he gently let her down to the ground.

She sighed and pulled away from him. She was dizzy at first, her knees weak. He steadied her, and they both collapsed onto the couch together.

“Oh, Paul…”

“I’m glad I told you what I am,” he said. “I… I need to have someone I can talk to about this.”

“You can talk to me about anything,” she said with a giggle. “After all, I’m your personal assistant. Let me assist you, personally.”

The Wife, the Kitsune and the Cuckold

Here’s a sample from the beginning of The Wife, the Kitsune and the Cuckold, a new tale of nine-tailed passion!

Rhonda sighed. She felt like such a trashy redneck right now, with her husband being arrested on the front lawn. He was loud enough that he had woken up all the neighbors. Most of them stood on their porches in dingy bathrobes to witness the action; the others, Rhonda suspected, were in their homes watching from windows and would probably pretend not to have seen when she next talked to them. She didn’t know which was more humiliating: the starers or those who pretended not to stare.

I must look like such white trash, she thought. That had never been something she thought about until her next-door neighbor had moved in — he was Japanese. Up until then, the neighborhood had been entirely white or black. She felt sure that those people understood that it wasn’t her fault her husband had such a temper problem. But did Goro know that? The Japanese were such a staid and placid people, she couldn’t help but assume that Goro was judging her for raising a fuss, and for being married to an epic fuss-raiser.

She blanched when she heard her husband get to the part of the story where he blamed her. It was a long, complicated tale, the basic gist of which was that Rhonda didn’t tell him that their niece had called him a “trashy retard”. When he found out (through Facebook), he freaked out and tried to punch Rhonda.

And so that was why she sat on her porch, smoking a cigarette and watching her husband, Darryl, tell the police what happened. He had an earnest look on his drunken face, as though he seriously thought the cops would tell him he was justified in punching his wife because his teenage niece called him names on Facebook.

A flurry of movement on the ground attracted her gaze, while the cops all listened to Darryl in rapt attention. Rhonda looked at the dog, which was not any of the neighbor’s, as far as she knew.

Then she realized it wasn’t a dog at all. It was a fox, and it was stalking one of the police officer as though it was going to eat him. For a moment, Rhonda panicked like she seriously thought a puppy-sized fox might eat a full-grown cop.

Did it have multiple tails? That surely wasn’t right, she thought, but she was distracted by Darryl suddenly fighting back as he was put in handcuffs. It seemed he had realized he wasn’t coming out of this story looking like a stalwart gentleman.

“That fucking bitch called me a retard! That ain’t right! There’s actual retards out there, and she done disrespected e’ry one of ‘em!”

(Is he really going for a political correctness defense?!)

The fox glanced in her direction. Was it smiling? What an odd fox, she thought. Maybe multiple tails is a noted birth defect, she thought. Humans are sometimes born with extra body parts — she once dated a guy who had a scar where his sixth finger used to be; it’s not impossible for a fox to maybe be born with extra tails.

But this fox seemed so different than any other she had ever seen. It didn’t even look like a red fox, which was the only species that lived around here — this one was bigger, oranger and had curious black markings on its back. It sniffed right at the feet of one of the officers who was trying to calm down Darryl. The fox fiddled with the man’s foot, and Rhonda tried to peer closer to see what it was doing.

And then it just scurried away. It ran into the backyard and hopped the fence into Goro’s property. That was when Rhonda got a clear look at it in the early morning light and the glare of the flashing police car lights: that fox had at least a half-dozen tails.

“Okay, Darryl, we’ve listened to enough of this,” said one of the cops as he opened the door to his squad car. “We’ve given you plenty of opportunities, now we’re taking you into the station. You can sleep it off there.”

“Yeah, and there’s no Facebook, so you won’t see what the local teenage girls gossip about,” said another cop with a smirk. He moved to bring Darryl — who still fumed — to the car, but then collapsed to his feet in a tangle of arms and legs. The officer groaned in pain.

Everyone burst into laughter, including both Rhonda and Darryl. The situation had been so serious that the incongruity of the ungraceful collapse of the cop made it an especially hilarious event; it brought tears to Rhonda’s eyes, and even Darryl’s anger melted away. The officer struggled to right himself, discovering that his shoelaces had been tied together.

In the end, the practical joke lightened the mood enough that Rhonda was smiling when they drove away. Even Darryl seemed to think that watching a cop fall on his face was funny enough to outweigh the injustice of him being arrested. Rhonda was glad to be rid of him, even if she knew he’d be out in a day or so.

Once they were gone, Rhonda remained on her porch with a cigarette in hand. She didn’t want to look like some ashamed little girl running back in the house to get away from the neighbors — that was what she felt like, but she didn’t want to look like she felt that way.

Goro was watching from his window. He didn’t have a judgmental look; he had a mischievous grin on his face. Had he watched the prank happen? Probably, she thought, that must have been why he was smiling. He seemed like the kind of person who would enjoy a prank like that. He had told Darryl his favorite movie was Ace Ventura, so it made sense that he enjoyed slapstick.

The fox returned to her mind — the cop who had fallen over was the very same cop whose shoes the fox had fiddled with. Had the fox tied the shoelaces together? The other cops all seemed to believe it was one of their own, an officer who had been called away on a different matter. But no one besides the fox had been near the man’s shoes.

It couldn’t be the fox, she thought. The neighbors were all inside by the time she finished her cigarette, and their lights were off, but not Goro’s. He still had that broad smile on his face. Now it would seem weird to not go over there — he was watching her from the window, and had been for several minutes. That was virtually an invitation to come say hello, Rhonda decided.

So she knocked on his front door. He opened it wearing only a traditional Japanese man’s skirt, billowy and pleated, his lean chest bare and rippling with every breath he took. Rhonda had never in her life been turned on by an Asian man, but when she saw his strapping body, she felt flush with sexual desire.

The possibility of cheating on Darryl popped into her mind. She could do it; Darryl had already done it, so she would be well-justified. And Darryl would never think it might be with the Asian guy next-door — he had always asked her jealously if she thought any guy they met together was sexy, but he had never asked about Goro or any other Asian man.

But chances are that Goro would never agree to it, even if Rhonda gathered up the courage to ask, she thought, and didn’t Japanese culture frown very highly on adultery? She couldn’t remember for sure, but she thought so. Goro smiled and shook her hand. “I’m so sorry about what happened,” he said. “Do you need anything?” Despite his kind words, he seemed almost giddy.

