Cheri P. “The Astronaut’s Death”

About the Author:

My name is Cheri P. I live in Colorado and have lived here all my life. Writing is a passion for me and I love to create new worlds. I have prize-winning poetry and one has been published in a book of Anthology. I also have two published books out and one is just a short Novella. I was a professional wrestler in my earlier years but realized writing was my true passion.

I love writing poetry, short stories and I am working on my third book but it’s top secret. You can catch some things on my myspace blog@www.myspace.com/bringerofnightmares.

“The Astronaut’s Death”

By Cheri P.

When I first boarded the ship, I knew what I was getting myself into. I have two daughters, one is five, and the other is three. I hugged them both so tightly I thought they would never break out of my arms that day. I kissed them each on their cheeks and looked into their eyes. They looked at me with such respect and love that I couldn’t wait to get back home to them.

It was raining that day. The rain was pounding hard against the concrete of my front porch and the gutters were a bit worn so they were shaking as if they had a soul and they were shivering. I had to force myself out the screen door of my old worn down house, the one I grew up in. I had raised my daughters there since their mother had left three years ago. I had to play both mother and father to Ilene and Dena. It was a tough job but I was doing the best I could. I told myself I was going to be the best father I knew how to be. I tried not to look back as I gripped my duffle bag tightly in my hand but I could not resist.

I looked back and Ilene, had tears streaming down her face as Dena straightened her pigtails. My mother watched me go and the look in her eyes was empty as well. That was the last time I ever saw my family. I don’t know if I will see them again. Only time will tell I suppose.

My name is Joe Moore and I am an astronaut. I’ve studied and worked hard all my life to finally get aboard the first ship that the US is sending to mars. Now that I am floating above earth peering out the window, I’m not so sure it’s where I want to be. There are two other people aboard. One is Captain J.W. Smith and the other is Engineer Rene Devonshire. We were picked out of nearly two thousand candidates to explore the frontier. Once I got up here, I didn’t realize what was going to happen.

Smokedawg “The Fair Folk”

About the Author

J. Jefferson (aka Smokedawg) is a middle-aged editor and journalist manifesting his mid-life crisis by finally writing the fiction his schoolmates always thought he would have been writing since graduation (but didn’t). He began work on a sci-fi novel in 2008, then fell into erotica in 2009 by starting his blog ”Better With Smoke” (http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com) as a way to explore the smoking fetish in fiction and commentary. He also has begun writing exclusive smoking fetish erotica for the forum “Smoking Fetish Kingdom” and now also writes some non-smoking erotica, exclusively for the Celis T. Rono Writer’s Collective (unless of course by some miracle some publisher wants to pay him to put it in print). You can e-mail him at: pseudojeff@msn.com

“The Fair Folk”

By Smokedawg

“Once more, Evin. Repeat it back to me,” Haladrin said.

“Maestro Haladrin, I am an adept. I’ve not been an apprentice for many moons. I know the litany.”

“Adept,” Haladrin said with affectionate contempt. “That’s the stage when a young man is most like to start making the stupidest mistakes. Recite it.”

Evin shrugged and sighed. “In the lands of the Fey, when they offer, drink naught or be caught. When they offer, eat naught or be caught. And accept not gift or service either, unless you offer something finer. To fail at these is to invite shame, around one’s neck a silver chain.”

“Remember that well, Adept Evin, in your first journey to the Fey Lands,” the master of the Luministrum told him. “Only one at a time of the Luministrum may walk the Russet Road, and the task falls to you to make the journey this time. Deliver my boon to the Sylvan Duke and return with the scroll he will give you. Tarry not, and return to us whole.”

Evin nodded respectfully, then made a formal half-bow to his maestro, and slipped into the crack the cellar wall—that crack being one of the thin places between the Realms. No one got fat or remained so in the Luministrum if they wanted to become an adept or rise even higher. Because one of the requirements of being an adept was running errands in the Fey Realms at times, and Maestro Haladrin insisted that to make that crack in the wall larger would be to risk the integrity of the magic that allowed them to pass back and forth between the two worlds.

