Its time for your Hump Day Hump!

This one coming to you from Changeling Press, its a little tidbit I like to call, Snake! *g*



“Finish your cup and go see Snake,” she said over hershoulder as she made her way to some new customers bellying up to the bar, as it were. “She is way better than the historical society… and more entertaining.”
So a few moments later, Ethan found himself walking down Main Street, past a clothing store and a honest-to-God soda fountain pharmacy, to the building that said, in bright blue and pink letters, Snake’s Tattoo, Scarification, and Piercing Emporium. It looked like something PT Barnum would have endorsed with its sign painted with oversized and outlined fonts.
He checked to see that the Open sign was facing out and entered, noting the tinkling bells on the door as he stepped inside.
The décor was as outrageous as he’d suspected. The walls were covered in hundreds of brilliant tattoo flashes and old photos.
There was a waiting room to his left that sported a couch and coffee table that reminded him of something out of the sixties’ atomic family poster. To the right was a glass display showcasing some of the most outrageous body jewelry and piercing equipment he had ever seen. Ahead of him was a long, beaded curtain that obscured the view to the back. It was from here that a voice called out, “Hold your horses. I’m coming. And you better have some cash on you or a really interesting piece in mind to get me away from my soaps.” The voice sounded amused and aged, but still strident.
He was a bit tired and lethargic from his trip, despite the caffeine at the café, but wanted to at least make an introduction and schedule a time to come back and ask questions later. But as he turned to explain himself, something on a far wall of old photographs grabbed his attention.
Almost as if he were being pulled, Ethan found himself walking the few feet that separated him from this fascination, drawn to one photograph in particular. It was a headshot, in a rosy color that told of its age. But, this photo — the image it captured — was sheer perfection.
There was a young woman, and even with the pink tint that threatened to overtake every other color, he could tell she was dusky-skinned and possessed of a river of flowing black hair. She was lying on her back, her hair a waterfall that flowed over the pillows and the platform on which she lay. Her head was tilted back, staring defiantly into the camera, a seductive and amused smile curving her lips.
But there was something about her eyes… They fairly glinted in the flat, two-dimensional photo, almost daring him to peer into their dark depths and learn all her secrets.
“Well, hello.” The soft voice pulled him from his contemplation of the photo that had so captured his imagination, yet still he couldn’t pull his eyes away.
“Hello,” he responded, as if in a trance. The absolute beauty of the woman still called to him.
A throat clearing made him jump and flush in embarrassment. Ethan spun around, apologies on his lips when he froze again. Those eyes, those lips —
He looked from the old woman standing before him and then back to the photograph. They were the same. He turned back to the woman, this time giving her more than a quick once-over, and couldn’t hold back his smile. “That’s you.”
Those lush, pouty lips smiled in a face that was careworn with age but still absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was snowy white with a slight blue tint, and her golden-brown skin glowed with health, despite the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and lips. And her bright, black eyes glowed with vitality and good humor.
“Of course.” She snickered, adjusting the loose leather pants she wore on her tall frame. She patted the liberty rolls in her hair, the old fifties pinup hairstyle fitting her perfectly. She wore a long sleeved T-shirt that proclaimed, It’s all about the pain. The body jewelry is a souvenir, and stood proudly before him, staring him straight in the eyes. “Why would I have photos of anyone else surrounding me, young man?”
“I’m not that young –”
“Long hair pulled back into a rough pony tail.” She walked around him. “I would say it’s a matter of style or that you’re rebelling, but that’s not the case. You were probably too busy to get it cut so you let it grow…” She trailed off as she stood before him again, resting one hand under an ample bust line, the other bent and tapping on her lip. He could feel himself flush bright red.
“That dark skin is a matter of genetics,” she decided. “You’re much too wrapped up in your work to get out much, though it looks like you can manage in the wilderness. The evenness of your skin tone gives you away, my dear.”
“I –”
“Shh,” she admonished. “I’m reading you like a library, and I find myself fascinated.”
He reached up to press his glasses back against his nose but after tapping the bridge of his bare nose realized he wasn’t wearing them.
“You wear glasses — probably nearsighted from how close your nose was to my pin-up pose. And that suit is cute, but off the rack and cheap. But you’re comfortable wearing it, so you must spend a lot of time in one. Your shoes are by Penney’s, probably like the suit because you look like the type for convenience. So that makes you a student or a professional student.”
“That’s… right.” Was he that easy to read?
“No relationship because no woman would let you hide that body under unnecessary clothes.” She pursed her lips, looking very amused as he flushed further. “So that means you’re after either a tattoo or a piercing because you feel the need to change yourself — though I suspect you already have some ink buried under all that.” She waved her hands at his jacket. “There’s a wild streak in you, and I mean other than that curly hair. You’re too relaxed to be a reporter, and our small town doesn’t take too well to the media after the last sordid event, so that leaves historian or someone researching our history or our falls. I’m betting falls.”
She turned away, leaving him standing there with his mouth hanging open as he watched her move beyond the beaded curtain.
“Well, come on. I don’t have all day. I have some beads to install on a forehead in about an hour. Angel and Klintic may be our newest celebrity recluses and hiding from the public at large, but the pair of them are good for business. People want eye tattoos and metallic ink and all sorts of crap from those damn books. Everyone wants to be a fairy now, or at least look like one. I hear blue hair dye is going for a premium.”
Shaking off his stupor, Ethan silently followed the canny old woman who was swiftly moving away from him.


