Rest in Peace, my lovely

By Jude Mason

Roses Have Thorns

By Jude Mason

ISBN: 1-60054-084-8
Genre: Paranormal Horror / Retribution
Contains: Vengeance, Torture, Death, Bondage
Rating: Super Nova
Cover Artist: Ron O.

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What happens when a whore hooks up with the wrong john? What happens when he murders her? You'd think she'd die; there'd be an investigation that went nowhere and that'd be the end of it, right?

Wrong!

Rose did all these things…both of them. The first Rose died and swore vengeance, somehow. When the second Rose died, something horrible, something supernatural happens and Rose comes back. Months pass, while she heals the body, transforming it into and searches for him. When she does, she takes her vengeance, and it's not sweet. Not sweet at all.

Sigh, I love erotic horror. This may not be exactly what Garce had in mind when he came up with the idea for this week's topic, but I just had to bring my Rose's up. I actually opened this book with a death. The grisly, macabre death of a street prostitute whose body was quickly taken over by the ghost of another woman who had also died horribly. The paranormal aspect was the heart of the book, yet without the horrible death, the rest would have really had no meaning.

I've written a couple of books where characters died, or were dead before I started the book. A nice ghostly scare is enough to drive many hesitant couples into a sexy clinch! And if that ghost is troubled, in need of love and horny, all the better.

Scorpio Tattoo

By Jude Mason

ISBN 978-1-59426-994-3
Contents: m/f, menage, paranormal, contemporary
This cover was created for me by Kathryn Lively
Publisher: Phaze http://www.phaze.com

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A tattoo is one of the most personal art forms that can adorn the flesh of a human. What happens when women are kidnapped and tattooed? What happens when those women die? And, what happens when the tattooist isn't alive?

Jonathan Rorke searches for the answer these questions and others when his psychic talents lead him to the latest victim. Jessica Crane, latest victim, and the only one who's still alive. Why? Together, Jonathan and Jess have to find out who and why she's being tattooed, before her tattoo is finished and she becomes casualty number three.

In this book the main characters had to learn a dreadful secret in order to save the woman from a terrible fate. The twists and turns in this book as well as the suffering of the ghost make his anger and confussion understandable. It also enhances the terror of the woman. Those emotions are strong and make for some 'sitting on the edge of your seat' moments. To me, that's what makes a good story. Grab your reader and don't let them go. If you, as the author, can keep that suspense going from beginning to end, well, you've got one fine read.

The teasing and torment, that just adds flavor, in my opinion. I'm a great one for teasing. I adore dragging the sexual frustration of a character on for pages. From the comments I get from readers, they seem to enjoy it too. Keeping it going, sustaining that special 'note' of frustrated pleasure takes some doing. In my opinion, it's worth it though. It's a bit like, how long can you hold your partner, during sex, on that pinicle of pleasure? I want my readers to dangle there too, breath held, blood racing, ready to explode when the powerful 'I' let them.

Hugs

Ghosts and Ghouls and Sexy Spirits...OH MY!

by Jude Mason

I've written several stories about ghosts and adore them. Mine aren't always the spooks who simply appear, scare the living bejeebers out of you then fade into the ether. I like em when they stick around and do some real haunting. Even better, when they have a mystery to solve, help you solve it then hang around to enjoy their after life.

Let me start with a story my father shared with me years ago. When he was very young, he had a favorite Aunt who thought the world of him. They'd visit often and spend hours talking about things little boys talk about with Auntie's. He loved her immensely. When he was about 7-8, I'm not sure exactly, his Auntie died. Being as he was a youngster, no one wanted to tell him. He went to bed that night and slept soundly, until his Auntie appeared at the foot of his bed. From what he told me, they sat talking for a little while then she told him she wouldn't be able to see him again for a very long time. Course, being the young boy he was, it upset him. But, she explained she'd gone away and he'd see her again when it was the right time. That apparently soothed him and he went back to sleep.

The next day, he told him mom he'd seen his Auntie. She finally told him his dear Auntie had passed on, but he refused to believe her. He'd spoken to her, sat and talked for ages he said. I don't think he ever stopped believing he'd seen her.

A little spooky, but in a very good way.