“Oh, no…” she said as he motioned for her to enter.

“Tea?” he asked. “I was just brewing a pot.”

She agreed, and sat on the cushions on the floor in his living room. Darryl had hated how Goro didn’t use chairs or couches — Darryl hated everything that wasn’t how it was when he grew up. Rhonda thought it was tasteful and elegant, especially when Goro emerged from the kitchen with a porcelain tray and a beautiful array of tea cups. There were even little dry cookies on a plate, as though he had this entire spread ready for a dawntime neighbor-tea session.

She told him about what happened, and Goro listened attentively. He giggled like a child when she explained that it was a Facebook post that set Darryl off, and his laughter made Rhonda chuckle too, at the absurdity of it all.

And then he turned around as he lifted the tray of tea cups off the low table, and she saw a tattoo on his back. It was a stylized fox with nine tails — if she hadn’t just seen an identical fox, she might not have recognized it as such. But it was very clearly a tattoo of the same species of fox with the same number of tails in the same configuration. It was the same fox.

“Your tattoo!” she gasped.

He turned around, tray in hand. “It is a traditional Japanese tattoo of a creature called a kitsune.”


“A nine-tailed fox and trickster spirit,” he said, “known for playing pranks… and seducing mortals.”

“Oh.” Rhonda’s mind raced as he walked into the kitchen. Wasn’t there a statue of a nine-tailed fox in his bedroom? She had noticed it when he had her and Darryl over for supper a few months ago, right after he moved in. It hadn’t occurred to her that it was a fox statue until now. “I saw one,” Rhonda said. “I saw a kitsune, earlier, while the cops were arresting Darryl. I think it was a kitsune that tied those shoelaces together.”

Goro stopped at the entrance to his kitchen. He put the tray down. “Kitsune are merely a legend.”

“You don’t believe in them?”

Darryl returned to the living room and sat down. “They are legendary creatures in Japanese folklore. They are like gnomes or goblins-“

“Answer the question. Do you believe in them?”

He hesitated, and Rhonda scoffed.

“You are one, aren’t you?” she asked. She couldn’t believe how forward she was being — but she had been a bit drunk before the police arrived, and now the caffeine from the tea was making her jumpy. The look on his face suggested he knew very well that the kitsune existed, so she had asked him on the spur of the moment.

And again, the look on his face made his answer very clear. He coughed and looked down, his mischievous smile vanishing. “Kitsune must not leave Japan. They are intimately tied to that land.”

“Still not an answer to my question.”

“A kitsune abroad, in America, would be very lonely indeed. Such a creature would be isolated from its ancestral home. Nothing here would make any sense to it,” he said. He hung his head sadly. “Only an exile decree would make a kitsune move away from Japan, and even then… the honorable thing for a kitsune to do would be to commit seppuku.”

“Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because I have always wanted to see America,” he said. “I never thought it made any sense for kitsune to be tied to Japan. It is just lines on a map, after all, lines drawn by man, not kami.”

“So you wanted to leave?”

“I just wanted to visit. I went to Guam,” he said. “In the end, it was easy. They had said it would be impossible, that fate would prevent me, that I’d die as soon as I set foot on non-Japanese soil. But I didn’t.”

“So you weren’t exiled?”

“No, I was exiled, but not then. I visited Guam for a week. It is… not a nice place, I did not want to stay there,” he said. “I returned to Japan, and I was exiled then. They did not trust me at sacred rituals, and I was barred from every shrine in the country. My ancestors spat on me.” He hung his head in shame. “So I left. I came as far away from Japan as I could get to.”


“I asked an American tourist couple what place was least like Japan. They said Alabama.” He shrugged.

“So you’re really a kitsune?”

He nodded.

“Can you prove it?”

“Do you mind looking at me naked?” he asked. She was taken aback and didn’t answer right away, so he smiled and stood. He dropped the skirt — a traditional black hakama — and revealed a plump, uncircumcised cock between his legs. Dangling from the other side were nine fur-covered tails.

“Oh… wow, Goro…” Rhonda blushed. She was astonished both by his nudity and the tails. She stood up and peered closer at him, and her eyes traveled up to the tattoo on his back, then his smiling, handsome face.

And then she kissed him. She didn’t think about it before she did it; she was still considering whether or not to go through with it when her lips met his.

She sank into his arms, which emanated heat even more than a normal man. It occurred to her that he had felt warm to the touch the first time they met as well, when they shook hands. His skin was supple and smooth to the touch.

His fingers danced up and down her body. She closed her eyes, blushing bright red as she arched her back. Her hands brushed up against the fur of his tails, and she gasped — touching them made this all too real for her.

She caressed the tails, and followed them to their root just in the small of his back. They certainly felt real, she thought, and they felt magical. They felt exactly what she would have thought a spirit’s tail might feel like.

“I want to be with you so bad, Rhonda,” he whispered right in her ear, “and I have from the moment I saw you.”

His cock was just the same as a man’s, and bigger than most. It was thick enough to be just a bit of a challenge, but not so huge as to hurt. She let him in as he peppered her lips and neck with kisses.

“Oh god, yes, yes,” she said. She nuzzled her nose in his neck, and writhed atop his lithe frame.

He responded to her in Japanese, but she gathered exactly what he meant — you are amazing and I love you and if you left for husband for me, we could be together forever — he didn’t need to translate it for her.

He wrapped himself around her as her mind raced. She struggled to concentrate with preorgasmic feelings coursing through her. She couldn’t think of any reason not to leave her husband for Goro, but then at the moment, she couldn’t think of her husband’s name or picture his face either.

A climax overtook her, and Rhonda dug her nails into Goro’s chest. She tensed up and undulated atop his body, as his creamy seed flowed within her.

She didn’t know how long it lasted; it could have been a minute, it could have been an hour. By the time her orgasm had run its course, the sun was fully up, shining through the windows into Goro’s spartan home. Pleasure shocked Rhonda’s shoulders, as Goro bit his lip and relaxed his muscles.

Then it was, at last, over. Rhonda collapsed in a sweaty heap on the floor in his living room, on the scrupulously clean rug placed in front of a small shrine. There was a meticulous bonsai tree above her head, on a shelf, and it drew Rhonda’s attention. She gazed at it as she curled up in Goro’s arms.

