Welcome to the Blak Rayne Blog, where I post articles, author interviews, book and movie reviews, as well as anything else that sparks my interest!



Monday, October 20, 2014

The Ravishing of Beauty - Jessica Satin #BDSM #sex #erotic #adult #fiction #ebooks #adult fiction #fairy tales

Welcome to BRB, everyone! My guest today is a talented lady with a flare for penning the erotic. Thank you for stopping by, Jessica! Let's get the party started. What genre do your currently write? And, is there a genre you'd like to write, but haven't tried yet?
I write fairy tale erotica, but have also written mythological erotica. I’m working on some nursery tale erotica and something with Santa too. So many opportunities for being naughty . . .
Many authors use a nom de plume, and they may use one opposite to their own sex. Do you think an author's sex or sexual orientation should dictate what genre they write?
I think an author should embrace whichever genre they want to write, regardless of their sex (or how their sex appears to their audience if they choose a nom de plume opposite to their own sex). It can be hard to break through gender barriers, but the more examples we have of genderfuck the better!
Some authors have issues with character development, writer's block, plot summary etc. What is the biggest challenge you face when writing? How do you overcome the problem?
Although the response has overall been very positive, there’s been some negative feedback on my most popular story, The Ravishing of Beauty. It’s is a dark retelling of Beauty and the Beast with non-stop sex scenes. There’s monster sex, anal, dub con, and a lot of blood play. Not everyone’s taste, as you can imagine.
It can be tough to block out the negative feedback and forge ahead as my kinky, non-mainstream sex-loving self. I know this sounds silly, but I’ve been listening to Eminem’s songs that are about being controversial, badass, and persevering through the sometimes sucky early stages of an artist’s career. “Without Me,” “Not Afriad,” and “Won’t Back Down” are especially motivational.
What has been the single most successful marketing tool you've used to date?
Doing a free giveaway of The Ravishing of Beauty over Labor Day weekend. My total sales in September were eight times what they were in August.
If you had to live as one of your characters, which one would it be, and why?
Snow White in Snow White and the Seven Huntsmen (which won the Bad Girl’s Bible erotica contest and you can read it for free here, http://bgberotica.com/snow-white-seven-huntsmen/). Snow gets seven hot huntsmen all to herself and lots of hot spanking.
While writing, have you ever drawn from personal experience, and why?
I have drawn some elements of the sex scenes I write from personal experience. It’s much easier to write about what having your pussy eaten out well feels like if you have experienced it! I use my imagination too, of course. In fairy tales, all is fantasy.
Just for fun–
What is your favourite colour?
Lolita pink
Which do you prefer: a little left to the imagination or explicit?
Explicit all the way. I want to inhabit the skin of the lovers as I read and feel every tingle brush against my skin as it brushes theirs.
When you first met your partner/spouse/lover what drew you to him or her first?
His nickname is Harry Potter. What is more endearing than someone who earns the nickname of a hot, famous wizard?
If you could spend the day with any famous author, who would it be? And, why?
The Marquis de Sade. I know he’s dead, but if he were alive, I think he would be such a fabulously, shamelessly dirty creep. He’s one of the great Kings of Taboo. 
If you could indulge free of any consequences, what would be your ultimate sexual fantasy?
A gang bang. Me and multiple hot men desperate to service me, fill all my holes, and give me multiple orgasms until they cum all over my body.

Website Link: http://www.amazon.com

The Ravishing of Beauty


Belle's choice to become the Beast's prisoner changes her in ways she never imagined. 

After her Beast transforms back into his human form, they eagerly explore each other’s bodies. He can caress every inch of her and probe his tongue deep between her lips. She can feel the warm bulge of his muscles and run her fingers through his red-gold hair, but it’s not enough. Their sexual affair began long before he was human, and Belle can’t help remembering what it was like to be with her Beast. She learned to love him through all the blood and sacrifice it required. Belle and her Prince must learn to find new ways to express their desires. 

Content Warning: This story was written to unlock your darkest fantasies and innermost desires. It is not for the faint of heart and is not your mother's erotica. All of the sexual descriptions found in this book are very explicit in nature. For readers 18+ only!