Within moments, Evin was through it, and stepping out of an almost identical crack in a huge, gnarled tree in the Fey Realms. He had expected to feel something, passing between worlds, but there was no sensation—neither physical nor mental nor magical. He might as well have walked through the door of his tiny bedchamber.

The sight that greeted him confirmed that he was in the Fey Realms, though. All the colors were brighter, almost painful to the human eye, and the scents and smells around him almost seemed to be living things themselves.

“Hexen. Hexus. Ignis. Diumarthe,” he intoned, so that he might pass by the Wards that guarded their passage here to and from the Fey Lands. And then he stepped onto the rust-colored, smooth cobbles of the Russet Road and began his long journey.

As he walked, he spied a few worn little tents and hippogriff-drawn wagons along the way. The Fair Folk in them wearily plied their trade, trying to entice him over. Nothing they offered was tempting, neither food nor drink nor baubles. Capturing a mortal would have been great victory for any of them and elevated them to a much higher standard of living, but how many mortals walked this way who were so foolish as that? Instead, Evin realized, they would be forced to eke out a living trading with other Fair Folk who traveled the road.

Amanda Letterman “Road of Choices”

Currently I am actively seeking representation for my first full novel.  Writing is my ultimate passion, whether it’s my poetry, adult stories or my fantasy, I want it to be something the reader can enjoy enough that they hate to put it down at the end.  Right now I’m running a website for people who like to role play and write with other people.  Feel free to join up at www.aflightofancy.com.  I hope that everyone will enjoy Road of Choices as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.

“Road of Choices”

By Amanda Letterman

Chapter 1

Winter had made travel hard on Andrea, and the warm spring weather a welcome change.  Leaving home in the middle of the worst winter in years hadn’t been her first choice, but she was given no alternative in the matter.  Upon her parents death she had two options, leave or join them in the afterlife.

Sitting in the saddle she recalled what brought her to this point in her life, the dance at winter solstice.  It was a big event, the last time most would be able to travel to her father’s manor before snow blocked the road.  With the best harvest in years just completed everyone who was anyone was here.

Late into the night there was always a bonfire dance, and having just turned eighteen Andrea was allowed to attend.  Dressing in her family’s colors of black and gold she looked down on those already dancing.  Watching them from her window, she smiled and finished tying her long red hair back, then turned to go downstairs.

A huge flash caught her attention, and she raced back to the window.  The bonfire had grown, with long tendrils of flames leaping about.  Frozen in fear she watched the blissfully dancing people being engulfed in flames.  No one seemed to notice the dancers turning into huge moving pillars of fire.

“Must be a grand illusion for the celebration,” she murmured, running her hands down the glass, but people were falling to the ground.  The flames on the fallen died down, leaving nothing but charred unmoving bodies.

She realized it was no illusion, then a thought struck her, near driving Andrea to her knees, her parents were down there.  Bolting from the room she tried to run to the field, but was stopped at the edge.

Angrily she fought the hands holding her, and cursing she looked back to see her weapon master Kerick. Screaming and kicking at him he just held her as the dancing people were consumed in the deadly flames.

“Lass, stop.  There’s nothing you can do.” He pulled her back inside the manor door, as her flame-shrouded parents danced by.  “The evil in that man’s heart is beyond control, there’s no helping your parents now.”

Intense screams of agony tore from her throat, and Kerick pulled her to his chest as she broke down sobbing in horror. Her body gave up, and she sagged against him.

Jennifer Lauren Ackermann “A Clash of Fangs”

About the Author:

I am 19 years young and I live in Orlando, Florida.  Currently, I’m attending my local community college and working toward my degree in English.  I am an aspiring author with hopes of being published one day.  I would like to thank Celis for all her kind words and endless support.  I hope you enjoy my short story.

A Clash of Fangs

By: Jennifer Lauren Ackermann

Upon reaching my apartment, I shoved the key into the door and threw it open with so much force that I undoubtedly increased the hole in the wall behind it.  Kara Leigh, my roommate and best friend, was going to be pissed about it, but I would worry about it later.  I rushed into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush, grabbed Kara Leigh’s toothpaste since mine was no where in sight, squeezed a healthy amount of the toothpaste onto it then began scrubbing away at my teeth.  Brushing my teeth had become a nervous habit of mine several years ago while I was still living with my parents.