“I don’t know if I can move in with you, Goro,” she said suddenly. “I want to… A part of me really does. But I don’t know, I still care about my husband.” She bit her lip. “Darryl,” she said, glad to have remembered his name.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know.”

The Werewolf, the Jock and the Mahogany Stud

Here’s a sample from The Werewolf, the Jock and the Mahogany Stud, a new story of hetero alpha male interracial shifter sex!

This was an interesting development, she thought as she caught a glimpse of his glistening biceps. Paula had thought moving to this nice suburban HOA-monitored development would mean a quiet life at home. That quiet, idyllic lifestyle was precisely why she decided to move there. But her neighbor had proven to be someone very interesting indeed, and as long as he was next door, Paula knew her home life would be exciting. She could never resist seducing men she found alluring.

“Hey, Raheem,” she spoke through the fence slats separating their yards, just a few days after she moved in — she had hoped he would hit on her, but it seemed if he was going to do that, he was going to take his time. So she decided to take a more proactive position. He was on his back porch, lifting weights, grunting. “How are you doing?”

Between grunts, he said, “‘Sup. Just gettin’ ready for the game.” He played for the Baltimore Blues, the pro football team nearby — Paula had never had any interest in football, but she was certainly interested in any football player who looked like Raheim. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and he had a broad, strapping body, without a six-pack; that was her preference, since Paula liked men who have a little meat on their muscle.

“So… are you the kind of athlete who likes to have sex before a game? Or just after?” she said. She blushed, and was glad he couldn’t see her face clearly through the fence, so he couldn’t tell how hard she was blushing. It probably sounded sexier that way.

He chuckled as he put the free weights down. “Fuck… Before, during, after, I don’t care. You want me to come over?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You want me to shower first?”

“No, I don’t. I want to be there for the shower.”

He smiled like a cocky bastard, his handsome face barely visible through the slats in the fence. He nodded and hurried out to the front yard, where he could come over to her side of the fence. When she saw him, Paula felt her knees go weak — shirtless and already so horny he was walking funny, Raheem was an ungodly sexy beast of a man.

She jumped onto his chest, and he grabbed her. She kissed him and held his sweaty shoulders. She normally was a very clean person and would not have done something like this, but she knew they were about to share a shower, so she decided to go for it. His clean sweat and overwhelming musk turned out to be erotic, however, and her pussy was instantly just as wet as his chest.

He chuckled as her tongue explored his chest, clutching him tightly so he held on to her as he carried her inside. His torso was rock-hard, tensed to hold her aloft. She suckled on each nipple and directed him to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, baby…” he murmured. “I’m glad you talked to me. I had you pegged for a feminist who wouldn’t want me to holla atcha.”

The shower turned on, but Paula knew they weren’t actually going to make it that far. By the time the water warmed up — it took a long time in her house — Raheem had already dove his head between her legs. They slipped into the tub as the water sprayed over them both.

His tongue was impossibly thick and long, and it made Paula shake with sexual desire. She gripped his broad shoulders as he lapped at her.

“Fuck yeah,” Paula muttered. She blushed — she didn’t normally let herself show how much she wanted a man, especially the first time they were together. It was easier, she had always thought, to pretend not to care. She didn’t like giving men the power of knowing they were good at sex; it always turned them into cocky jerks.

But she couldn’t hide it from Raheem. Her limbs shuddered, and he smiled at her reaction. She reached for his thick cock, and stroked it, but the position was awkward in the bath tub, and she was too distracted on his attention to her clitoris to really jack him off. She enjoyed the solid meatiness of his iron cock.

Paula was so focused on the pleasure suffusing through her body that she didn’t notice right away when he stopped. He lifted her up in the bathtub, all in one smooth motion. She squealed and grabbed the shower curtain, her vulva rubbing up and down his chest as she lowered herself.

He slipped his cock inside her with a dog-like growl. Paula was so moist and eager that she took every inch without a problem. Supporting herself on his body, Paula ground down on his cock.

Wave after wave of pleasure wracked her body. Paula screamed so loud it rattled the picture frames on the wall, and Raheem chuckled at her reaction. He had a gruff, growly quality when he fucked, like a rutting animal. He even barked at her as they both approached orgasm together.

He gyrated and thrust his hips, pressing his cock into her. Paula straightened her back. She grabbed his chest and held on tight as energy overwhelmed her. She dug her nails into his skin.

He barked and howled again, and she buried her head in his chest. He grunted, and she yelped. Her toes curled next to his powerful torso.

At last he was done. He sprayed his load inside her, shooting so much she felt it dripping down onto the floor of her new bathtub. She sighed as she shook in his arm. Tremendous relief flowed through her body.

“Whoah,” he said with a laugh now that it was over. “Nice to meetcha, neighbor.” He pulled up his workout shorts.

“Yeah, that was nice. I’m glad to live next to you,” Paula said. “I just might start watching football.”

“Hell yeah. We got a game this weekend, baby.”

Paula blushed. “Raheem… I, uh, I-“

“Nah,” he said. He pulled away from her defensively, as he kneeled to put his shoes back on.. “You gonna ask me to be yo’ boyfriend, right? I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I got… reasons,” he said. He stood up and tucked his cock away. “We ain’t got a serious relationship, and we never will. But come on by whenever you want some more of my meat.”

Paula had rarely felt so rejected. The worst part was that she couldn’t stop herself from watching his plump ass sway as he walked out the door. Once he was gone, however, Paula wanted to cry.

Seduced by the Dragon Shifters

Here’s a sample from Seduced by the Dragon Shifters, a story by Willow Hart!


Serenity descended the vines on the tree slowly but with a sure foot. She walked as a human, delicate and thoughtful.

At the grove her sisters waited for her.

“You’re late,” the eldest said. “What were you doing?”

Serenity blushed despite the certainty of her lie. “Nothing.”

The females of her ancient clan, referred to rather acerbically by the rest of the population as ‘vixens’, drew their life forces from seduction; winning over the men that came across their path, lost in a hunt or tracking the legend of the beautiful women. It was her eighteenth birthday; she had come of age and to celebrate she was expected to attempt her first seduction, lead a man astray, and feed on his energy: his attraction, from afar before he could attempt to touch her.

Her family had not been put off by the fact that their people had recently fallen through a gateway into a mysterious foreign land called ‘Eng-land’. There would still be men to capture and take advantage of.

