Tales of Monsterotica: Anthology Collection Book Two by Justin MacCormack

Tales of Monsterotica

Anthology Collection Book Two

Justin MacCormack

Jonathan Woodcock’s homecoming is in for a sticky end!

Travel beside Jonathan Woodcock, our veteran monster-shagger, as he continues his arduous journey of sexual discovery! Watch poor Jonathan experience the leather-clad discipline of the muscled Queerwolf alpha daddy. Shriek in terror as young Mr Woodcock is seduced by the Phantom of the opera and learns that his only escape is to bend over and take one for the team. And, finally, marvel as our hero returns home to England, only to find an especially thirsty vampire Count waiting for him, eager for a different sort of life fluid!

This frightening collection of gay erotic comedies includes “Bite of the Queerwolf,” “The Drag-Queen of the Opera” and “Revenge of Count Shagula,” all in one volume.

TALES OF MONSTEROTICA
A line of comical erotic romps featuring the classic and not-so-classic monsters of book, stage and screen, written by Justin MacCormack, author of “Diary of a Gay Teenage Zombie” and “Hush: A Horror Anthology”.

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The Line of Succession 3: Interregnum by Harry F. Rey

The Line of Succession 3: Interregnum

Harry F. Rey

Chaos rules an empty throne.

The Queen remains steadfastly in a coma. James is adjusting to his life as prince regent, helped by new eye-candy Samuel, while Andrew faces up to the reality of working for the opposition—James’ twin sister Alexandra. Andrew and James now find themselves on opposite sides of the war of succession.

With Alexandra’s bombshell article due to shock the monarchy to its core, she must seek out political allies to take the throne while keeping her restless husband Faisal in check. But the establishment is fighting back, and they’ll use even the most diabolical means to ensure James will produce an heir.

The powerful forces behind Operation Rex face a greater threat—Lizzie’s plans to expose the monarchy’s deadliest secrets to the world. Her pact with the IRA may finally avenge her parents’ murder… and truly enthrone a reign of chaos during this interregnum.

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Casting Couch by Tim Bartholomew

Casting Couch

Slave to Beauty #3

Tim Bartholomew

Catapulted out of his comfort zone and into the torrid atmosphere of a Moscow film studio, can a guileless and irresistible young man escape erotic possibilities with a clear conscience, or must he risk everything?

When artless Cambridge academic Andrew Billingham is beguiled into playing the handsome prince in a Russian TV commercial, he and gorgeous wife Bryony decide it’s too good an opportunity to miss.

Filming in the stifling heat of a Moscow summer, however, irresistible Andrew is accosted by studio folk—men and women alike— who jostle for his sexual favors. The evident adoration of Emilia he would reciprocate, were he single; director Jonny’s advances he would find not unappealing, were he gay; although, Bryony did allow her husband carte blanche should he find himself desiring another.

Conflicted between keeping his conscience clear and his urges to cave in to the many erotic possibilities presented, it’s only when Andrew’s private anxieties take on a more public dimension that he begins to wonder whether alluring make-up artist Emilia is all she pretends to be. There is, after all, political unrest in Russia—and Emilia seems closer to it than Andrew ever expected.

The tumultuous final instalment of the Slave to Beauty series where a good man does battle with the twin demons of disloyalty and temptation.

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Nuttin’ But Trouble by C.B. Archer

Nuttin’ But Trouble

College of United Monsters #4

C.B. Archer

What happens when you’re a prankster for hire who exchanges jobs for cat themed rewards without ever questioning why you’re doing those jobs in the first place? Troubling stuff. Troubling stuff happens. Look, it isn’t a sex pun this time— but we took care of that with the actual title this time.

The once elite College of United Monsters (C.U.M.) is not only having financial troubles but is now suffering from missing student problems. In order to stay afloat, it has been forced to allow humans to register; but the problem is that they keep vanishing mysteriously. Humans, in a monster school? Well, not for much longer if this keeps up! Also, humans are getting kidnapped and that was probably a bigger danger to the school than needing to tighten up the budget.