It’s time for your HUMP DAY HUMP! WOOT!

Coming soon from Changeling Press, I give you a NC 17 offering…From the wold of Angel Falls, I give you… Snake! *g*



She was crawling between his legs.
One moment Ethan was dead sleep and the next she was there.
He always had a dream woman and if he was one to put stock in blind faith, he would say that she was his angel or his soul mate. But in reality, he felt that she was the composite of all the women he had ever found delectable, the perfect amalgamation of all the wonderful qualities he had been searching for.
Her body was ripe and lush, her breasts full with their dusky colored nipples. Her hair was a long flowing cascade of black silk that slid around tanned shoulders like a glossy cape.
Her reddened lips were full and plump and all those things that made a man think of blowjobs and soul stealing kisses. He could never see her face mush to his dismay, but he knew she would be beautiful in his eyes. Ever since she had showed up in his first wet dream that had him screaming out his release and soiling his sheets in way more jiz than a twelve-year-old boy should be able to reproduce, every woman he had slept with in reality had paled in comparison. Sure, he enjoyed sex and geeks like him were some of the most innovative and imaginative sexual partners he had ever had, but there was nothing like his dream woman. Even masturbation was better when he thought of her and her exotic ways
It had been years since she had shown up in his dreams and he had figured he had finally got over his adolescent fantasizing. But there she was now, crawling across a floor of daisies, her face still buried in shadows, but her intent was clear. She wanted dick, his dick, and she wanted it now.
“Mine,” she whispered in her midnight velvet voice and Ethan found himself frozen in place.
With the lithe moves of a feline, she moved between his legs, her hands going to his sleep pants and ripping the material form his body in a swipe of long red nails.
Then her head was in his lap. Her hands hefting his dick out of her way as she began to lap at his balls.
“Fuck,” he moaned as he took one of the tender orbs in his mouth, sucking it softly, tonguing the loose skin. “Yeah,”
He looked up at him, her black eyes burning as the cool silken slide of her hair teased his inner thighs.
“Perfect,” he panted, reaching down to lift her hair letting it flow through his fingers to rest against his heated skin. “You are so perfect.”
She smiled as she released his ball after a hard suck that had him closing his eyes and hissing between his teeth. But he was quick to open them as she began to lath the skin of his lonely ball with that slick long tongue. Watching her was like watching live porn, she was so hot.
She must have garnered his thoughts from his face because she moved on to began to lap at the base of his cock, her hands holding it pressed against his stomach as she moved.
“You are shaven here,” she arched one eyebrow. “I thought only women do that.”
“Heat,” he managed as he watched her tongue encircle the base of his dick. How did she do that so well? “Um, traveling in heat,” he managed to get out. “Makes—God, it makes clean up easier.”
“So smart,” she nodded. “I approve.” Then she tightened her fist around his cock, not stroking, just firmly holding him as she began to explore. The thick vein that an up the base o his cock was tasted and tested, pulling moans form his lips and precum from his slit. His cock was pulled down so she could eye the plum colored head before slicking up the silvery trails of fluid that flowed like a faucet. He was so turned on, so hot, so swollen that his dick felt like it was going to burst.
And her soft hands—she was petting him, caressing his flesh as if he were some exotic pet.
“You have a lot to offer,” she muttered as she lowered her mouth, her lops parting as she sucked the head of his dick in with a small moan.
“Fuck,” he gasped, his hips arcing as she sucked hard, using her teeth to give him an edge of pain to his pleasure.
Her small hands reached up to grip his nipples, pinching him hard, sending pain shooting down his chest and making his cock throb.
“Fuck, more!”

I was trying to write and this came out of nowhere!