The vixens fed on the energy that came from somebody’s lust, and so they were expected to remain entirely chaste.

Serenity struggled with this rule.

The young dragon girl had spent her birthday morning stretched out on her fern bed high in the treetops in human form with her hand between her legs discovering what it was that made people experience such a rush of energy, lust, desperation. And discovering, and discovering.

Chastity, Hope and Patience stood in a line with arms folded. Serenity had always thought of herself as the ‘runt’ of her pack. Her three sisters were tall, slender, literally stunning to look at. They stunned men to silence. She was curvy, found leaves in her hair all the time – they lived in the goddamn trees; how did the others never find bark everywhere? – and constantly thinking about what it would be like to actually touch one of these desperate men and watch them tremble with satisfaction…

“The celebration will start in an hour, you have that time to make sure you look as beautiful as possible, and then we will lure a man into the grove. Do you understand the importance of this task?” Hope asked her, her long shimmering auburn hair shaking around her shoulders. All three of her sisters were impossibly beautiful, sharp cheekbones, big bright eyes, long tumbling wavy hair of different colours of the rainbow.

Serenity opened and shut her mouth. She had no experience with the men from this land – hopefully they had the same preferences as the men from her own, and would appreciate her current form: the gentle curves of her pale body, the pert handfuls that were her breasts, and the rosebud nipples.

“Serenity,” Hope snapped.

“Yes,” she said, and nodded rapidly.

“Do you understand? You must seduce this man without touching him, without feeling anything. Then you are with us for eternity. Like we always wanted. Like mother wanted.”

“I understand,” Serenity said, blinking her big eyes at her sister. “I’ll go get ready.”

She had never met a human man. She had never had any experience with a male of any sort, in all honesty. Male dragon shifters or any other species from her home land. She was nervous, but her heart was fluttering in a way that made her smile. Whoever her sisters chose for her, it would be a challenge. They wanted to be sure that she was ready and her heart was fully in it, before she could join her people.

If she made a wrong move, she would be an outcast, but she didn’t think that was likely to happen.

She bathed in a short, cold waterfall, rubbing her body up and down with her hands, scrubbing until her skin was pink. She had to look like a woman worth dying for. When she emerged from the lake she picked a small flower, pink with black lining to its soft petals, and put it behind her ear to keep her hair out of her face. She looked at her reflection in the rippling water.

She did look nice, she supposed.

She waited at the far end of the grove, wind rustling through the leaves, and the sun spilling through the canopies. She squeezed her thighs together, an insatiable throb in her lower body made her squirm whenever she thought of the man who would soon be sent to meet her, whoever he would be, and she had no idea what this feeling meant.

But she liked it.

Surviving the Alpha Dragon

This is a sample chapter from Surviving the Alpha Dragon, a story by Willow Hart!


“I…will speak in English in honour of our guests.” When he spoke he flashed teeth, his eyes moving up and down his circle of dancers as if to greet them each personally. His accent when he spoke English was not something I had ever heard before, and though I understood him perfectly I got a frightening sense that what was happening here really shouldn’t be, that I didn’t belong with them and they didn’t belong with me. While I stood there it felt like every memory beforehand was foggy and impossible, and yet standing there felt strangely impossible, too.

It took me a second to realise that he was talking about me. He held out two hands, and from the crowd Maddie hopped up beside him and took his left hand, with a small cutesy and a giggle bubbling from her red lips.

The man locked eyes on me.  I knew what he wanted, but I hesitated at the thought of all eyes being on me. Still, they were all patiently waiting for me to accept his hand. I stepped nervously from the throng, my heels sinking into the grass underfoot with every step, and reached his right hand and took it.

“These girls have agreed to help us by any means necessary. Thank them.”

His low voice, his booming energy, travelled like a spark through his enormous strong hand and into my body, and I tried to lock wide, confused eyes with Maddie’s softly smiling ones, but she was not looking at me.

The dancers rippled as they said that same word again, in unison, to us.

I looked up at the towering man, this beast of a human being, and wondered if I could ask him to let me go home. Was there perhaps a taxi service that could take me to a hotel nearby? Or something? But I certainly couldn’t embarrass myself by interrupting them right now.

The man looked down, regarding us directly and up close for the first time. He bore his eyes into my skull momentarily, looked at Maddie, and returned his gaze to me. His eyes were slightly crinkled at the corners as though he had spent many a decade considering the repercussions of every decision he made. Looking into his eyes I could see a wealth of experience, the weight of a life of power, regret, unparalleled strength. I looked into his eyes and almost felt my knees buckle underneath me as the implications of a life lived longer than any amount of time I could even comprehend hit me full force.

Finally he looked away and I could breathe steady again.

“These women agree to help us in our cause,” he boomed again. “Our survival may depend on the charity of these humans.”

The final word made me shudder. I had had an inkling, that they weren’t quite, but to hear it made everything grow fuzzy momentarily. I stayed standing, my jaw set, and didn’t allow my fear to show itself to my quiet audience.

“Our passage into this world, as we well know, was all for one reason and one reason alone: to pioneer our kind’s transition to and from this place.” I was hooked on his every word. Behind him I was vaguely aware of more large men entering, in differently coloured furs and belts, none as large as this man. “We need the help and the company of our people, and they can only enter if the passageway is energised once again.” He took a breath, I found myself trembling, and the other large men stood in a row behind him, waiting patiently for his speech to end.

“However,” he continued, “magic barely exists in this place at all. Our sages told us that there were only two sources.”

The audience roared their reply in unison. “Sexandeath!”

At that, the throng of a hundred people stripped their furs and stepped out of them, allowing their flesh to breathe and closing their eyes and sighing at the feeling of cool air on their bare nipples.

Some coupled up and rubbed against each other. They repeated their word, teasing it from lips unfamiliar with English sounds, moving their hips around to grind against each other, desperate for something. They rubbed palms over their diamond hard nipples and moaned as they pushed hard against anyone nearby, urgently seeking some sort of contact or pressure against their desperate skin.

I blinked, looked at Maddie.

“Sexandeath,” he repeated with a nod. “The human women to my left stumbled upon us two weeks ago and showed us the meaning of this riddle. Now she has returned with what she calls the second half.”

“Sex and death,” Maddie repeated, the words soft on her lips. Now, for the first time since our arrival, her eyes locked on mine, and her gaze did not waver.