The concrete floor of Belle’s cell was cold and rough beneath her feet. Prince Adam had thrown her in here, again. He often did before ravishing her.
She took solace in the hard, gray walls and thick iron bars that held her there. The chaotic thoughts of her overactive mind eased away. Her mind was consumed by an acute awareness of her shivering body covered only by a transparent white chemise.
Although her Prince had transformed back into his human form just a few months ago, they had begun their affair long before. Just the thought of his incredible power sent hot tendrils of adrenaline shooting up her abdomen.
She thought back to their first time. She was in the library, sitting on the floor with her back against one of the many bookshelves and reading e.e. cummings’ erotic poetry. The words flowed hotly through her body and her vagina throbbed every time she read the words hunger, feel, touch, spine, killing, ow, oh no, come, divine, bones, and most especially, monster. She kept reading until her body was so overcome with arousal that she couldn’t focus on the words anymore.
She slipped her hands between her skirt and pulled her underwear down to her knees. She was already so wet her fingers slid between her lips. The smell of books filled her lungs and she arched backwards, displacing books as she delved further into her fantasy of her Beast coming in and taking over her. 
When she came, torrents of pleasure flowed through her. A dark pool of cum and sweat marked the silk lining of her hot pink skirt. She felt perfectly relaxed. She opened her eyes and the library had a soft, hazy glow.
A shadow wavered from the corner of her eye. She looked toward it and saw the form of her Beast in the doorway. His large, bright blue eyes took her in. It was unclear how long he had been there, but she secretly hoped he had been there to witness it all.
She was always astounded by his appearance. He was nearly seven feet tall and appeared to be a mix of fearsome, beautiful creatures. His back was broad and curved like a bear, his paws large and clawed like a lion, his limbs strong and lean like a wolf. A pair of sharp teeth lay against his upper lip and deep brown, silky hair covered his body. Horns curved up over his ears. Despite his outward appearance, she sensed a brilliant humanity deep within him.
She also noticed his turgid cock bulging in his trousers. It was huge. Painfully big. 
The Beast stayed in the doorway, watching his Belle, his Beauty, stare back at him. Her mouth was slightly agape, her cheeks glowed, and she was shameless about her exposed, wet pussy. Her smell filled his massive lungs with scents of a flourishing rose garden draped in sweet cum and sweat. His cock throbbed painfully against his trousers, begging to be unleashed and into her, into her everywhere. Ramming up inside her until she was drained of everything.
They had barely interacted before. He was intimidated by her. He could hardly do more than invite her to dinner and sloppily eat his meal while she watched, sweetly coaxing him into remembering his manners. His monstrous form was his constant torment. He read “The Ugly Duckling” over and over, hoping one day he would be handsome again. He tried not to dwell on her being his only hope for returning to his human body. If he thought of it too much, it would ruin him.
Even worse, she was as devastatingly beautiful as he was horrifyingly ugly. Her eyes were doleful and deep chestnut brown, flecked with gold. Her chestnut hair ran in waves down the long curve of her spine. Her lips were plump and a deep, rosebud pink. He often imagined how they would look stretched around his cock.
She was his only hope for reversing his curse, but how could she ever learn to love him? Her personality was all that gave him confidence. She was kind and quiet most of the time, but he sensed something twisted inside her. Something she wasn’t fully in touch with yet. It was territory to be explored. 
 “Stand up,” he said. 

Purchase Link: http://www.amazon.com
Thanks for sharing the awesome excerpt, Jessica! All the best. Blak Rayne

Friday, October 17, 2014

In Praise of Real Sex (and Lingerie) - Jacqueline George #sex #adult #erotic #fiction #lingerie

In Praise of Real Sex (and Lingerie)
I like sex, and I like fantasy, but I don’t want to fantasise all the time. It’s all very well reading about sensitive but domineering men, with finely chiselled abs and dongs too fat to get your hand around but... At some point you have to put the book down and make love for real. With the real partner you love. Real sex in your real world.
If you want to do it well, the trick is to use the magic God gave you to blur the line between the day-to-day and fantasy land. It’s what I do in life, and it’s what I try to do in my books. Here is a story from Jacqueline and Another Sexy Year – enjoy!