Porter Giese was once a ridiculous human, before he died in a tragic Pilates accident. Now he roams the halls of the school as the ultimate get-things-done-ghost. Whose obsession with cats borders on Lycanthropy. Being invisible, it turns out, is quite a boon to an intrepid prankster. Another boon would be questioning the motives of your employers, but Porter still is sorely lacking in that department. But, honestly—with a name like Porter Giese were you really expecting someone that doesn’t accidentally sell out everyone they know for an all-knowing cat of pure malice? Okay, you probably were not expecting that one this time, but good on you for at least pretending you did for a minute there.

It serves you right for thinking that having a punny name and attending monster college was the only joke going around in this series.

Nuttin’ But Trouble is a 17,000-word novella.

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Thong of Thongs by Kitty Knish

Thong of Thongs

69 Sexy Jewish Stories

Kitty Knish

Thong of Thongs is the lovely Kitty Knish’s debut collection of 69 sexy Jewish stories. Laugh as the Chosen People enjoy their bondage with a side of bagels and lox.

Thong of Thongs is the lovely Kitty Knish’s debut collection of 69 sexy Jewish stories, showcasing Jewish humor at its finest. Equal parts kosher and dirty, romantic and raunchy fun.

Adam, Eve and the trouser snake; streaking at a kibbutz; Freud’s introduction to submission; these are only a few of the hilariously scandalous tales found inside. Laugh your tuckus off as the Chosen People enjoy their bondage with a side of bagels and lox.

*WARNING*: While there is something in this collection for everyone, not every story is for everyone, so please approach this book with an open mind before you unzip your pants. No kvetching here, you’ve been warned!

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Thunder by Dylan James

Thunder

Dylan James

Two teenage rodeo champs have to overcome their hatred for each other — and their uncertainty about themselves — to save the family ranches.

Grant Peters is sixteen and wants nothing more than to just compete in calf roping at rodeos and keep winning gold. But there are two obstacles in his path.

The first is Logan Summers, also sixteen, and also into calf roping. Logan is Grant’s only real competition and every time Logan wins, he gives Grant a smug little smirk that sets Grant’s blood boiling.

The second is Grant’s parents being close to selling the family ranch and moving to the city, away from rodeo, and away from his horse, Thunder.

So when Grant discovers evidence of a deadly cougar stalking the ranch, he decides to take it upon himself to hunt down what would undoubtedly kill the little business his family has left if word got out. Of course, as soon as he sets off into the woods, he runs into Logan, who is undertaking the same hunt to save his own family’s ranch.

Now, these two teenage rodeo nemeses have to not only overcome their uncertainty about themselves, but also their hatred for each other, if they have any hope of coming together to save their families’ businesses.

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Excerpt: The Killing Spell

Excerpt

Accepted.

That’s what the letter said. At that moment, I felt a sudden chill go up my spine. I pretended to smile as Mum and Dad shouted their delight that their little wizard was being sent thousands of miles away to study magic at an exclusive boarding school.

I swallowed hard. Please don’t make me go, I thought.

I took another look at my letter. “Highly prestigious,” “well-accredited,” and “very sought-after” were the different qualifiers used to describe their piss of an academy. There were portraits in a brochure, mostly in sepia-tone black and white, of their most famous students, yet I didn’t recognize any of them. The more I looked at all the rubbish they’d sent me in that big yellow envelope, the more I wanted to vomit.

Accepted.

Everything had been arranged: the three tickets for the next available ship from England to Aradia, the meeting place three days from now in the Aradian port-city of Navona, and our guide who was to see us at the harbor take us to the school. The whole lot, including my school uniform, was all-expenses paid.

Seeking to break the jovial mood that’d taken over my parents at the breakfast table, I told them that I wasn’t going to that school.

“Not going?” Mum asked me, wide-eyed. “Why? This is the opportunity of a lifetime! A prestigious school, fancy uniforms, and a better life for all of us! Are you going to sit there and tell us that you don’t want what’s best for your family?”

Yes, I was, I told her. I wasn’t going and that was the end of it.

My parents then began to lecture me, whilst I kept buttering my toast, about how they never had an opportunity like this when they were my age and how I’d be letting down several generations of our wizard-family if I didn’t go. Dad was especially determined because both he and Granddad had been rejected from that school numerous times.

Despite my pleas, my constant whinging, and even throwing a teary-eyed wobbly like I used to do when I was a tiny tot, I was going to that ugly academy. Mum said my name, middle name and all, and insisted that I get packed.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said. “End of discussion.”