Now my ghosties. No, I've never personally seen or talked to a ghost. But, I do love to think about them. The first book I wrote about a ghost was called, Roses Have Thorns. Here's a little blurb for you:

What happens when a whore hooks up with the wrong john? What happens when he murders her? You'd think she'd die; there'd be an investigation that went nowhere and that'd be the end of it, right?

Wrong!

Rose did all these things…both of them. The first Rose died and swore vengeance, somehow. When the second Rose died, something horrible, something supernatural happens and Rose comes back. Months pass, while she heals the body, transforming it into and searches for him. When she does, she takes her vengeance, and it's not sweet. Not sweet at all.

You see, there were two Roses, both killed by the same man. The ghost of #1 takes over the body of #2 when she dies. A shivery prospect for the bad dude in this one. Poetic justice can be a bitch sometimes...LOL I'm thinking Rose would be more along the lines of ghoul, but as I tend to just write these things and let someone else worry about that part, I'm not really sure.

On to the next of my ghosties. This would be Scropio Tattoo, one of my all time faves. And heres the blurb for it:

A tattoo is one of the most personal art forms that can adorn the flesh of a human. What happens when women are kidnapped and tattooed? What happens when those women die? And, what happens when the tattooist isn't alive? Jonathan Rorke searches for the answer these questions and others when his psychic talents lead him to the latest victim. Jessica Crane, latest victim, and the only one who's still alive. Why? Together, Jonathan and Jess have to find out who and why she's being tattooed, before her tattoo is finished and she becomes casualty number three.

In this book, the ghost doesn't realize he's dead, kind of. And he also doesn't realize his lady is dead, kind of. Without saying too much, I'll just tell you, he doesn't leave when he could.

Now that Jenna and I are writing together, we've found that ghosts are a topic we both seem to like writing about. Ethan's Choice, from the Kindred Spirits, our ongoing series of ghostly tales, will be at least four books long. Each will target at least one ghostly problem and we'll hopefully solve them as we go along. Whether the ghosts all leave is a different matter. Angry Annie's problem is solved, but she seems to like it at the Inn. I'm hoping she shows up a lot in future books.

I think ghosts are an entity we as authors can use in an enormous number of ways. The rules don't 'have' to apply. Some people say you can't touch a ghost, but in Scorpio Tattoo, the ghost is touched a number of times, by more then one flesh and blood character. No one complained. Ghosts live as long as you like, can pop in and out of the story, enter places and know things no one else can. I'd say they're a great way to solve mysteries. LOL

Oh, and then there was Ghost of a Chance. I had to wind this up by posting a snippet from that one.

ISBN: 978-1-906811-06-8
m/m, paranormal
Publisher: Total E-Bound
Publisher URL: http://www.total-e-bound.com/

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Ghost of a Chance
Made #2 at Total E-Bound's Fictionwise Page

From
Chapter One

Silken softness wrapped around his cock, sucking gently, exquisitely.

Robert shifted. Rolling onto his back, he stretched his legs out, barely conscious of being in bed, not really awake.

Wet suction pulled at his shaft. A tongue slid over the crown of his cock, the tip delving into the slit. His thighs eased open.

Yes, a dream. That’s what it is. A wet dream, a fantasy—a disembodied mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, all there just for his pleasure.

The suction eased, the lips barely skimming over his shaft—up and down, up and down. His hips twitched, his buttocks clenched, his thighs tightened. He splayed his knees wider. A tongue moved wetly up his shaft again. The sensation faded.

Excitement waned. He fell into deeper sleep.

A face appeared—dark hair tousled, thick brows with one arched more then the other, sideburns longer than fashionable. The nose had a bump in the middle. Eyes—brown, wide open, framed with beautifully long lashes—watched him. Lips—thick, moist, kissable—opened.

Robert’s hips moved, churned his ass into the bed. Soft sheets brushed against his shaft and its head wept and stuck to the material.

He reached for himself. A squeeze, a tug. He sighed and his slumber again deepened.

The beautiful, handsome face vanished, but the mouth remained. Lips, tongue, brushed the thick dome of his cock.

His balls shifted, moving up closer to his body. He clenched his ass. In sync, his hips rose, pushing his cock shaft further in.

