Tag Archives: horror

Halloween Flash Hop! #free #flash #fiction

It’s that time of year again; the time where my friend Heloise West organizes a flash fiction hop I signed up for long ago and thought I had plenty of time to get done and then I end up freaking out a bit when I realize my time it up.

It’s also that time of year where ghosts and goblins are out and about. I’m super excited to be the Twinkie house this year. I used to love the one house that gave Twinkies when I was a kid, and now all my adult dreams will be realized on Halloween night as I pass out assorted Little Debbies, Hostess, and Drakes’ Cakes. You should have seen the mom steering her toddler away from the mass-produced cream-filled pastry shelf (to the tune of “I want that!” and “No! We are not getting those!”) while I piled them into my cart. I told my hubby my Twinkie plan and he said, “I thought those were for us.” All ten boxes? That would make the disgusted look that woman gave me legit, tempting as those sweet cakes may be.

 

So, anyway, my flash…well, I did two. The first includes my boys, Kyrie and Greg (who will star in my NaNoWriMo bloodletting this year, so it was great to get back with them for a quickie–a little foreplay for next week,eh?). Horsing Around is just under 1200 words and is probably more vignette than flash.

My second offering is about 300 words and is straight up horror. If you aren’t jiggy with it, don’t read it. I just wanted a bit more bite for my All Hallows’ Eve.

 

Horsing Around

by K. Vale

copyright Kimber Vale

 

“No way. You’re not getting me in that thing.” Greg shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest in case Kyrie thought he’d be an easy push this time. Not happening.

“It took me two trips to get all of Mr. Ed home. Tuesday was your end and Wednesday I lugged my half. It was a total bitch.” Kyrie heaved the goofy brown horse head in the air to demonstrate.

Seriously, what play did the theater company ever use that atrocity for?

“I got trapped on the subway when I couldn’t get this huge freakin’ head through the crowd.” His voice climbed as he waved Pinto the wonder horse in Greg’s face.  “I had to walk the three blocks back with this thing looking over my shoulder. With people staring at me! We’re not not wearing it!”

ID-10062849

“Halloween Night” by koratmember via freedigitalphotos.net

Like Kyrie didn’t love people staring at him.

“Well I’m really not wearing it. You do what you like.”

“It’s because you’re the backside, isn’t it? Come on.” Kyrie smirked. “That’s perfect for you.”

“So now I’m an ass for not wanting to dress like one?” Greg scowled in warning. I can’t believe this is gonna be a fight.

Kyrie clicked his tongue and dropped the horse head to press up against Greg’s chest. Apparently Plan A to convince Greg wasn’t working. Maybe Plan B involved a blow job; Greg might even find himself cantering down 5th Street later tonight, in that case.

“No, silly. I wanted you behind me because that’s where I love ya best. Then you could be grabbin’ my ass all night.” He wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips.

Greg sighed and cupped the ass in question. “I was planning to do that in my cowboy hat and jeans. I’ll throw on a bandana if you’re after a little incognito role play.” He drew Kyrie closer. “It’s a costume video game tournament—we couldn’t even leave that thing on to play. Plus it’s pouring out, Kyr.”

“Lawyers.” Kyrie rolled his eyes.

A spike of electricity arced across the Manhattan skyline and touched down on the Empire State Building’s lightning rod as if an exclamation point for Greg’s words. He grinned. “We’d be a soggy mess in all that fur.” Greg leaned over, nibbling Kyrie’s lips to apply his own brand of persuasion while outside thunder boomed loud enough to rattle  the glasses on the wet bar. “It’d weigh a ton.” Kiss. “Costume would get ruined.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. Of course, just tasting Kyrie always lit Greg’s fuse, and within seconds their tongues were slipping together, breath catching as Greg pulled their bodies as close as physics allowed. He kissed down Kyrie’s neck and across his collarbone, loving the soft sounds of surrender Kyr made.