“Aw, go on, honey. Dress up for me. You know how much I love it.”
There he goes again. I thought that would happen as soon as we got home early. I swear he could exist on hot dogs, beer, and me prancing around like a fading tart. He drives me nuts sometimes. As if I don’t have other things to do. I protest without much hope. “I’ve got stuff to do...”
“Nothing that won’t wait. Come on, be a good girl. I’ll make some nibbles for you.”
He is right, of course. There is nothing that can’t wait and if I stayed here instead of changing, it would be me making the nibbles. I just dislike being pushed into a corner.
“They’d better be good,” I say as I give up and make for the bedroom.
My frustration dissolves under a hot shower, and I start to plan. What have I got that I have not worn before? Or have not worn for a long time? There is plenty to choose from. That’s one thing I can’t fault him on. Most girls have more lingerie than they use, but my drawers are packed with provocative nothings. He just can’t pass a sexy shop without dragging me in and making me choose something. I think he gets as more of a buzz from his imagination on the way home than he does from seeing me dressed up. Jeez, I’m not as young as I was and no-one else would want to see a woman in her thirties running around dressed in next to nothing. I towel myself dry and go to my wardrobe.
All my lingerie seems to be black. He likes black. He says it is impossible to be naughty in white, and other colours are usually disappointing. I do have coloured ribbons and bows in red, gold, silver, but black is his colour of choice. I decide on stockings tonight. I am permitted tights to go out (only if they are sheer to the top and are worn without panties) but it is impossible to make love in tights, so they are not allowed at home. Tonight I do not feel like a basque and pull out a simple suspender belt with little red bows and rhinestones. It has a matching half-cup bra that I do not like. It shows most of my nipples which is fine, but my boobs want to overflow. Of course, he thinks it is wonderful and says it makes my boobs look like two honey melons on a tray. I put it on; it will not be uncomfortable for long.
What else? For the moment, I sit to comb out my hair and hook dangly gold earrings into my ears. I hang a cross around my neck because he likes the naughtiness of it, and start on my makeup. I have learnt to be blatant with makeup. I’m sure my mother would be disappointed in me if she ever saw me this way, but she is not sitting on our sofa waiting. He likes drama, and I do not hold back.
Panties? I think so, and fall back on a tiny thong that ties at each hip. He buys these by the dozen because they not only look good, but also because they turn in to a little patch of string and lace with a quick tug at their bows. I finish off with a wrap that would be a short bathrobe if it was not made of sheer lace. I am ready, and slip on a pair of heels. A twirl before the mirror, and I tap out into our front room. He is on the sofa, waiting.
“Where are my nibbles?”
He smiles and nods at the kitchen. He wants to watch and I pretend to be cross as I parade in front of him to the kitchen and come back with the tray. He has prepared crackers with pickles and ham, jalapeƱos and prawns. They look tasty as well as pretty. He is staring at my honey melons as I bend to put the tray on the coffee table. “And the wine...” he says.
I know he is staring at my butt through the lace as I go to the fridge. He likes it, and he especially likes it when I am in heels. I bring back a bottle of our favourite Mosel Reisling. He has the chance to stare again as I go back for the glasses.
I begin to sit beside him, but he stops me and draws me to stand in front of him, between his knees. With his hands on my hips, he looks up at me and says, “You are even more beautiful tonight.” He knows how to manipulate me. He unties the belt of my wrap and lets it fall open. He draws me closer to plant kisses all over my stomach and I am ready to melt. I bury my fingers in his hair. His hands are stroking my back as his kisses move up to my breasts. He pulls my breasts up from the bra to reach my nipples and I shiver as he teases them into hard points.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, sitting back. He is playing with my breasts, gently twisting and pulling my nipples. “Perhaps it is time to eat,” and his hands slip down to the bows of my thong. It falls to the floor and he leans forward to kiss me there. He slips his tongue between my lips and the shock makes me push him away. I am too sensitive.
“Come and sit down.” He pulls me to the sofa, but he is not going to sit beside me. Instead he settles on the floor, between my feet. As we nibble and sip our wine, he is leaning against my thigh, stroking the other from knee to stocking top. I am not lady-like. I am open for him to stare at and I feel his eyes on my pussy. As I eat, he sets his wineglass down and runs his fingertip up and down my lips, stroking and not probing, gently pulling me open and exploring my clit.
He forces me to the edge of the sofa and he bends to kiss and suck at me. I lie back and let the orgasm come.
He is smiling at me. “Was that good? What would you like now?”
Now it is my turn. “Lie on the floor.” I take a cushion to put behind his head, and unfasten his trousers. His cock - my cock - is hard on his stomach, and its blind eye is wet and slippery. I squat over his thighs, resting on my heels and with my pussy brushing his balls. “You like looking at me, don’t you?”
“You’re exciting,” he says, “Especially when you are all dressed up.”
“Hmm. You’d fuck anything in black stockings, wouldn’t you? I could dress a man up in stockings and I bet he wouldn’t be safe.”
To my surprise, he does not say anything. “Perhaps I should put you in stockings. Shave your legs and your balls, and make you wear stockings too. Would you like that?” Again he does not answer.
Have I touched something? I store the thought away for the future as I shuffle forward and squeeze him into me. I am perched over him, steadying myself with my fingers on his chest. “Now, fuck me long and slow, and don’t you dare come until I let you.”