And now I am going to have to work this one. I have some idea about where its going, but this is the start. What do you think?


“Mama, I think I’m broken.”

She sat on the cold hard ground, muddy wetness sinking thought the material of her black skirt as she leaned against the solid chill of the tombstone. It felt just like touching a block of cold dead ice.

“There is something wrong with me. I don’t belong here. And I’m so confused—I don’t know what I am doing anymore.”

Her tears were breaking thought, sounding in the voice she forcing to hold steady.

“I should be happy,” she continued, struggling for control. “Everything has been hard, but not too hard. I am strong enough to cope—but mama, I am beginning to regret all the times I prayed for strength. How can you know you have strength until you are tested… Mama, I’m tired of being tested.”

As she spoke, her head dipped lower and lower until the fever hot skin of her forehead touched the stone she was talking too. The cold caress drew the heat away, almost like a mother’s touch.

“Mama, I don’t think I can do this an–anymore—“ A escaped sob broke her words. And that’s what did it. It was like all the screams and cries inside of her were waiting for one chink in her amour to break free. And break free they did, her sobs coming with such force that they bent her over with their force, they made her stomach muscles spasm in pain, they tore from her throat leaving her feeling weak and bloody and useless.

She was a useless mass of flesh and blood, cowering against a damn tombstone pretending that it was her mother.

“I can’t—I can-t—“ she tried to explain but could only shake her head—the words refused to come.

So he sat there, crying out her agony to an unfeeling slab of rock and getting more comfort there than she ever had in her lifetime.

“Mama—“ her voice was horse now, her throat throbbing and rough as the sobs continued to come. “Mama—“

She didn’t know how long she sat there, her eyes swollen and burning, her nose running, her mouth parched. She sat there until the tears refused to come anymore, until there were none left and still she sat and helplessness and shame washed over her in waves.

“Bye, Mama,” she whispered softly, finally pulling herself together enough to move. Her ass was wet from sitting, her muscles stiff to the point where it took some effort for her to move.

Achingly slow, she rose to her feet and touched the top of the tombstone, brushing her fingers against the huge angle in flight engraved on the stone.

Elaine Corbis

Mother to her brood,

Mother to us all

She turned away, muttering softly, “Thank you. I wish you were mine.”


Head hanging low in shame that she had to stoop to finding comfort in some dead strangers cold embrace, she turned and slowly made her way out of the cemetery—unbeknownst that a pair of solid black eyes watched her every move, that large hand clutching a bouquet of mums and white tulips, dead leaves, harebell purple hyacinth, Adonis, poppies, and dark crimson roses bound together in hemp watched her every move.

They watched as the broken figure slowly shuffled from the resting place of the dead before laying his offering of flowers at the base of the tombstone where the poor child had bled out her pain.

Silently, the figure dressed in black turned and faded into the shoadows.


It’s the Hump Day Hump! WOOT

Its time for your Hump Day Hump! WOOT!
Here’s an interesting little NC 17 M/F excerpt to warm the cockles of your heart… well, it should heat up something! LOL Fresh from Changeling Press, I give you the antics of everyone’s favorite Holiday winged menace… Cupid… and hes gone… weird!
Cupid Gone Weird by Stephanie Burke

Book Summary
Cupid only wants a little revenge on Chris Cringle, master of North Pole Industries and the bane of the Holidays’ existence.

But when he cracks open a bottle of stolen wassail, will one spilled drop give him everything he ever desired or will it be a tool for Chris to gain more control over the wayward Cupid? No one can really tell what will happen when Cupid Goes Weird.