“We could just stay home and play horse, if you want.” Greg slipped a hand between their bodies to get a rub on both their budding erections.

“Liv’ll be mad if we don’t come.”

I’ll be mad if we don’t come.” Greg unbuttoned Kyrie’s tight pants and inched down the barrier between them until his fingers found the slick tip of Kyrie’s cock. Thunder clapped around them again.

Kyrie trembled and groaned. “You know I’m always rarin’ to ride you all night long, stud.”

“Giddy up. Liv can just miss us.” Greg fisted Kyrie’s cock, hugging tight as he pumped him slow. Silky skin slipped over Kyrie’s hot head and back down again.

“Mmmm.” Kyrie flirted his tongue over Greg’s lips while he worked Greg’s pants open. “Remember that time on the dining room table?”

“It’s a favorite of mine.”

“Well, it hardly seems right that none of those chairs have seen any action.”

“True. We never even eat over there, forget about fucking.”

“I can be old and shriveled and forget my name, but I never wanna forget about fucking.” Kyrie shook his head solemnly as he slicked a thumb over Greg’s wet slit. “Raw, dirty fucking. Sweet, soul-squeezin’ fuckin’. Fast and furious fucking.” He dropped to his knees and looked up at Greg with laughing amber eyes.

Oh, the fucking was phenomenal, but Greg wanted those eyes forever burned in his feeble old brain.

“Suck you so good you wanna put on a horse costume kinda fucking…”

“Ah haaaahhh…” Greg tried to be indignant but instead he drooled on himself as Kyrie swallowed his entire length.

Lightning lit up the night sky like July sun. The lights browned, recovered, and then cut out completely.

“Shit.” Greg breathed heavily into the sudden silence. What had been making noise? The refrigerator? Weird how he’d thought it was quiet before. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Kyrie’s mouth pulled off Greg’s dick. He stood, feeling his way up Greg’s body as if he’d be lost in the boundless sea of their black condo without continuous contact. “Pretty sure I’m not gonna see anything coming. Hoping I’ll still feel it, though.”

Greg imagined a whiskey colored eye winking up at him.

“Aren’t you glad we’re not on a train right now? Or stuck at Liv’s if they lost power too?”

“Yeah. Electricity’s an important sponsor of Halloween Gamer Bowl. Without it, the games just aren’t the same.” Kyrie shifted and fabric wisped over Greg’s fingers before naked skin replaced cotton. “I just wish I’d grabbed the lube before the lights…went down…in the cit-tay.” He did a damn good Steve Perry.

“Probably just a transformer. I still see some power out there. Or maybe that’s generators.” Greg reached up to where he thought Kyrie’s head would be and brushed over his ear before adjusting to run his fingers over soft shorn hair. “I can rustle up a flashlight for that lube, though.”

“Much obliged, partner, but I’m not against roughin’ it once in a while, provided you don’t need no newfangled electric to hock a loog.” Now Greg apparently had a Texas longhorn standing in front of him. The longhorn still felt very much like Kyrie’s though. Saliva pooled in Greg’s mouth as he gripped their pricks with both hands and Kyr’s fingers joined the party.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” He slipped one hand over Kyrie’s hip before sliding back to knead his ass. “Think we can make it to the dining room without breaking any toes?”

“Yeehaw.” Kyrie let go of Greg’s dick and took his hand.

A tremor of excitement ripped through him. He could barely wait for the answering clap of thunder. Grinning, he let Kyr lead him through the darkness. He went willingly; he always did when Kyrie took his hand.  And of course Greg grabbed the sweet ass in front of him every step of the way.

 

————

Shhhhh

By Kim

copyright Kimber Vale

 

"Evil Roaring" by hyena reality via freedigitalphotos.net

“Evil Roaring” by hyena reality via freedigitalphotos.net

He dissects his work with one sharp, critical eye. The remnants of its match hide under a frayed brown patch, and I picture a squint of skin over the occluded void. I marked him once. I relive it often; taste salted metal in my mouth while he toys with me. His shouts and slurs still echo in my head. It’s my one miniscule comfort as I cower on a soiled seat, cut adrift in a hell no God could imagine.