“Your breath was, and is, fine, Elodie,” said a deep, accented voice behind me.

I gasped and managed to swallow almost an entire mouthful of the thick froth.  I spit what remained into the sink.  “Jesus!  You scared me,” I chastised, turning around to look at the most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on.  His eyes were almond shaped and the color of champagne rimmed with thick, dark colored eyelashes.  His hair was a hybrid of waves and curls the color of dark chocolate.  His jaw line was strong and dotted with stubble that was not too soft or too rough and his nose would have made a Roman statue weep with envy.

“How did you even get it?  Aren’t you supposed to be invited in to be able to enter someone’s place of living?”

“No, we do not.  It’s just a courtesy that ending up becoming myth concerning my kind.  You forget, my kind has been around for thousands of years and you were nothing if you were not a gentleman then.”  His eyes wandered to the eight or so books lined up on the back of the toilet that were all about vampires.  He smirked, his lips lifting up in the left corner.  “Maybe you haven’t.”

I smiled up at him triumphantly.  Almost every book in my apartment was about vampires, specifically vampire love stories.  The books that weren’t were Kara Leigh’s books and those were all neatly lining the shelves of her mini-sized bookcase in her room.  I turned to rinse my toothbrush and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  My hair was honey-blonde and my eyes were big and a dull brown color.  My forehead was too big and required bangs to disguise it.  I wouldn’t say that I was ugly, but I also wouldn’t say that I was pretty.  I was just a plain Jane.  Jean-Pierre had told me that I was perfect, but I didn’t see it.

Amanda Letterman “Sexy Halloween”

About the Author:

I’m 30 year old woman aspiring to become a published writer.  I write anything from poetry to of course adult erotica.  I’ve had a few poems published through contest, but nothing on a major front.  I am in process of getting a book ready for the submission process.  My other adult stories can be found at www.bluestories.com in the BDSM section under the user name of Freedom.Hope you enjoy the story.

“Sexy Halloween”

By Amanda Letterman

It had been years since Rhea had been trick or treating.  Her girlfriend had talked her into it.  They weren’t actually going for candy but thought that it would be fun to dress up and walk the streets on Halloween.  Being just a couple of country girls, they were going to go for the gothic look and freak their friends out.

They had gone shopping the Friday before and bought the clothes they would need.  Rhea had bought a short blue plaid skirt with black suspenders over a black top with skull and crossbones across her ample D cup breast.  Her normally soft curly reddish brown hair was straight and dyed black for the night.  Her makeup was dark and heavy.  Thick eyeliner with a dark grey eye shadow surrounded her green hazel eyes.  Her lips were covered in a black lipstick.

She was checking herself out in the mirror laughing at her appearance. The skirt was short but on her long legs on her five foot ten frame made it seemed even more so, showing just the bottom of the soft curve of her ass. So different from her normal jeans and tee shirt.  Hell the skirt was enough to make it Halloween all on its own she thought to herself.

There was a knock on her door and she went to let her friend in.  Rhea laughed at her friends bright blue pig tails and huge baggy pants.  Avery was always cute, but this look worked for her.  Five foot two, large breast and a rotten look in her eye, she really looked the goth part.

“This is going to be a fun night.  Can’t believe you talked me into this,” Rhea said as she shut the door behind her friend.

Avery smiled at her and laughed.  Teasingly she slapped Rhea on the ass. “You look hot sis.”

“Thanks but I’m not done yet.” Walking over to the couch she opened a boot box and took out a pair of knee length boots and slipped her long legs into them.  The look completed she checked in the mirror pleased with what she saw.

With a wicked glint in her eyes Rhea asked, “Shall we go shock some people?” Grabbing her car keys the two girls nearly ran out of the apartment.

Lexi Sylver “Triple Play”

About Lexi Sylver…

Currently residing in Montréal, Canada, I divide my time between writing short erotic stories and running a small lingerie business.  My passions for psychology, reading, writing and sex have all combined wonderfully to help me produce original, detailed and explicit erotic works for my fans and friends to pore over.  I am in the midst of working on Mating Season, a collection of previously unpublished short erotic stories.  Read my erotic shorts, sex advice, and humorous Top 10 lists on my site: http://www.lexisylver.com/.