Without another word, I stormed into my room, slamming the door after me, and buried my face into my pillow.

Accepted.

It wasn’t fair! Other kids would be pretty chuffed about going to such a distinguished wizard-school, but not me. This sort of thing should’ve gone to those who needed it or wanted it more. Instead, I was the one who got…accepted.

I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be part of the “next generation of great sorcerers,” nor follow in my father’s or grandfather’s footsteps. I just wanted to be me. I didn’t want to leave my mates or live away from home. What’s more, I’d be going to a foreign country where I didn’t know anyone, much less the language they spoke. Things had been much simpler and I’d been a lot happier before I got that stupid letter!

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Excerpt: Raven’s Touch

Excerpt

The sunlight painted the sea, coating it like oil on water as it sank beneath the distant horizon. Inch by inch the tide rose, slowly swallowing the sandy beach.

Cadeon stretched as his horse, Adric, obediently halted. Dismounting, he removed an apple and wine from his pack. Pulling the cork with his teeth, he gulped a few mouthfuls, wiping the remnants on his chin with his sleeve. Adric nickered, nudging Cade, no doubt wanting the fruit. Cadeon often looked forward to this evening ritual — a welcome reprieve from the constant strain associated with his title.

Cadeon smiled and offered the rest of his apple to the large beast. With his companion preoccupied with the treat, he returned his gaze to the setting sun. The waves lapped quietly against the shore — a stark contrast to the raging storm the night before.

He absentmindedly ran his hand through Adric’s mane, a motion he caught himself doing to quell his racing thoughts. He dropped the reins, knowing his horse wouldn’t move from this spot until the sun set and Cade mounted.

Cadeon favored this particular place on the beach. It wasn’t too far from the castle; the large spires rose high over the hills where he could spot their tips. A dusty trail, cut through the green grass, led the way up to the top of the cliff. Beyond that was the castle-town. He could get back to his subjects quickly, if needed.

Cade took another mouthful of wine, allowing its sweetness to coat his throat. If only its magic would work quicker.

As Cadeon looked away from the setting sun, he caught something unusual in the distance — the light sands of the beach littered with dark stains.

He resumed his pace, curious as to what it could be further down the beach. Soon, the black spots became pieces of dark colored wood scattered all along the water line, larger pieces still floating in the ocean some distance out, evidence of a recent shipwreck. Rope, seaweed, and other indistinct objects cluttered the area. Cadeon picked his way through the wreckage, careful of the larger pieces of wood. He idly went through different reasons as to why a ship would have been washed up in tatters. Mayhap the reef is responsible?

Cadeon moved some of the pieces, half expecting to find something underneath the destruction. With no signs of anyone amongst the wreckage, Cadeon surmised it to be an old ship having finally found its way back to land.

He sat on one of the wooden planks littering the sand. Today had been arduous, as most others in the past years. His fiefdom was in conflict, and no matter how he fought for peace, it was naught to be found. He wouldn’t blame his subjects; King William had been on the path toward destruction following the murder of Queen Genevieve, not more than five years earlier, and it affected all the lands.

The king threatened war and invasion of nearly every bordering country, even those which would take months to travel to. King William was certain the murder of his wife was part of a diabolical plot from an opposing ruler. An effort to weaken the his resolve and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike, taking lands from him. Nearly each week the king dispatched another handful of soldiers to examine the towns owned by various lords. Some of these examinations were innocent, yet most wielded death and destruction in a mad search for clues, the king’s men finding any excuse to execute one — or a number — of “disloyal” subjects. Cadeon battled daily to keep the king’s men from his land, and to prepare for his subjects’ protection. A combination of sheer luck, and the legacy of his father now passed to him, kept the king from striking.

Even so, tensions were high. Today, he attempted to resolve a quarrel between brothers fighting over who laid claim to the daughter of the butcher. When he deduced it to be the woman’s choice, the looks on their faces were of such confusion he had to laugh. It was the only moment of joviality he had in the day.

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon he finished the last of the wine, throwing the bottle into the ocean, along with the remaining frustration of the day.

Walking back toward Adric, he wondered if tonight would be when he chose not to return — the same thought which he entertained nightly. Unable to turn away from his responsibilities of his land, he determined he would at least allow himself another jug of wine for the night when he returned, a guaranteed sleep.