“If I open their portal he’ll make me his queen,” she breathed to me. I stared at her, wide-eyed. “Sorry, Sophia, but you would have done the same.”

“Wait, what?” I said dumbly.

At a nod of their leader’s head, the drums began again, gently clattering to a new beat. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck.

“I will provide the first part of your riddle,” Maddie said, turning to rest her hands on the huge man’s thick shoulders, “and my friend Sophia will provide the second. And then your people – our people – will be free.”

“This is some fucked up bullshit,” I blurted, retracting my hand from his. I shook my head rapidly and turned to stumble out of the tent and find a way to civilisation, even if it meant hobbling along a dirt track for a day and a half. I was done.

A low whisper swept across the dancers. All eyes locked on mine, and their hands extended. I tried to push past but I couldn’t move an inch past their gripping, grasping limbs.

Behind me a rumble rippled from the centre of the room outwards. I heard Maddie squeal with glee and clap her hands. I felt hot air lick at the back of my neck.

Slowly I turned around.

The man was transforming. He was changing shape, size, even colour. His already impossibly thick, muscular body was hardening and swelling outwards, his chest barrelling and his skin turning into sparkling onyx scales, hard as rock, his nose pushed out into a crocodile muzzle, two large horns erupted from his darkened forehead, and finally, as he grew ever higher to graze the high domed ceiling, two leathery wings unfurled from his back, and fully opened.

He let out a shrieking roar, embers licking through parted fangs. Maddie screamed, but it was with excitement, and bounced from foot to foot like a child seeing a magician for the first time.

The Man of the House Is a Minotaur!

Here’s another outrageous story from Loveslice Family’s The Man of the House Is Sexy! series of hardcore pseudoincest erotica! This one is about a young woman who discovers her stepfather is a minotaur!

This story is now also available on Smashwords!

Tonya has always been curious about the corn maze behind her house. But she’d never gone in, until now, when she wanders around stumbles across the man of the house revealing his secret… He’s a minotaur!

It turns out he’s afflicted with a hereditary curse that causes his environment to turn labyrinthine and allows him to take human form for only a few hours a day. That’s enough for Tonya, however, who wants nothing more than to be pleased by the roughly-rutting man of the house in this outrageous taboo adventure of household-smashing fantasy fun!

Alien Probe Sex

This is a sample chapter from Alien Probe Sex.

“You fat lesbo bitch!” shouted a man into her open store door. He darted away before she could respond. Luckily, no customers were in the store at the time.

Dana sighed. She had known a Wiccan store in Amarillo, Texas would be controversial, but she hadn’t thought it would be this bad. There were plenty of Wiccans and neopagans around, so business hadn’t been terrible. But a lot of the locals hated anything unchristian, and they seemed to think all Wiccans were lesbians.

Her head stayed upright however, her chin solid and her heart dead-set on making this store work. She tried not to let the harassment bother her, and when a customer came in a few minutes later, she smiled and assisted him the best she could. He was not a Wiccan, and was hoping, he said, for a book about aliens.

“I was kidnapped by aliens a few months ago,” he said, looking down as though not expecting her to believe him. “I just want to know more about what happened. I need to process it.”

Dana didn’t believe in aliens, who had nothing to do with Wicca, after all. But she knew a lot of her customers did believe in them, and she had stocked a few relevant books. She showed them to the man, who nervously flipped through each of them.

“It’s just hard to get through the feelings, as though I deserved it,” he said. “Maybe they picked me because there’s something wrong with me.” Dana was barely listening, so she just nodded her agreement with him. What an odd concern to have about alien abduction, she thought, almost as though he had been raped instead.

But he paid for the book and left. Dana was glad — books were a high margin item, so that helped the day’s total quite a bit. A lot of her volume was in things like tea candles, which people bought in large numbers but only at such low prices she barely broken even on them. Yesterday she had sold almost all of the tea candles she had, nearly a thousand of them, and made almost five dollars in profit on them.

It was just past closing time, so she hurriedly finished the day’s work. Finally it was done, and she locked the door. The sun had already set, but it was early yet and the streets of Amarillo were beginning to crawl with youthful bar-goers.

She got in her car and drove to the little old farmhouse she had rented on the outskirts of town. It was a fixer-upper, but she had been so focused on the store that she hadn’t even started to fix it up yet.

Headlights flashed her, and Dana pulled to a stop with a sigh. This was probably another mandatory drunk driving checkpoint, she thought. Whatever happened to Texas’ anti-authoritarian streak, she wondered. Before she moved to this state, Texans had always made a big deal out of how much more independent they were than out-of-staters, but the Texas police had way more power than in any other state she had ever lived in. They routinely searched cars without permission or a warrant. She smiled and tried to put on her best cheerful civilian face. At least she knew she was totally sober.

But wait, those weren’t headlights, she realized. She pulled to a stop as the lights got brighter and brighter, and she couldn’t see where she was going.

Was the car still moving? Her foot was on the brake, but it sure seemed like the car was slowly moving forward. It was like that curiously dizzy sensation when you were parked in an automatic car wash and it looked like the car was rolling ahead because the brushes and rollers were moving while the car was still. But this was even harder to see what was really happening, since it was pitch-black outside aside from the brilliant, blinding light.

Dana blacked out then.

She woke up with a terrible headache, strapped to a cold steel table. There was a bright light in her eyes once again, but this was not like a pair of headlights, it was like a flashlight aimed directly in her eyes.

How long have I been unconscious? She couldn’t remember. She felt like she was waking up from a long and confusing dream, but no memory of it remained in her mind.

Dana’s heart fluttered as she struggled against the straps holding her. Her mind was foggy like in a dream-state, though she was certain she was awake. She screamed.

A sound. She stopped screaming so she could hear it. It was a vaguely organic, almost insectoid, clicking with an interrogative tone to it as though it was the sound of crickets asking questions with their chirps It resonated in her ears like the tolling of a bell.

“Hello?” she said. “Who’s there? My name is Dana Lambert, and I’m from Amarillo, Texas. I… I’m an American citizen, and-”

The light that was blinding her turned off. For a moment, all was darkness. Dana waited, holding her breath, while her eyes adjusted. She didn’t know why she was claiming her citizenship, as it was obviously not going to help her here, wherever that was.