“Triple Play”

By Lexi Sylver

The night air is cool on my skin, the wind sweeping up the skirt of my dress, softly caressing my bare thighs.  I pull open the large door to the bar, Patrick and Jackson right behind me, the seductive music sucking us in.  The three of us have just left a mutual friend’s birthday party, deciding to have a quick drink before heading home.  I feel especially sensuous, Patrick and Jackson’s brown eyes roving over my breasts, the curve of my ass and the pout of my lips, for the last few hours.  Since I met these sexy, Irish-blooded brothers six months ago, I have been consumed with fantasies of them, pondering the deliciousness of crossing the line beyond our flirtation.

Nothing has ensued yet from our heated stares, and double entendres.  I attributed the lack of our sexual engagement to my reluctance (and inability) to choose between them, to allow one to penetrate me while leaving the other to feel dejected, ultimately losing the egotistical, territorial battle that is particularly powerful between kin.  Now I flourish under their attentiveness, rethinking my options.  I am so aroused I can barely sit still, constantly adjusting myself on the seat between them at this small, round table.

The waitress serves our drinks, momentarily distracting me from the two men’s stares.  We thank her, clinking glasses before falling into a deep conversation about their upcoming baseball game.  The thought of them in their uniforms makes me smile slyly.  I manage to take one sip of my amaretto sour before I feel a hand stroking my bare knee underneath the table.  It is impossible to figure out which brother is doing this, because neither of them have ever tried to touch me so intimately before, and they are both leaning forward with their hands in their laps.

The mystery thrills me, and the warm hand starts to make its way up my inner thigh.  I smile as Patrick animatedly recounts a story, and I wonder if he’s the perpetrator.  After all, he is the eldest and the more outwardly sexual, but Jackson is secretly devilish himself, though less obvious about his seductiveness.   Jackson watches me intently, grinning boyishly.  Soft fingertips brush against the front of my panties, making me almost jump in shock.  I consume my drink several sips at a time just to hide the amused expression on my face.

Maggie Myers “Forced Pleasure”

“Forced Pleasure”

By Maggie Myers

Water dripped from a leaky pipe some feet away from her. Seeing was impossible because a piece of cloth covered her eyes. The joints in the girl’s shoulder’s had lost their tingling a long time ago, now they were sore and immobile. Her arms were tied behind her, around the back of an unsteady wooden chair. Rope bruised the girls wrists and attempted to slice away at the skin.

Ten feet away sat a man, dressed in military clothes with a gun in his hands. He eyed her thin shorts, letting his mind wonder what he could do to her before giving her to the dealer. He’d never taken his way with one of the girls he sold but this one he couldn’t seem to pass up.

He’d stolen the innocent virgin straight out of her own house. Mommy and daddy were gone for the weekend and the girl had planned to have a night with her boyfriend. But lover boy never showed.

A pleasant night of deflowering turned into terror as he stole her from her bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top. The man wore a Michael Myers mask to hide his face. She gave him such a fight that his cheek was starting to swell. With the gun in hand, he placed a rag her nose and threw her to the ground. Duct tape covered her mouth before she could scream. But no one would have heard her, it was for his own pleasure. One thing he loved about rich people: all those trees and privacy fences made his job easier.

A fair skinned, eighteen year old virgin would bring well over ten grand on the market. He’d feed her dry salads and bottled water until the day he had to take her so she wouldn’t be bloated. On Tuesday she’d go to market like a pig and be displayed for all the foreign diplomats, be bidden on and shipped overseas to be drugged and used for sex.
He sat watching her wake from the chloroform and thought of what he could do to her. If he had sex with her once, and left her ass alone he would still get at least eight grand from her. All natural girls were rare and expensive. Should he really throw two grand out the window for a virgin? He did have three others on the way.

Kathleen Hoyer “Emotional Abortion”

About the Author:

I live in Palm Springs, California with my fiance Mike and my pug Gus. I have a degree in English Literature from University of California, Irvine and am a voracious reader. I primarily wrote poetry, but am now venturing into the short story. I’ve been having a lot of fun with it and just letting my imagination go and writing uncensored. Part of the reason why I have not ventured into the short story sooner is because, when I did attempt it, I was always told to reign it in and censor it. I also sketch, paint, and do collages. I’ve had a love for horror ever since I was little thanks to my uncles who started me young.