Taking his hand off his cock, he reached lower and cupped the soft, nearly hairless sac below. Holding it, he pulled down on the two walnut-sized orbs.

He relaxed, his sleep deepened again. Time passed.

“You like that, don’t you, my love?” a soft masculine voice whispered huskily.

“Yes,” he hissed. Or I thought I did. Am I speaking? Am I dreaming? Does it matter?

The slickness of a mouth returned, nipping at the flesh along the length of his cock.

His shaft thickened instantly, if it ever actually had deflated at all. He was hard. He wanted to fuck.

He dreamed. The face was back. Thick lashes rose, revealing lust-filled, dark eyes looking up at him. The nose, a little too sharp at the tip, brushed his pubes as the mouth descended, taking him in to the hilt. Grunting, he basked in the feel of that lovely, soft, wet mouth engulfing his cock. The head touched, rubbed against the back of a throat.

“Yes,” he hissed again. Or is it the first time?

He shuddered, reached for the face, connected with…nothing, air, sheets. His fingers slipped over the cool silk fabric, gripped, clenched and held tight while his cock was lavished with gulping pleasure.

A chin nudged his ball sac, pushing the magic orbs to and fro. He arched his back, his fingers and toes curled tight, he was aching for release—half-asleep, half-awake, breathless with lust.

The face vanished. The mouth abandoned him.

Robert sat up. One of his hands rested on the bed behind him, supporting him, the other moved to his stomach. His cock pulsed against his palm. Glancing around, he peered into the corners, along the walls, the window shades drawn tight. He was alone.

He was fucking hard, needed to come. He was exhausted.

Peering at the clock on the bedside table, he saw the arms pointing at the three and the ten. It wasn’t ten fifteen.

Sagging, he fell back on the pillow. Too old for a wet dream, he told himself. Too tired to finish. Still he reached down and cupped himself, sighing. His thoughts wandered to the dream of the face, the mouth, those deep brown, smouldering eyes.

He sighed with pleasure.

Weird dreams. Fuck me dreams. Where’d they come from? His thoughts faded into nothing.

“Open your legs. Let me suck you,” the deep, masculine voice whispered.

He eased his knees apart, pushing his toes against the bundled sheets, spreading his legs comfortably wide. A shiver of pleasure raced up his spine. He slid his hands down to his sac.

“Yeah,” he murmured, more asleep than awake. His balls shifted.

A mouth engulfed the head of his cock. He didn’t have to move, he knew it, trusted his knowing. He simply lay there and enjoyed the wet suckling of his glans and the silken tongue delving into the oozing slit. His ass cheeks clenched. His anus itched. He wanted…something.

The face was there, the dark eyes peering up at him. Amused, teasing.

His cock pulsed, the head battering at the back of a throat, that man’s throat, swallowed, squeezed, released, deliciously held again on its way into his gullet.

A finger slipped back between his ass cheeks, searching, delving for the dark, moist hole nestled between his glutes. The digit slowly eased inside.

Groaning, he flexed his butt, his excitement growing, yet still he half-slumbered. A dream, it has to be a dream.

“Yes, you like this. You always liked it up the ass.” The smooth, masculine voice crept into his sub-conscious, pushing his excitement up a notch.

He wanted to shift, to push his hips up, to bury the deliciously wicked digit deeper into his hungry ass. Sweat trickled down his ribs. He felt that, or dreamed it.

“My sweet Daniel, let me fuck you the way we both love it,” the voice droned.

Who is Daniel?

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* * *

And that's my take on ghosts and their ilk. I hope you enjoyed and I'd love to hear your take on them. Have you ever had a ghostly encounter? Has anyone you know? Share with us!

Hugs

Arms, legs, fingers and tongues... Oh my!

by Jude Mason

Sam reached around and gripped his lover's ass, squeezing it while he kissed the warm soft lips he'd hungered for. Arms slid around his waist, a hard body pressed against the back of his, an erection slipped between his thighs. His own, jerks upward, dancing along the smooth expanse of skin of his lover's belly.

Okay, if I don't watch it, Sam's going to wind up getting overwhelmed with arms, legs and whatever else can be pushed at him, in him or passed by his mouth. When you're writing menage, or more, it's often a real challenge to get the limbs all in order. I've wound up with too many. I've had characters in impossibly positions, doing impossible things with body parts they don't have. Thank Gawd for editors and proof readers!