“Damn it!” He spits when he speaks. I flinch, but my bonds—arms, wrists, ankles, and the odious strap anchoring my head—make for barely more than a blink. “Missed a stitch right there.” He points and his finger flits over my lip. Fire blooms under the slight pressure. I would cry. I used to, but dehydration shut down the waterworks yesterday. Or maybe the day before. That’s fine. The first day he licked them from my cheeks and I retched behind my sutures.

The low moan I eternally exhale, raw meat throat or no, grows louder with each rip of the half-scabbed seam. Finally, my mouth is open, upper lip pelting lower with blood raindrops from bruised sky skin in the warped light-fixture-reflection before me. I gulp in air and vomit rusty screams for four ears only. I wish he’d come closer. I’d make it three.

He preps his needle again, hands sluggish as he focuses on my face instead of the lone silver eye trapped between his calloused fingers. He shushes me with his lips at first. Then he adds the cold push of steel and the burning rasp of thread. One fresh stitch at a time I fall silent but for my moans, swallowing down salted metal harsh as barbed wire. I don’t shed a single tear.

 

 

Let all of these other hoppers flash you, too!

October 26:

http://www.jenawade.com/blog/

http://alittlebitofnaughty.blogspot.com/

October 27:

http://ndwylders.blogspot.com/

http://ameliabishop.wordpress.com/

October 28

http://alexisduranblog.com/

http://sexyforreview.blogspot.com/

October 29:

https://kimbervale.me/

http://www.jennahscott.com/

October 30:

http://jthallwriting.wordpress.com/

http://chrismchart.com/

October 31:

http://wordsthatburnlikefire.wordpress.com/

http://skyejonesromanceblog.wordpress.com/

http://velvetpanic2.wordpress.com/

 

http://skyejonesromanceblog.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=433448

 


#TeaseMeTuesday

In honor of my erotic horror short about to get a new lease on life in Cruentus Libri’s “Horror-tica,” I give you a glimpse of Dahlia and Jake the Jerk getting it on…

 

Excerpt from “Dirty Dahlia” by Kimber Vale

The dress was over her head.  Her voluptuous tits bounced out of the folded fabric, dolled up in a lacy pink bra with matching panties. He turned her around to check out her backside in the thong, slapping her sweet ass for good measure. She shrieked, but it was laced with laughter. The snow-white cheek transformed to a red hand before his eyes and a sanguine haze crept into his periphery. He recognized it; a cloud of hate fed by brutality that invaded his vision, propelling him toward increasingly sadistic measures. It was better than any high he knew.

She was facing him again, guiding his hand to the wet crotch of her panties. Rubbing him up and down the moist fabric. He slid beyond the barrier with his fingers, into her slick folds, pushing inside her roughly as she groaned against his mouth. Her hands reached inside his pants and she squeezed his cock almost painfully as she dragged it out of his fly. She liked it rough. No doubt. Jake pulled a heavy breast out of her bra, flicked the pink nipple brutally with thumb and forefinger and felt her body tighten against him, stretched like a guitar string about to snap.

-Kimber

 


Girls Who Write Boys Who Dig Boys Who Like Girls

You know the tune to sing to that, right?

If not, here you go.  Thank me later for the incredible ear worm.

Our talk today is about–you guessed it, girls who write boys who dig boys.  Don’t be discombobulated by my sketchy title.

Recently, I wrote a short gay erotica after reading some of the same.  For one, I like to flex my writing muscle, try new things, all that jazz.  My mom asked me, “How would you even know how to write that?”