Read more about Jacqueline and Another Sexy Year

Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Breaching the Lieutenant - Eva Lefoy #gay #mm #sex #erotic #gbltq #adult #fiction

Breaching the Lieutenant 
by Eva Lefoy 

This is a short, explicit, M/M military erotica read and I guarantee you’ll  never think of a mechanic’s wrench the same way again!

Breaching the Lieutenant:

Second Lieutenant Mark Oates has a lot to learn, both about the U.S. Army and about himself. When a senior officer confronts Oates about his latent homosexual tendencies, he’s backed into a corner and only one man can help him out. Trouble is, can he trust him not to ruin his career plans?
Gunnar Evans was dishonorably discharged from the Army during Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell for his openly gay sexuality. He fought the system and lost, but continues to help the young officers sent to his door discover their hidden desires. When gorgeous hunk Lt. Oates arrives, he knows he must breach the lieutenant’s defenses in order to show him the pleasure he deserves. But once he gains access, he may never want to let him go.

Includes: Gay first time reluctant, risky sex


“Oates… are you sure?”
He licked his lips. “Yeah. I mean, I want to know. Don’t you think I should know?” He swallowed. “It doesn’t make me gay or anything.”
“No,” Evans whispered as he scooted closer. Oates grabbed him by the ass and dragged him into position next to his chest. Letting out a soft cry, he gripped the roof straps and jutted his hips forward, sending his cock into Oates’ palm.
Oates’ hand traced down his length slowly, experimentally.
Evans’ thighs trembled at the curious, innocent touch. Oh God, he’s so fucking hot I’m going to come even before he gets his mouth on me. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the straps harder, praying for mercy and control.
Oates’ warm tongue licked his slit. Again. Then he ran this thumb over the head, swirling the pre-cum around it. “Fuck. Sir. You’re so fucking hard. I’ve never seen a cock this big.”
“God.” Evans gritted his teeth, muscles tense from straining to hold himself still and his orgasm at bay.
The moist heat of Oates’ mouth enveloped his head. He sucked, tentatively, then again, a little harder. In his eyes Evans saw curiosity, vulnerability, a willingness to please. The look tore holes in his heart. Damn, he’s a fast learner. Almost as quick as I was.
Evans’ hand flew to the back of Oates’ head, cupping it, using the connection to surrender to the man’s touch. At the same time, his hips pressed forward obeying his blind need to bury himself in any part of this man he could reach. “Oates. Oh God. Take me. Please.”
Oates tried different angles with his head until he found the right alignment. When he was there, he jabbed his head forward and gagged.
“Easy. A little bit at a time. It’s work to take a man in, Oates. Loosen your throat and go slow.” How he found the ability to talk, he’d never know. Oates’ mouth on his dick turned his brain cells to mush. Must have been the sergeant in him talking.
Oates nodded around his cock and this time took a nice slow dive down the length. He hesitated for a second just as Evans’ head hit the back of his throat, then grabbed Evans by the ass cheeks and slowly dragged his balls to his nose.