She gasped. Standing in front of her was a short grayish-green creature, an alien, not so far removed from pictures she had seen and illustrations in movies and comic books. It had tall, slender eyes and two arms with pointy fingers at the end. A network of wrinkles lined its otherwise almost-featureless face and neck.

It held a small steel probe in its hand. It gleamed cleanly, and inscrutable symbols flashed on its side, though there was no obvious screen-like area. Dana heard another human moan somewhere far away, but that moan sounded faintly sexual, not painful.

The thought of sex, along with her sheer terror, made Dana feel aroused, and her nipples hard like stone. She hadn’t even noticed she was totally naked except for her socks until she heard that sexual groaning grunt and her own womanhood came alive.

The probe touched her thigh. The alien watched her closely as though monitoring her reactions, though he didn’t seem to be writing anything down or recording anything. The cables attached to her body by sticky tape led to some machine behind her that she could not see.

She moaned involuntarily, and blushed in embarrassment. She wondered if the alien recognized her sexual excitement, which she didn’t even understand herself. She had never been the kind of person who enjoyed kink or BDSM, and she had certainly never had any fantasies about aliens.

The probe touched her clitoris as it slid inside. Dana shuddered. She dug her nails into the cold steel examining table beneath her. The alien made a curious clicking sound over her body, its big narrow eyes inspected every inch of her as though looking for defects.

She squirmed uncontrollably. The straps bit into her skin, and the pain made her pussy come alive. She moaned again, louder, losing her inhibitions as the probe slid in a little further. It was warm and throbbed like a real cock.

“Yes, god, please do it!” she screamed. She would have clamped her hands over her mouth if she had thought before speaking, but her mouth was open to scream and out came the words.

Did the alien understand? She couldn’t tell. It definitely chittered in its own language when it heard the outburst. Was the chittering directed at her or did the alien have a way of communicating with someone offscreen? She couldn’t tell.

The probe flashed red as it slid all the way in, past the squeezing pussy lips. Her thighs flexed and she felt the cool, damp skin of the alien’s hand between her thighs. It was like a shaved animal, she thought, or what she imagined a seal-skin might feel like.

“Fuck me, yes, fuck me now,” she said. “Put it in and take it out, keep putting it in and taking it out.”

The creature did as she said. The proben began thrusting, a little harder with every pump. Dana moaned as an orgasm overtook her. The alien seemed to realize what she was doing, and it responded with more of the same. It was playing along, she realized, it was trying to make this orgasm feel good.

It worked. Sparks flew in her mind as her bound body writhed and struggled against the straps holding her down. She squeezed her womanhood around the probe as though trying to steal it, and held her breath while the orgasm ripped through. Moisture flowed out and coated the probe with her juices.

The alien looked at its moist hand, then pulled out the wet probe and examined that as well. It peered closely at every inch of the probe’s glistening metal.

She lay back on the operating table, spent. Her rotund body was sweaty and tired, and she now just wanted to go to sleep, ideally in her own bed.

“I’m done now, you can take me home,” she said.

Seduced by a Demon

This is a sample chapter from Seduced by a Demon, a new story by Rick Mann.


Lucy walked into the library, hoping the sight of all those books would make her feel better. It didn’t work. She had always loved the library, so she was disappointed that her depression remained.

Trying not to think about everything that had gone wrong, Lucy wandered among the stacks. This library was less joyous, she thought, compared to the tiny Garrett County, Maryland library she had grown up in. This had thousands upon thousands of books, way more than there were in the entire Garrett County Library System. It was a nice university library, but it felt less real than her old library had been. The librarians were studious and strict, rather than the kind-hearted and friendly librarians she grew up with. There wasn’t much fiction. There was a ton of dry old academic crap that nobody ever wanted to read. There was nothing to distract her from the misery that was her life recently.

This was her last day in college. After being dumped by her long-time boyfriend, she hadn’t gone to class for a week, and had therefore failed her classes. Since she was already on academic probation, that meant she was disinvited for the spring semester, and just the day after receiving the letter informing her of that, her dog had died.

So that was it for Lucy. She had no desire to “reapply to this institution”, as the letter had suggested she do. She just wanted to use the college library one more time. She wondered what would happen if she checked a book out now. Would they track her down to demand she return it? Probably, she decided. She didn’t want to have anything else terrible happen, so she should just leave without checking out any book. She didn’t really want anything either.

One book caught her eye, because it was big and black and didn’t have any dust on it, like all the others. It was in the history, nonfiction section and, she noticed, it did not have a label on the spine.

The Necronomicon it said in big letters on the front cover. It was bound in black leather with streaks of barely visible red in it, such a dark crimson it blended in with the black. The leather was rough, like sandpaper.

Wondering how old the book was, she opened it to where the copyright page would normally be. All it said on that first sheet of paper was This is not a library book. You may take it with you. No questions will be asked.

Why should she trust some silly warning in an ancient book? She shouldn’t. But she wanted to take a little risk — what was the worse they could do? Take the book back and ban her from the library. Big deal. Tomorrow she was going to be banned from the college as a whole anyway.

She put the book under her arms and headed for the door. She walked with purpose, so if she was stopped she could just say she had forgotten the book was in her arms.

Librarians were at the front counter, along with several students. A professor was nearby and glanced at Lucy as she walked by. There was even a security guard near the door, who just nodded at Lucy. None of them seemed to notice the book.

Her heart pounded as she walked through the door. The cold light of day hit her, and she shivered in the breeze. She hurried to her car and drove home, suddenly so paranoid about taking the book (it looked so old, it was probably antique, stealing it would be grand theft, you could go to prison forever!) she scrupulously obeyed the speed limit and used her turn signals, even adding hand signals just in case her bulbs had burned out.

Once she was at home with a cup of tea in her hand, Lucy felt a little better. Since finding the book, she hadn’t even thought about the disaster that was her life, so she decided to focus on the book, the one interesting thing she could focus on now.

It seemed to be an old book about witchcraft, detailing ways to summon demons and the like. It wasn’t all that interesting, especially since Lucy knew enough about history to know it was all likely made up. People used to claim all kinds of demon cults existed, but there was no evidence any of them were even slightly real. The book was probably a hoax, she thought

But the pictures were fascinating. They were muscular demons with throbbing cocks, raping the souls of the damned; many-tentacled beasts with pitchforks for arms; decrepit angels oozing down fallen pyramids; more completely alien creatures unlike any she had ever seen or imagined.

