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The winner of my ebook Lust Plague is Mineliz, from the Sinful Sirens Blog Hop. I sent an email to you, Mineliz, so look in your inbox!   See how tasteful my winner pic is? I was tempted to use the one below since Lust Plague has zombies, but I was kind and didn't. Aren't I good?
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Okay , here is my latest, and maybe my first, contest on here. Think up alternative lyrics for a song - a line or two will do - and give it a zombie slant. Example - "I ate the braaaaains, down in Africa..." Courtesy of Willsin Rowe who has extremely bad taste! Post in the comments and I'll track down whoever the random number generator picks and give you a copy of Lust Plague, my latest erotic romance with yes, zombieeeeeees in the plot. But in case you are concerned about the love lives of the zombies, don't be, they are NOT the hero or heroine. My zombies are pure unadulterated cannon fodder. Link to a sample of Lust Plague on here. If you're stuck, throw me a zombie joke. I promise not to throw you to the zombies out the back, unless it is a very very bad joke. Oh, and here is the blurb and publisher's warning on Lust Plague. Read it! To make sure it is for you. This is an erotic story and only for adults! Saving the world should be easier. When airship captain Kaysana meets Sten, the last thing she wants to do is have mad rough sex with him while bound by ropes and clamps but fate pencils in their appointment. The lust plague strikes. From her infected crew, zombies arise. With her ship gone, she must rely on Sten, a human clone, a man who has fought all his life to master himself. She despises his kind and detests Sten’s growing hold on her. Though he never takes no for an answer, surely it’s the plague that makes yes slip from her tongue like melted butter? Or should she blame her own traitorous heart? Hordes of slavering zombies await them. Sten and Kaysana unlimber weapons, don goggles, and set a course for the origin of the plague. Yet their victory will be hollow if they cannot also solve the puzzle of their hearts. Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and material that some readers may find objectionable: anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme and elements, exhibitionism, spanking, strong violence.
Lust Plague - HANG onto YOUR goggles!!
The zombs are coming, and Sten is coming too, with shotgun in one hand and Kaysana in the other. Here's my six sentences from my steampunk lust-laden zombie extravaganza. ***** They’d just had sex while a shipload of people up there were turning into zombies and he’d tied her up. “I think we went a bit nuts.” “Ya don’t say.” She licked her lips, kept her eyes shut. The even tone radiated calmness. “Now can you untie me?" ***** Joining six sentence sunday can be fun! To join in, and find other participating writers, go here six sentence sunday On twitter use the hashtag #sixsunday  Note to my readers - this is not the final edited version and I tweaked it a little to make a more sensible excerpt. ********* He made himself not look at the bodies and the pool of blood on the rooftop behind Kaysana. Keep your shit focused. Zone them out. Zen, man, zen. Took him a few hard seconds but he managed. He had to. Their lives depended on this diversion, on it giving Holly time to find a vehicle. The difficult bit was keeping Kaysana in a mental space where she forgot. “Last time we kissed those zombies zeroed in on us like flies to honey.” Or flies to blood. She didn’t answer. At the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she sighed. Quivering with need already? Her smart, thinking side was clearly a long way away. He spread his fingers on her warm skin and smiled. If not for the effects of the lust plague this ploy would never have worked. The pesky mob of zombs waiting below to rip them apart weren’t exactly love potion ingredients. Sten pressed his palm on her nape, made her kneel, turned the leash around and around his fist until his knuckles brushed the angle of her throat and jaw. He bent down, staring at her. Her eyes went all gooey, the pupils dilating, gorgeous -- if he could’ve bottled that he would’ve. “Let’s kiss,” he murmured. The feel of her soft lips under his near unhinged him. Their hot breaths mingled as he explored her mouth. At first passive, then she struggled a little and tried to pull away. His hands at her neck and throat held her to him. “No,” he whispered, licking the corner of her mouth. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” Then he crushed her resistance, shoving his tongue between her lips, taking over her mouth with his while his fingers sought a hold in her hair. He turned his hand to screw those fingers into the roots, wrapping hair about each finger -- harder, tighter. When she gasped and her mouth fell open he knew he had her. He kept at her. Not until she moaned uncontrollably into his mouth did he let up, and slowly lift away. Her eyes were shut. Her mouth was open still, air sucking in and out with little wanting gasps. “Beautiful.” Still holding her head, he glanced over the side. Six or ten Raised Men were down there, walking about, staring up, growling, some of them backing up to see better. Not enough. He needed to crank up the effect to attract the rest. He studied Kaysana. “What are we lacking?” Her eyelids fluttered open. Such promise in those eyes. As if she expected and needed more. Ah. Course. “The fantasy needs to be stronger. Yes?” But she didn’t, or couldn’t answer. He’d left her lost inside her thoughts. “Let’s try something better, hotter. Trial and error.” He smiled down at her then let go of the leash and traced her lower lip with his fingers. Gravity and the curves of her body showed his hand the way to the silky skin of her neck. He hooked his fingers under the neckline of the top and pulled it down one shoulder, then the other, making the top slide. He scooped each breast free from the top, then went down on one knee and paid homage to each nipple -- licking and sucking them until the tips hardened. By then she had a hand wrapped around his wrist. “No.” Yet she shivered. Her chest heaved enough that her nipple pushed in and out of his mouth. One last bite at her nipple and he straightened, grinning at the squeak he’d elicited. “No?” He pried her hand loose, took both her wrists to her back. That alone made Kaysana arch toward him. “That’s my girl. Your mouth says no but your body says yes.” From the sounds below, the crowd of Raised Men grew. He narrowed his eyes. It was working. With one hand clamping her wrists at the small of her back, he let the leash dangle down her front so it tapped against her mound, then reached around her buttocks and between her legs to pull the leash through her legs. A few loops about her wrists and a quick knot. There. Bound nice and firm. The way she sank her teeth into her lip and swayed, told him she liked this. He let his hand follow the leather of the leash, across belly and all the way down to where it split her labia and sank up into her slit. Moisture leaked around the leather onto his fingers. As if he had forever to do this, he travelled his fingers up and over her little engorged clit then back along her slit to her anus, watching her reaction -- every whimper and moan and quiver. “You’re so fucking wet already. I’d like to sit here all day teasing this clit.” He gave it a few taps and trapped it between his fingers, watched her eyelids drift half-shut and her tongue emerge between those plump lips. Kaysana made a small sound halfway between a whimper and a moan. From the sounds, men were scrambling up the building. Five cartridges left in the shotgun at his feet. He prayed that’d be enough. Those below didn’t seem clever enough to climb well. Lucky, damn lucky, their brains were in short supply. She so tempted him. He moved in, let his tongue find the way around the whorl of her ear, and whispered, “If I finger fuck you, do you think half the city’ll arrive?” She blinked, swallowed, shut her eyes entirely. “I’d like to take you here, fuck you on the roof, in front of the world.” He cupped her chin. The whole body shudder that ran through her, rocking her chin in his hand, sent crazy signals to his groin. His balls tightened. He turned the shotgun so the trigger was close, and resumed the kiss. His fingers went back on her clit, his thumb rocking and squeezing to bring her off. The suck and pull of his lips on hers echoed what he did below. She moaned, then her body tensed as she climaxed. He moved her so her mouth rested on his shoulder. Damn. Fascinated he watched her every reaction as her torso undulated in waves. He thrust a finger in deeper while his thumb stayed on her clit. She bit him, screaming quietly at the back of her throat, her groin pumping onto his hand. Then she crumpled, her forehead slipping down the front of his chest. As if he’d had been catapulted onto the roof, a man appeared -- arms outstretched, eyes alight with orange fire, his rot-blackened hands reached…then Sten’s shotgun blew him away. Blood misted the air. He screamed, spun out into mid-air, and fell. Snick snick. The shotgun’s barrel rotated, loaded a round. Lust Plague release date from Loose Id - March 27th. I got this a while ago but have been on a bit of a beach holiday so here it is in delayed action.