Before mounting, a low noise caught his attention. He paused, looking for its source. Hearing nothing more, he deduced it to have been the howl of the wind. Mayhap that second jug is not the best of ideas, he thought, shaking his head as he smiled at his imagination.

Another noise, louder this time, reached him. His stallion’s ears turned as well, proving this time something to be on the beach.

A cough — harsh, as if the throat was rubbed raw. Cadeon turned back to face the lonely beach. What he thought to have been pieces of rubbish just piled together, moved. Wood slipped off into the sand and the black cloth pulled back, revealing a hand lifting from the soft dirt. The rigging of what had once been a ship was piled up on someone; they were tangled in the ropes and sail. As the stranger beneath the cloth turned himself over, Cadeon could make out an oddly shaped insignia woven into the material. He muttered a curse to himself. This was not what he needed tonight. Yet, as he often did, he found himself walking toward the castaway, putting the needs of others before himself.

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Excerpt: The Thurian Chronicles

Excerpt

Gwen slapped a burning cinder from her night-rail’s thin linen sleeve. Then yanked the smoldering sleeping cap from her head and pitched it away. It burst into flame as it struck the hall floor.

Her heart pounded in terror. Above, the third floor of the manor house was engulfed in red-black fire and she knew the second would follow momentarily. She surveyed the floor to ensure all the upstairs staff had heeded her command. They had.

She’d been surprised when she awoke to the smell of smoke, bolted straight from her bed without pause, and rushed into a gray haze filling the hall corridor. Most astonishing to her was the firm calmness of her voice when she ordered the panicking servants, upstairs and some downstairs, to flee the house and, for once, none rebuked her.

With ash and cinders raining down, more every moment, Gwen moved onto the top marble step of the staircase and noted that the always-cold stone was warm against her bare feet. In the manor entry below, as the clock chimed once announcing it was half past eleven, she saw the last servants flee out the door. A fiery beam crashed to the floor behind her, spewing hot embers everywhere into the air. She batted at the aflame cinders dotting her night rail and long gold-blonde hair as she rushed down the stairs without further haste.

The entry doors stood wide open to the summer night.

As Gwen reached the ground floor, she swiftly assessed that indeed all the manor staff had escaped. She saw, and smiled to her shame, that tiny flames were caressing the top of the huge eight-foot-tall portrait of first wife that all viewed upon entering the manor. With smoke curling thicker into the air above her, she continued to the doorway. She was a moment away from fleeing the encroaching inferno, only a mere tick, when she heard the muffled whimper.

She stopped in the doorway, listening intently.

Naught.

She’d been mistaken.

Again, she was about to flee.

Then she plainly heard a tiny sob.

Gwen moved to the entry cloak cabinet. She knew that was where the whimper-sob had come from.

Smoke now rose from the crevices between the marble stair steps.

She knew there was not much time left.

Gwen reached for the large brass knob of the cabinet and quickly pulled her hand away.

It was hot, the heat nearly singeing her flesh.

She back-stepped, part of her mind still shouting for her to escape, to flee straightaway. Instead she edged her fingers back toward the knob. Stopped again. The heat was overwhelming, even a pinch of time touching it would be devastating to her hand.

Another sob echoed from within.

Without further thought or delay, she tore loose the right sleeve of her night-rail. She wrapped the cloth around her hand and forearm then grabbed the knob. As she opened the cabinet door, the linen caught fire. She flung it away from her.

Inside the cabinet, a lass, a kitchen maid’s daughter, cowered with skinny arms wrapped around skinny knees.

“Come to me, child,” Gwen coaxed.

The lass shook her head, terrified but firm.

“Come.”

The lass tightened her skinny arms around her skinny knees.

There was no time for this.

Gwen fisted her hands on her hips.

“Out!” she commanded, near shouting. “Now!”

The lass jumped from the cabinet.

Gwen pointed her toward the doorway.

“Run.”

Without a backward glance, as the cabinet caught flame, the lass bolted out the door and into the night.

Gwen followed her to the doorway…

…but turned around.

The second floor was now fully aflame and fire swept toward the ground floor.