“Fuck Chris and his holiday wassail.” Cupid, otherwise known as Valentine, sneered down into the cup he held.
Usually Guy Fawkes was with him, but the timid Holiday had balked at breaking into Chris’s stash of holiday cheer, nearly fainting at the idea of doing something so rebellious. So now Valentine was left alone with a bottle. There was nothing worse than a depressed deity of love — drunk off his ass.
But he was Valentine — a rebel! Yeah, he was topical and exciting and dangerous. There was nothing stopping him from getting a little revenge on fucking Santa Claus. Even as small as this act of thievery and drunkenness was, it filled him with the energy of defiance.
Who the fuck cared if he was watching? With his little geisha ninja and their pack of pinstriped hyenas, Chris Cringle had become the bane of Valentine’s existence. He would love to see the man deposed and kicked out of North Pole Industries, but no one possessed enough power to do that. The other Holidays’ base of worshipers dwindled more and more every year as Chris’s power base seemed to have exploded.
Even Eve — All Hallows’ Eve — was finding it difficult to keep her power base intact and this year… This year Chris’s friggin’ Norman Rockwell image of the jolly old elf was even being sold during her time. This was the first time this had happened, and it had shaken up the Holidays more than anyone cared to admit. And Chris, that rat-bastard, was lording it over them like he was king of the fucking land.
Valentine took another swig of his stolen holiday wine and contemplated his bedroom. He was surrounded by the images that in the past had garnered him some powerful followers. There was the baby-faced image of him in a cloth diaper that he’d created to counter the Jolly Saint Nicholas crap, and for a time it had worked. He was cute, and school-aged children had made paper cutouts of him to give to their crushes. As time passed and society grew more desensitized, his image had gone from a chubby toddler to the more mature look that had romance writers making up stories about his prowess in bed and men lifting weights after the holidays to gain the ideal look Valentine had created.
Yeah, for a time, being big, blond, and buff was a major thing. It had dominated the eighties totally, and it still lingered in the minds of fashion-conscious folks to this day. But not now, for today he had seen something that had driven him into the bottle so fast that if Dionysus had still been hanging around he would have been embarrassed by his slowness to get to the good stuff. It was after New Year’s, and already Valentine was ready for the year to be over because he had seen a poster of Santa, dressed as Cupid, declaring it was Christmas in February.
Oh — fuck — no!
There was no hope for it. Chris was taking over the holidays, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Valentine looked down into his glass of red wassail and gave his goblet a swirl. It was empty, and life sucked. He reached for the bottle, tipped it to fill his glass once more, and cursed as some of the rich, red liquid splashed to the floor. “Fuck.”
He stared at the small pool of liquid, as bright as freshly spilled blood, then blinked as it began to ripple.
Could a few drops ripple? Maybe he was drunker than he’d thought. Chris sure had some potent shit —
But the drops began to swirl as an unseen wind whipped through the room. The red puddle began to expand and take on a solid form. Cupid leaned forward, getting closer to the now three-foot-tall pillar, because he could not believe what his eyes were telling him.
He lurched back, nearly falling from his chair as a perfectly formed set of red lips emerged and pressed against his mouth to steal a quick kiss. A light giggle, sounding of tinkling bells, filled the air, and he slipped from his chair to fall flat on his ass as the pillar took the shape of a beautifully formed, buxom female.
As he watched, the red began to fade into a rose-tinted gold. The creature threw back her hair, and the flung drops of spiced wine grew into a long mane of flowing hair.
“Are you my master?” Her voice was light and sweet, tinged with a bit of mischief and dark lust.
“My master — the one true owner of my soul?” She rose to her tiny little feet, her naked, golden body shimmering with an inner light as she spun around to stare at the room she found herself in.
Her ass was heart shaped.
Valentine arched an eyebrow at that — maybe it was a sign she was to be his — and rose to his feet to introduce himself. He felt his wing-slits tingle and his kilt lift in arousal. Suddenly drinking up Chris’s private stock was no longer important.
“I am Cupid, but that is my title. My name is Valentine.”
“Valentine,” she repeated. “Are you my master?”
“I am whatever you want me to be.”
“I am all for my master,” she said softly, her eyelids drooping low as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “My heart, my body, my soul.”
And suddenly Valentine’s addled mind came up with a perfect plan for revenge.
Obviously Chris had created this woman, this sexual goddess, to belong to him and cater to his twisted needs, but she had never laid eyes on the man. In fact, it seemed whoever partook of this particular vintage of wine got ownership rights to the beautiful… beautiful —
“What is your name?”
“I do not know.” Her eyes widened, and Cupid felt a delicious frisson of heat travel through his body. She was so needy and alone, vulnerable and innocent looking… “My master is to name me. Will you name me?”
Smirking, Cupid reclaimed his seat and spread his legs, pointing to the tent his rapidly swelling cock had made. “If you earn it.”
The woman licked her lips as she looked from his crotch to his eyes, her red ones glistening in sudden lust. “I was designed to satisfy the needs of my master, each and every one of them.” She stepped closer and dropped to her knees, licking her lips as her gaze shifted to his lap again. “I hunger for your cock.”
He groaned as she lifted his kilt out of the way. Her fingers were cool and soft as she gently pressed her hands to his balls. “Damn,” he moaned as her fingers danced over his sensitive sac, caressing its fullness and making his balls churn. “You do that so well.”
“I am here to please you,” she murmured as she trailed her fingers up to the base of his shaft. She softly combed through the neat thatch of pubic hair before gripping him tightly. “I am for you.”

Changeling Press – Razor’s Edge: Cupid Gone Weird
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