I've also seen a few covers with extra limbs. LOL I do adore both reading and writing menage. The possibilities of what and why are endless and the mechanics, while troublesome, are fun to play with. Here's a snippet of what my three lovers in Scorpio Tattoo experienced after a mystery was solved.

Jessica chose that instant to pull her mouth off him. The sudden chill air on his cock took his breath. He shuddered in frustration, but a moment later, sensed her teeth scrape his glans. Looking down, he saw she'd moved. Knelt and eager-faced, she nipped at the tip of Nathanial's cock.

Both men groaned.

Jonathan was enthralled. To experience the pleasure of another man was something he'd never dreamed was possible. Her mouth and lips, teasing and tantalizing, were on him, but not. He felt each nip of her pursed lips and each scrape of her teeth as she nibbled on the other man's cock. He gripped the shaft of his own cock and squeezed, desperately trying to hold off the climax that threatened.

Nathanial lunged ahead—his cock sinking into the soft wetness of her mouth. Jonathan sobbed with the sensation of her sucking. Side by side, yet much more, the two men reveled in the woman's teasing wiles.

Again, she withdrew, moved over, and took Jonathan's cock into her mouth. She sucked him deeply, thoroughly, but only for a moment, before returning to her other lover. She went from one to the other, sucking for a moment, then nibbling on the other, each twitching and groaning for more. Jonathan felt it all. And from the way Nathanial sobbed and groaned beside him, so did the apparition.

It was Nathanial who first put his arm around Jonathan. A warm presence that felt so natural and caring, he didn't at first realize what it was. When he did, Jonathan slid his arm around the slender waist of the surprisingly solid specter.

Jessica stopped her teasing and sat back on her heels to look at them both. Her smile was radiant, her lips shiny with saliva. The flush of sexual excitement bathed her cheeks and down her neck, covering her chest and the tops of each plump breast. Her nipples were tight little buds of need. And, as if his counterpart had read his mind, they both reached for one at the same time. Pinched and pulled, they sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, and Jonathan felt it all.

Sigh, to me, two guys into each other along with a woman is pretty much the hottest mix there is. If you add changeling to that mix, I'll be drooling. But, you have to get the limbs and attributes right. When it works, it's amazing! Here's a taste of Feral Heat the first book in the Untamed Hearts series and the first collaboration between Jamie Hill and myself.

“Answer him,” snarled Aric. He lifted her bodily, denying her the pleasure of Kai’s thigh, but not his mouth. “Please,” she moaned, twisting her body, trying, it seemed, to connect with Kai again.

“Just answer.” Kai’s mouth was still full of her teat. One last flick of his tongue and he let it go. Her torment wasn’t over. He dropped to his knees between her feet. The muscles in her belly tensed as his lips touched her. He lavished her with soft kisses and licks from just below her large round breasts to her navel. For a moment he twirled his tongue into the indentation before moving down and nipping the soft flesh of her lower belly.

The woman-scent of her thrilled him, drew him lower.

“Oh please,” she begged, thrusting herself firmly against Kai’s face.

Backing away, he demanded, “Talk or I stop.”

“It’s all Dagen’s fault. He sent me. He told me to say he was going to lead the tribe. He said it was his right to rule. That he was stronger, a better leader than you.”

“He did, did he?” Aric’s voice was low and filled with anger.

Sobbing, Sable replied, “Yes, he’s crazy.” She pushed her pelvis forward as if seeking Kai’s mouth. “Please, don’t stop.”

“You haven’t told it all.” He backed away, hopefully enough for her to see him reach down and stroke his shaft. Watching her, he smiled when her eyes travelled down his body. His cock pulsed, and he tightened his grip around the base.

From behind the struggling woman, Aric said, “Bastard. You’re killing me.” Kai looked past Sable, chuckling at the expression on Aric’s face. His lover was horny, and so was he. One way or another, they’d fuck soon.

Phew, all the arms and legs worked...and it's getting warm in here. I do love menage. Has anyone ever written or read a book where the number of limbs was in question? Or the position the characters got into just wouldn't work?