Near the end was a spell, entitled To Summon Our Dark Lord, Xathulu. She giggled at the sight of Xathulu’s tentacled demon face, drawn there in the margins in a burnished crimson ink, but her giggles stopped when she looked into its eyes.

She lost herself in the little circular orbs, bulbous and faceted like a bug’s. Anxieties about school and finances vanished from her mind, and all she saw was that simple sketch. The ink was blood; she was sure of that now. It smelled faintly of copper.

The drawing of Xathulu was aimed as though the great beast was looking at the spell there, beckoning her to cast it. The opposing page had been blank, she thought, but now she saw near the bottom was scrawled in tiny letters, My dear Lucinda, how I love thee Lucinda.

The words were in Latin, or what looked like Latin. She actually knew how to pronounced them because she had taken two years of Latin back in high school.

Conjuro te Xathulu

Opprobrium dominus meus et Dominus sordem

Ad hoc veni et sequere me

Ita obediemus et tibi, sicut et ego

Qui utique, sicut crusta putridum

Fracta in pulverem

Per potentiam tuam: et gloriam nostram

Amen, amen dico vobis, et plus in aeternum

That was it. Nothing had happened. It all felt like a big letdown. When she was reading it, it seemed momentous. But now nothing had happened.

Of course not, what were you expecting, an actual demon? Come on, did you learn nothing from playing Bloody Mary?

There was a bottle of wine she had been meaning to drink, and the uncorked it. She felt like celebrating. (Celebrate that you didn’t summon a demon?) It wasn’t even good wine, but she convinced herself it was.

Soon enough she fell asleep in front of the TV. She was perfectly aware that she was asleep, as her soul awakened and stood in the center of the room.

Sitting on top of the book was Xathulu himself. He was grayish-green in skin tone, with a handsome jaw line and tentacles protruding from the center of his face. His broad, strapping chest was gleaming with sweat, but his belly was cut open, revealing glistening viscera.

“Hello, Lucinda,” he said. He stood up and displayed a long, uncircumcised cock. “Would you like to forget all about your boyfriend?”

“I already do,” she said with a grin. She floated over to him and quivered as she touched his shoulder and clutched him close. His cock throbbed between her legs. Her pussy was moist and begging for him.

“Wait,” he said softly, just into her ear. His dick was right at her vulva, waiting to fully penetrate her. “I will only fuck you, my dear Lucinda, if you will be my queen forever.”

“I do,” she said, barely giving it a moment’s thought. Real life has been a disaster for me, she decided, might as well try something else.

With that she plunged down on his member, riding him up and down. She clutched his powerful shoulders. A familiar orgasmic feeling rushed up her spine, but this had such a dirty, evil atmosphere that Lucy shuddered in disgust.

His body smelled of cologne, she noticed, but the cheap kind, and there was behind it a musty rottenness that was somehow appealing. She inhaled deeply of him, savoring the sulfury afterscent of his sweat.

His cock plunged so deep within her she thought it must be pounding on her cervix, but she felt no pain. He was all the way inside her, penetrating every inch of her body. They were like one now, she thought, one person, one demon, one soul. It felt more perfect than anything she could have imagined.

Her clit sang with the potency of the climax that overwhelmed her. She groaned and screamed so loud she was glad this was a dream, because the neighbors would have heard her and called the police. Her pussy quivered with sensitive, exquisite agony with every thrust of his ccockshaft deeper and deeper inside her.

Her hands moved to his nipples as they writhed together there on the kitchen table, and his hands did likewise. Then she looked into his open stomach and queasily touched it. The open bloody viscera was sticky and warm.

As though that touch was what it took for him to cum, he shot his load then, filling her up with thick spooge. More cum shot from the tentacles in his face and covered her and his body with his moistness. She licked every drop off him, then fell asleep without even letting his limp dick out of her pussy.

The Yakuza Muscle and the Futanari

Here’s a sample chapter from The Yakuza Muscle and the Futanari, a new story by Rick Mann!

Mitsu sighed as he got in his car. He was being punished, and everyone in Clan Kyuu knew it. They were avoiding eye contact with him, refusing to say goodbye. He wasn’t surprised. He had been in their position before, and knew very well how awkward it was. They couldn’t do anything that would make it seem like they were on his side.

Not that there was any side to take. He had humiliated himself over something so stupid, he berated himself over it as he drove away from the compound.

It was a hangover. That was it, just a little hangover. Not really a huge deal, except that big dumb Mitsu thought he was better than anyone else. He thought he could come in to work despite the hangover. He thought he could keep it under control, but then he had snapped at Mr. Monanari, insulted his honor and, to turn a problem into a disaster, had managed to mollify Mr. Monanari long enough to drive him out into town… where he was promptly pulled over for speeding, given a breathalyzer and been sent to jail for still having alcohol in his blood.

To say that was a major faux pas — leaving the oldest and most respected yakuza in the prefecture on the side of the road while his driver got arrested — was the understatement of the century. Mitsu knew there was a genuine possibility he’d lose a finger, hand, foot or even his head. Clan Kyuu did not suffer failure lightly.

But in the end, he was merely upbraided, told he would not be paid for the next six months in order to cover the liens placed on the vehicle as a result of the arrest, and he would need to use his limited savings to pay off his personal fines. He was also given a shamefully low task: protecting a girl.

She wasn’t even the boss’ daughter or anything like that. She was Hangetsu, the daughter of a watermelon farmer out in the country, a farmer who had been paying protection money to the Clan for years. He was concerned for her safety because her brother had angered a group of local toughs. They weren’t yakuza, just low-rent thugs who had said they would come rape his sister.

So that was it, Mitsu had to spend a few weeks keeping her safe while the Clan found the thugs and taught them a lesson. If he had been respected, that was what he’d have been ordered to do — be part of the team that destroyed them. That was one of his specialties; he didn’t like killing but he was big and muscular and intimidating, and he would have been an asset on that team.

This was probably useless. Those thugs were likely full of shit, and never intended to do anything to the girl, who was like twelve, or so Mitsu thought. Few Japanese thugs, even the non-yakuza kind, were so brazen as to rape a little girl under the protection of Clan Kyuu.