Yeah, that’s right; I told my mom I was writing gay smut.  She’s my mom.  She has to love me no matter how far off the charts I go.  Besides, it’s just fun to see what she says.  If she wants to spend more time with her bible-thumping daughter, she’s entitled, but so far my writing proclivities haven’t boomeranged her in that direction.

Anyway, I didn’t tell her that I’ve done all the shit I write about; therefore, it’s really not too tough to write about.  Shock her, yes.  Give her a heart attack with confessions about blow jobs and anal sex—no.  Even I have my boundaries.

But, really, is it a huge stretch to imagine what two hot gay guys might get up to with a tube of lube and all the time in the world?  Nope.  In fact, a large percentage of M/M erotica authors are women.  Yes, men write it too, but the chicks are well represented.  And why not?

Is there some rule that non-lawyers can’t write a legal thriller?  Those without a medical background are incapable of producing the next Patricia Cornwell-esque novel?  Non-pet owners shouldn’t write characters who own dogs?As anything, you must do your homework.  The old adage, “write what you know” applies to an extent; in that, if you don’t know, you better find out.  Research–online, real live books, ask friends, whatever.  I wish I had a close gay friend so I could pick his brain.  And ask him for fashion advice.  But I don’t—yet.  So for now, I’ll stick to reading what others have written, trolling forums, and watching porn.

I’ll also keep DVR-ing Dr. G for when I get around to my autopsy mystery masterpiece.  You never know.

&&&&&&&&

Not to deviate too much from my topic, I also wanted to address the believability of females writing male characters and vice versa.  I read a blog post a little while back in which a woman was bashing a male author who had written from a female character’s POV.  Her beef was that he, apparently, did not have the slightest idea how women talk, think, behave, etc.  I did not read the original, so can’t weigh in on it.  I do, however, write horror on occasion, and I wonder if men generally shy away from female horror authors?  Also, do they dislike reading fiction with a female main character and/or dislike when women authors write from a male POV?

Just some thoughts, and if anyone has theories on this, lay it on me.  I am stone-cold curious.

Discuss. 

On a side note, I’m so glad they are letting that big ole lobster go free.  The guy that eats that bad boy would probably die immediatly of mercury poisoning anyway.  Bury ‘im with the plastic bib still on and melted butter running out of his nose.


Sirens Call Publications’ Horror E-zine just out…

http://www.sirenscallpublications.com/ezine.htm

And the first issue is up for grabs–gratis–for a limited time!  Check out some fun new voices in horror, excellent chilling photography, and insight into the writing/publishing/editing world all for free!

My bizarro flash fiction ‘Mental Floss’ was graciously included in this zine so go snap up your download before the lovely ladies at Sirens Call change their minds!


Don’t be a Nit-Twit, Sparky. Or Suspense During Certain Armageddon.

Like how I did that?  The double title?  One to be all cute and crafty and one to let you know what the actual blog post it pertaining to?  I’d say the idea was all mine, but that would be a lie.  And I am a crap liar.  Also a shitty secret-keeper.  FYI:  If you tell me you have a secret, I will swear up and down that I will never breathe a word of it over my favorite dog’s dead body.  Then you tell me, and I blab it EVERYWHERE.  I don’t have a favorite dog, and I cannot refrain from spilling my (your) guts to random strangers on the street.  So do yourself a favor and keep it to yourself.  Just sayin’.
But I digress.  How unusual.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the HBO show “Hung.”  It took me a week to figure out what program I have watched with any regularity that uses the dual title thing.  I should have known!  And to promo “Hung” (because they need me to do so on my piddly-ass blog thing) the male hooker, what’s his face–Thomas Jane, is hotter than a ball sack with a cup on for the whole nine innings.

Did you like how I did that?  I don’t even watch basketball.  Go figure.

So I’m twittering the other day and I come across this tweet about, “Can there be suspense when you already know everyone will die?”  Now, the author of said tweet provided a (now evident) link to his blog, which was a review of the latest Final Destination movie.  Gotta be number 12 or there-about.  So, I respond without looking at the link, thinking that this is a deep question for writers and quite in keeping with my (failed) plan to blog on suspense for a bit.  And BINGO was his name O.  Right?  Wrong.