Without conscious thought, she covered her breasts with her left arm and placed her right hand over the night-rail linen at her cleaving. She understood that all her clothes, shoes, and the book secreted under her pillow were now cinder and ash. Most of the gowns she wouldn’t miss. While she had always dressed very modestly, most of her clothing had been tailored in the style that first wife had preferred — from chin to floor in length with matching veiled hat, long sleeves and gloves. Those could burn twice.

The heat from the fire grew more intense on her face and body. Except for some minimal comforts, she would not miss her history within this household.

Gwen ran into the half-moon shadows, to the middle of the wet-grass, tree-dotted lawn that stretched in front of the manor. And into utter chaos.

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Excerpt: To Love This Woman

Excerpt

Jon thought he’d never seen anyone shake so violently. Gently he took her against him. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ve got you now.”

“What?” she asked stupidly as she struggled still to regain her senses. She frowned as she realized who held her. “What are you doing here?”

At her question, every ounce of compassion seemed to disappear as stark terror flickered in his dark gaze. A second later even the terror was gone, replaced by a rage that might have shaken most men to their boots. Apparently it affected her not in the least, even if it left him with an overwhelming need to throttle this woman. How dare she put herself in such danger? If he hadn’t had that meeting in the tavern just across the street, if he hadn’t left when he had, if he hadn’t noticed the commotion across the street. If he hadn’t heard Becky’s screams or recognized Georgiana’s golden curls as her bonnet slipped from her head. He trembled at the thought of the damage that might have been done to her. “How many times have I told you not to venture out alone in London? You know, well enough, that the city is dangerous for a lady. And where the hell is your maid?”

“I’m here, sir,” Becky said. It took half a minute or more before Jon realized she was standing next to him, struggling to cover her mistress.

“Go to the end of the alley. Call when Lester brings the coach around.”

Becky instantly followed the direction of his nod.

Jon never realized his words had no effect on the lady before him. Never realized this lady was beyond hysterics and unable to hear him. The fact was he choked back his next words, not at all sure what he was talking about in the first place, as his gaze took in the beautiful sight of one near naked breast and her torn bodice. She was bruised, her skin scraped from her fall, Jon pushed his coat against her and forced her arms into the fabric.

Traumatized, thanks to the ordeal suffered, she was beyond the point of rational thinking and obviously had no notion what the man was about. She fought him wildly as he tried to cover her.

“I hate you,” she said.

“I know. I know. I’m only here to help you right now.”

“Take this filthy thing off me.”

She fought against his ridiculous need to press his coat over her. “It’s wet.”

She pulled her arms from it and demanded, “Stop it! What’s the matter with you?”

Opened in the back, his coat had covered her well where she needed covering most. There was no way he was taking her from this alley nearly naked.

“Stop fighting me this instant,” he commanded.

“Get away from me.” She sneered as she shoved the coat away and flung it to the ground between them, then delivered a smart slap to his cheek. “I hate you.”

He never felt the blow, nor would she remember delivering it.

He groaned as his gaze slid to her disheveled state. “Georgie, listen to me. Someone has nearly run you down.”

Quite astonishingly she was all of a sudden herself again, and said with all calmness. “Actually, Jon, I wouldn’t say nearly. I think he did rather a good job of it, wouldn’t you say?”

Jon smiled. “Apparently he did. Now you must allow me to cover you. I’ve got to get you into your coach with as little fuss as possible.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, you have a bloody gash above one eye, that’s already swelled your eye shut. You need to calm down and listen to me.”

“Listen to me!” he insisted as he took his coat from the ground and tried again to push her resisting arms into his sleeves.

“Stop it,” she insisted. “Jon, stop!” God, she sounded so lucid. For just a second he wondered if it was her want that he should see her. A second later he groaned a low sound of misery. Without a doubt he was the worst of God’s creatures. This woman was in desperate need of his help and here he was allowing the most lurid and depraved thoughts. She was deeply distressed, obviously out of her mind with shock and what did he do? He thought perhaps she wanted to show him her near nakedness? Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t remember a day when he hadn’t cared for her, wanted her, ached to hold her and now when she needed him most, what did he do? He gawked at her, easily the reprobate. Jesus, he knew better than this. He tore his gaze, his mind, from her near nakedness and finally managing to get her arms into his sleeves, all the while forcing his gaze only to her face. “Georgie, try to understand. Your dress is torn. You must allow me to cover you.”

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