“Emotional Abortion”

By Kathleen Hoyer

My skull is pregnant with the words I want to say to you.

Words conceived of confusion and silent rage.

Barely formed

these words fall stillborn from my lips.

Scraped from me.

I can’t even have those.

I allow you to take my words from me.

Hollow me out,

like a greedy child scooping out the guts of a pumpkin.

And I allow you!

I allow you to leave me silent.

My anger is a hot thing

as hot as the blood spilt before me.

You believe love and sadness binds my lips

Holds my tongue.

Your dominance and potential for violence hold my leash

keeps my jaws from snapping.

That which drew you to me is my undoing.

Your loaded silence

Your disgust at my weakness

Leaves me scraped, raw, and empty,

My mangled words

They’re pulled, brutal evidence at your feet.

This time there are no tears.

You are the one that is weak!

You are the one that needs me.

This unlocks something lying dormant inside me.

It stretches and turns its face toward the light.

My skull is fertile again.

My words grow.

My lips part and my words spill forth.

Who’s at the end of the leash now?

This emotional abortion practice is over.

Smokedawg “Kneeling to the Fallen”

About the Author

J. Jefferson (aka Smokedawg) is a middle-aged editor and journalist manifesting his mid-life crisis by FINALLY writing the fiction his schoolmates always thought he would have been writing since graduation (but didn’t). In addition to beginning work on a science fiction novel in 2008, he fell into erotica in 2009 by starting his blog ”Better With Smoke” (http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com) as a way to explore the smoking fetish (independently and in conjunction with other fetishes) in fiction and commentary. He also has begun writing exclusive smoking fetish erotica for the forum “Smoking Fetish Kingdom” and plans to begin producing non-smoking erotica soon as well, exclusively for the Celis T. Rono Writer’s Collective (unless of course by some miracle some publisher wants to pay him to put it in print).

Kneeling to the Fallen

By Smokedawg

Calamity.

Nothing but calamity on this expedition. Illness, injury, loss of supplies, loss of transportation and repeated desertions. And two deaths. And now, Andrea Cochrane realized, she was the last one left. The one who led the team to find the cavern, and the only one who made it all the way. She had no way of knowing whether the ill and injured had made their way back to civilization or not.

And I have no idea if I can find my way back now, she admitted to herself.

It occurred to her that the entire trip had begun to feel cursed early on. That she, as the organizer and mastermind of it, would be the only one to gaze upon this crack in the cliff face spoke to her of influences beyond those of humans.

Given what she was seeking, that wasn’t such a superstitious notion anymore.

What few clues there were in the ancient texts and carvings matched up with the features around her. And most especially the narrow passage through the mountain in front of her. She had no idea why she had continued after Walter was carried away by the river current, over the falls and into the jagged rocks below—with Hannah subsequently leaving her in disgust.

But not without hurling curses and accusations at me, Andrea recalled. Not without telling me I was stupid to continue, and much worse things besides. And, in the end, why am I still walking toward my goal instead of running away from it? No one remains to witness this. No one is here to help me bring back proof if I survive. I’m like Walter now, being carried by a current I cannot resist.

Ashley Blade “Office Porn”

About the Author:

As a single mom working as a car sales person, Amanda manages her time between her passion for books, writing and her family. When she is not surfing the web or writing, you can find her rooting her daughter toward certain victory in a soccer match or curled up with her better half and a good book.

Office Porn

By Ashley Blade

I watched him every day for like a month, my mind would wonder to faraway places where he was there and so was I, naked. It seemed too simple that way, I never had to worry about getting my heart broken and he never had to reject me.

Today though was going to be different, I promised myself when I got up that morning. I told myself in the shower “you are the best, there is nothing wrong with you, all you have to do is ask.” But for some reason it didn’t lift my spirits like I hoped it would. I sat in front of the mirror combed out my honey colored highlighted hair and fantasized it was his fingers that were working out the tangles. My body throbbed with each pull of the comb, I was horny to say the least,