This is a *hot* read and part of my upcoming Bear series. Hope you like it!

All Romance Ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com

Author Bio and Contact: 
Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a certified Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.

Thanks for another great excerpt, Eva! All the best. ~Blak Rayne

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Memories and Kisses - Muffy Wilson - YSD #sex #adult #erotic #romance #adult fiction #short stories

Memories & Kisses 
by Muffy Wilson

Thank you so much for coming to my release. I think I have fallen in love with the girl on the cover of my latest book, Memories & Kisses. She is beautiful, of course, but what really attracts me is her mystery. I’m sure it is no accident that she uses bright red lipstick. Take a casual glance at her picture, and you are caught by that luscious, loveable mouth. Who does she kiss? Just one lover? Or several? Does she kiss men or perhaps women? Would she kiss me on the right evening?
What do you think? Is she thinking about memories of love lost? Perhaps the memories made trying to forget a lost love? Even old memories revisited by old friends, united in a kiss that rekindles flames, passions and desire, too. Old memories are like old red wine - all the richer for time passed. And the kisses taste sweeter too. Three romantic and very sexy stories take us back to things as they once were, and forward to the wonderful times to come.
Memories & Kisses has three stories of old loves remembered; a grieving woman rescued from the sea, two childhood friends growing old friendship into passionate loving, and two long separated teenagers finding that time has mellowed them both and maturity has brought a passionate intensity they had never imagined. All three stories are of rekindled love that survived decades of longing and is now ready to burst into flame.


The Storm ~ a newly widowed woman unable to face the world alone and lonely, buries her husband. Overcome by grief, she walks into the rough, grinding pitiless surf in an effort to blend the gray in her heart with the gray on the horizon. She is saved from the crashing waves by a man, a bearded white haired man who brings her back to life and gives her a reason to live again.

The Park ~ two childhood friends, now adults, reunite on the eve of the dedication of their once favorite playground now slated to become a high-tech water park. The destruction of their favorite playground makes them melancholy; reliving their dreams as children in this park inspires them to greater, more passionate long buried desires they never responded to as teens, but knew existed but in their memories.

The Story of Us ~ high school friends, once nearly sweethearts, reconnect in their sixties. The Internet removes the veil of uncomfortable shyness. They are open and revealing in emails about their youthful teenaged desires for one another. They discover what we all hope is true: that love is eternal. Surviving decades, not only in the shadowed recesses of our memories, but in a kiss, a touch, a magnetic embrace love thrives.
Do you have memories of a love that once was?...of a love that was lost?...of, perhaps, a rekindled love that survived decades of longing?

Buy Links:
Ganxy:    https://ganxy.com
XinXii:     http://www.xinxii.com

Excerpt from The Storm:

I walk to the surf, heaving for breath, weak from running against the rain, fighting the storm, the sadness, my loss - your death. I walk into the surf and keep walking. It is surprisingly warm and enveloping. I suddenly feel comforted, my heartbreak no longer a penetrating pain. I know you are with me and I seek out your embrace. I cry again, scream at the thunderous surf, and then I am gone. I can’t breathe and I am falling, rolling, tumbling in a hazy grey darkness that is wet, ferocious, demanding. Suddenly my dizzy comfort turns to fear and I struggle against the pounding, relentless waves. What have I done? I am a good swimmer and an athlete, but can I beat this? Instinct overcomes me. My heart pounds. I start to kick wildly. Moving my arms toward the surface, the current catches me again, tumbling me over and over. My lungs burn. I lose my bearing—which way is up, down? I start to get a sickening feeling of death, my own impending death, and, just as I start to give in, I feel the hand of God grab my hair and hood in a fierce grip and yank me to the surface. I feel the sky darken and the surf diminish. Everything tastes salty, gritty, and then my body heaves, relaxed, and my world goes black.
I awake to pounding on my chest; I am being rattled and something is covering my mouth and nose. I cough, retch, and then vomit the last vestiges of the ocean from my body. My mouth is filled with grit, sand, and the salty taste of taffy. I open my eyes and see God reaching down toward me. He leans over me and the salty ocean water drips from his face to mine. He is big, strong, and gasping; he is surrounded in a glowing aura which intensifies his white hair and white beard. I am frightened. I must be dead. But that cannot be! How foolish I am. He sits me up, tenderly and gently helps me to my feet, all the while holding me securely with large strong hands and then he speaks to me.
“Are you alright, miss? You scared me near to death when I saw you walk into the surf. Why in the world….Where do you live?”
I am alive to my senses.
“Wha. . . ?” My knees weaken and I fall further into his arms. Quickly, he catches my descent and carries me to a bench where he sits me down, moving the errant curls of hair from my cheeks, and speaks to me again.
“Where are you staying? Shall I call the police?”
I can feel my heart pounding against his chest.
“No, please, I’m . . . I’ll be fine. My key, my pocket; it’s in my pocket. Please…”
I can’t remember my hotel or where I am or why. As he unzips my pocket and removes my hotel key, he pulls my hood up over my head to shelter my face from the pelting rain. Collecting me under his arm, my body firmly in his grip, we walk slowly back to the hotel. The traffic is still sparse, no taxis to be seen. It seems to take forever. The storm is so much worse, the surf so high, sucking the wind into the watery folds as it retreats to the ocean. At once, I am so scared that I begin to tremble and yet, I feel protected.
As we walk into the hotel lobby, the bell captain approaches us and asks if I need the hotel doctor, whereupon my guardian says, “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you.” We take the elevator to my floor and I am finally in the sanctity of my room, as lonely as it is. My savior, my hero sits me in the desk chair while he goes to the bathroom and starts the shower. He returns. He is saying something to me that I can’t understand, but he starts to take my shoes off. Then he leans me forward, removes my windbreaker and sports bra, and helps me stand while he pulls relentlessly at my wet spandex knee-highs. He kicks off his own running shoes and removes his blazer. He carries me to the shower but I feel as if I’m watching the scene unfold from outside my own body. I am unafraid of this stranger.
The water is hot and piercing, but he is gentle, loving, and tender. He bathes me and washes my hair, lifting the removable nozzle to rinse the sand, grit, and seaweed from my hair and lithe body. My skin is a deep pink from the intense extreme of the cold grasp of the ocean and the heated comfort of the hot shower. His hands are everywhere, on every curve, gently caressing my skin with his soapy fingertips. He deftly, tenderly, washes my breasts, my taunt stomach and pussy. He controls himself, but I can’t let him stop. I look up at him, and notice he is watching himself bathe me. He seems to caress my buttocks as he cleans the sand from between my rounded cheeks. Unembarrassed, he rinses my body thoroughly, running his fingers though my shoulder-length brown hair. I feel safe, warmed, yet surprisingly aroused, weakened by my ordeal.
For the first time, it seems, he looks down at me. He takes me in as I look up at him, transfixed by his control. I am naked in my sorrow and my pain; he, fully clothed except for his windbreaker and shoes, smiles, touching my heart. I did not notice his erection in the shower, he is a complete gentleman. My breasts, the curve of my belly to my thigh, my face against his chest glisten in the shower, as I trust him to help me.

Memories & Kisses-

Author Bio:
Muffy, author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex, hope and passion, was born in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family "princess," indulged and pampered. She adored her older brothers, following them everywhere and was surrounded by love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. The family lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and came of age in France.
Returning from France with her family, Muffy finished high school in Northern California and attended the University of California, Davis, and majored in Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the water in SW Florida. Muffy pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life, indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.

Yellow Silk Dreams