My release date for Lust plague is the 27th of March. And here, to celebrate, is a snippet. For the zombie lovers. * * * * * The steam cycle grumbled slowly down the street, weaving in a wide arc around the zombie, who tangled his feet and fell. A dead donkey lay on its side with a small cart still strapped to it by a harness. They swerved left at the end of the street and into a narrower one. A swarm of zombies hobbled toward them -- footpath to footpath, an almost unbroken line. “Hang on!” Sten accelerated, the front wheel lifted, then thumped down, stirring up swirling dust. Engine screaming they headed for the far right of the zombie pack. With Sten's arms either side, Kaysana could only grip a fistful of the trouser fabric over his thighs and do exactly what he'd said -- hang on tight. A gun would be nice. Shooting something would be even better. Arms, black fingers, stretched toward them, heads turned, the growling and moans penetrated the cycle's glass and metal. Dead eyes swiveled and tracked them. Nothing seemed to register to the zombies except them -- pumping, breathing, living bodies. The gap ahead narrowed between footpath and a brown building wall. With a teeth-cracking thud the cycle mounted the footpath. A zombie appeared, clawed at the glass, went under the wheel, shrieking. Oh, hell! The cycle bumped, slewed and tilted, then rumbled over the top. Blackened blood splatted the windscreen, lower left. They zoomed through the thinning crowd of undead. The street ahead was bare. The cries dissipated. The blood dribbled down, tendrils spreading sideways with the buffeting of air like a spider web spun of darkness. Does this revolutionary idea sending you running off screaming and waving your arms as if a zombie attack is imminent? Can you see yourself picking up a book with an ugly hero? Would you rather kiss a zombie than read about a guy with zits smooching the heroine?
I ’m not talking real life here. So puh-leese don’t throw things at me. I know we’re not all model material and I regularly wear a paper bag at the supermarket so as not to scare the customers. Moving on… This is a common gripe of readers -- handsome, shiny heroes who are like sculptures in manly flesh, all hairless and muscular with an abdomen you could snuggle up to for eternity while purring happily, and licking…mustn’t forget the licking. And don't get me started on the length of their magnificent nine inch cocks that in a pinch can be used to decapitate villains or rip open beer cans. I’d have to say I’m guilty of writing in such men, though sometimes I do leave the exact dimensions of the manly appendages unsaid. Imagination is king in a book. Readers like to exercise it every so often and an author spoonfeeding us every single detail is like eating cold porridge after a while. I’d also say that faced with such a man in reality, I’d be looking at those abs and wondering if you could play them like a xylophone. Too perfect is a downer. Give me some wrinkles, some evidence that the man has lived and done more than visit the gym and polish his pecs on a daily basis. What would be the line that is uncrossable though? Pimples? Bad breath and missing teeth? Baldness (noooo, I like my bald guys!). Is there a line at all or is it just a matter of ‘does the author have the talent and cojones to pull it off?’ Of course beauty, or ugliness, is in the eye of the beholder. A common perception is that publishers demand these Adonis types but I think authors can get away with a far from perfect main man if he appeals to the reader and rocks the lady’s socks (or stockings, corset, g-string and fuck-me shoes) off. I’ve seen delectable men written who are missing limbs or blind. Way to go authors! You’ve given me food for thought. Maybe this is the new trend? Imperfect men -- physically imperfect that is -- we all know and love men with tortured souls. So now it’s time for erotic romance to embrace those with tortured bodies. Or at the very least, those with bodies in need of a pedicure, and the attention of a team of plastic surgeons. Not that I’m letting those surgeons and beauty therapists near my new men. Stay as you are guys. I’ve got my shotgun out and locked and loaded -- um…can you do that with shotguns? And while I’m waiting for the therapists and surgeons to launch their assault, I’m off to blow away some tea party zombies. go HERE for zombies Here’s a game thrown at us BDSM authors by Lesli Richardson, who obviously likes her men with a few bits missing too…noses, eyes, arms, just not the pecker. Leave the pecker be. Please. Like a taste of BDSM instead? Click on the BDSM authors Playroom link over there on the right. |
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Copyright Cari Silverwood 2011. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
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 AuthorCari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night. Follow Cari Silverwood on...
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