But she was not a little girl, as Mitsu had originally thought. He had been confused because his boss described her using a Japanese word that normally connoted either a soft-spoken man or a girl. But that might have been a mistake, he thought, his boss might not have known if the girl was really a girl or how old she was. (Wouldn’t he have asked? Why would you send a bodyguard without even asking who the target is?)

She was sitting there on the couch in the rural farmhouse alone. Her father was out in the fields with the farmworkers, and she was sitting there bored when Mitsu arrived. Her father had told him to go on in and to stay out of her way so she could finish her schoolwork.

“You the dumb muscle?” she asked. She had a petite smile that Mitsu found alluring.

Mitsu shrugged. “What do you mean?”

She was a pretty young girl, just barely eighteen, with nicely curved hips and big bosoms pressing against the undersized t-shirt she wore. Mitsu felt sexual tension wash over him. She looked like a pop singer, and he could think of nothing else but taking her to bed with him.

“Your boss came over here a few days ago. He said he’d send some big dumb muscle to protect me,” she said. “That must be you, yes? He said you’d be my servant.”

“Not exactly a servant, more of a bodyguard,” he grumbled. He took a walk around the tiny farmhouse, making note of the windows and doors. He ensured they were all locked.

She scoffed at his actions as though there was no real danger. “He definitely said servant. He said you’d do anything I wanted.”

“I am here to protect you,” he said. “That is all.”

She thought for a moment. “Take off your shirt,” she said.

Mitsu hesitated.

“I need to see if you are wearing a wire,” she said.

He nodded and lifted his shirt up, showing his bare, powerful chest and yakuza tattoos. He flexed his pecs and watched her eyes twinkle. Was she flirting with him? It seemed unlikely, such a rural, unsophisticated girl. She wouldn’t come onto a man so strongly right away, he thought, she probably just doesn’t realize how flirtatious she’s being right now.

“All the way off,” she said, “You could be hiding it in the shirt fabric, I don’t know. Besides, I need to see your tattoos to know that you are for real.”

He had to admit there was logic to that. His entire career in the yakuza was spelled out in his tattoos. He stripped his shirt off and flexed his muscles for her — his tattoos looked better on flexed muscles, he thought, and he liked the way she looked at him.

She stood up and inspected his chest. She let her fingers trace one tattoo that extended beneath his pants, and her fingers danced along his hips.

“Take your pants off,” she said. “I want to see the rest of your tattoos.”

He did as he was told. “You don’t need-“

“Hush, I will decide what I need. You want me to tell my father that he did not receive any help after paying your Clan for years?”

“Of course not,” he said. He dropped his pants, wondering what her father would say if he saw this; Mitsu would probably lose even more face within the clan. He stood there in his plain white boxers, feeling very naked, while she inspected the tattoo that ran the length of his thighs.

“If you had done something shameful, they might have tattooed an owl on your thigh,” she said.

He had to admit that was right. It was an old-fashioned fashioned tradition practiced solely by Clan Kyuu, and not even that often anymore.

She pulled his boxers down without another word of warning. She giggled at his oversized, uncircumcised cock, dangling between his legs. Mitsu felt very naked and exposed, and he nervously waited for her father to come in. He stood straight and proud with his hands behind his back, thinking at least that would look least like he was seducing her if someone did see it.

“You have a big dick,” she said. She reached out and stroked it, and Mitsu straightened his back.

“I’m not supposed to-“

“Hush,” she said. “You’re supposed to do what I tell you.” She stripped off her t-shirt, revealing perfectly plump tits. “Lick these.”

Mitsu told himself to refuse but his body didn’t hesitate for an instant. He was going to be killed for disappointing the Clan if he got caught, he was sure of it, but she could lie and ruin him if he said no. The best thing to do was to go along with it and get it done quickly, so they were less likely to get caught.

She had much larger tits than he was used to, and Mitsu forgot about his anxieties as he licked every inch of her supple flesh. Her nipples got hard in his fingers; her breaths grew sharped and ragged, and her fingers crept inside her skirt.

He kissed her. She had soft, tender lips and a little tongue. He lost himself in her dark eyes and pale skin. His dick grew hard between her fingers.

She dropped her skirt, revealing perfect panties. He got on his knees, hoping to get a taste of that perfect pussy. He kissed her hips and let his tongue slowly creep down.

He pulled her panties down, and a long cock popped out. Mitsu was so shocked he didn’t have a response, he just looked at it like a test result he didn’t understand.

She giggled at his confused reaction, then whacked him across the face with her cock. “Silly muscle, you didn’t know I had one of these? It’s almost as big as yours.”


“I’m a futanari, yes,” she said, “Full package.” She showed him her heavy swinging balls. “Suck it.”

He said no, as though the idea was preposterous, but he was so horny he dived right in. He had been so tense since the hangover incident that he hadn’t even really thought about sex, and now that it had started, he was going to see it through to the end.

He opened his mouth and swallowed the salty tip of her cock, letting her push it deeper into his throat. It tasted pretty much the same as pussy, he realized, and he wondered if all cock tasted like that, or just futanari dick.

She was just as hard as he was, and she reached down to stroke his dick. She laughed at how raging hard it was. “You want me to suck on you too?”

“Yes, god, yes!”

She giggled and held her hand over her mouth. “No,” she said. “You’re supposed to be serving me. Jack yourself off.” She pushed Mitsu to the floor and then lowered her dick into his mouth so she could watch him play with himself.

Mitsu was surprised by how easily he had gotten hard, and how quickly he was reaching orgasm. He was almost embarrassed by it, thinking that he shouldn’t be able to cum so quickly with a dick in his mouth. But it did taste just like pussy, and she had fantastic tits that felt perfect in his fingers.

He moaned and gagged a little around the thick cock crowding out his throat, as he shot a load across his own muscular, tattooed chest. His spine shuddered. His arms tightened and his pecs flexed beneath her grasp. Wave after wave of cum covered his chest.

She shot her own load at the same time, pushing her dick the rest of the way down into his gullet as she filled him up with creamy cum. It was salty and sweet, and though it didn’t exactly taste good, Mitsu was desperate for more as soon as he tasted it.

He didn’t have to wait long. Before he he could even catch his breath, she took her dick out of his mouth, then wiped up all of Mitsu’s cum off his belly. She smeared it over his face and into his mouth, laughing at his surprised and disgusted reaction.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll  tell my father you were very helpful today, very honorable.”