Yes.  I am a Nit-Twit.  I’m getting better, though, and seeking online council from a variety of smut writers, beer brewers, and various other persons willing to “be friends” with me, or whatever the Tweet version of that Facebook shite is.

Anyway, I dive bomb in with an intriguing and well-thought-out answer (por supuesto).  I twat, “You can always play with the when,” and “If the reader cares about the characters, there can still be suspense, even in certain death.”

I thought I was onto something.  And the whole line of thought got me stuck on “On the Beach.”  You know, that old school book set in a futuristic 1960-something about a group of people living in Australia following a nuclear holocaust?  They are just waiting for the fallout to reach them and snuff their lives out slowly and painfully.  There are people starting relationships, babies, and gardens.  And offing themselves, if I remember correctly.

That was the play on “when” I was considering.  It’s been a while since I read it, and it may deserve a revisit just for nostalgia’s sake.  And while not the epitome of suspense, this dated book kept me reading, and crying, and wondering what will happen until the end.  Now, granted, I was a nerdy little kid when I read it.  Perhaps it would not strum me so hard today.  Was it white-knuckle material?  Not by a flower-pot, but it was moving, and thought-provoking, and stayed with me as an example of subtle horror done right.

And, while I cannot remember precisely thinking that “there must be a way for them to live” I know that I was.  That is my nature.  It is fiction (realistic for the time, yes) but where there is an imagination, there is always a way, no?  It is the nature of the pen.

Same with stupid sequels to a movie that never should have had a second.  It’s fiction.  And they defy death throughout.  At least in the first one, two characters survive, right?  My memory of that film is as foggy as “On the Beach,” but the hero and heroine make it, right?

Until next time when they are reborn with different faces and suffer most disturbingly for denying death his just cheese cake.

Well, the twitterer seemed to think the whole “when” thing was invalid and reminded me that he was referring to a specific blog post

(Yes; I am a twitter douche bag.  So don’t friend me if you think I am not worthy of following your book’s rise to mediocrity or your “too adorable for words” cat photos).

The tweeter added, within his allotted character count, to say that I was correct about the “caring about the character” part.  Unfortunately, that was the entire point of his post.  So no points for me.  And no one cares about the Final D 2011 characters, although people will still, apparently, pay money to see them in the theaters.

If only he realized I never even read the blog until after I felt like a jackass.
Oh wait…I guess he did.

So, that concludes my most recent rectal ramblings.  Stay tuned as I plan to denigrate the Holy Bible, or at least major parts of it, in a future post.  That, or write a poem about Clammy Clams.  Maybe both.


Rymfire Erotica

An Erotic Horror Anthology

This just out!!!  Extra, extra, read all about it!  Rymfire’s new erotic horror anthology will scare you and turn you on at the same time.  Six tales of varying degrees of creepy hotness.  If you like horror, try it with a little spice.  If you like erotica, make sure all of your doors are locked before you get cozy with this one (like you didn’t already do that before sitting down with a smutty one?).  If you like both genres, then don’t delay.  Pick it up today!

Available on all major e-formats  for only $1.99, and coming soon to paperback.

http://www.amazon.com/Rymfire-Erotica-ebook/dp/B006B0OL26/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1321900230&sr=1-1

Product Description

Six Tales, Sexy and Deadly… “Martin” by Stacey Turner, “Dirty Dahlia” by Kimber Vale, “Turning Tightly” by Ralph Greco, Jr.,”Herschel’s Wish” by Allan Izen, “Necromance: Bad Omen” by Armand Rosamilia, and “As Blood Runs The Night” by Carl R. Moore

Necrophilia. How can something so wrong feel so right?

That was my catchy title to get your attention.  This post isn’t really about necrophilia.

Or is it?

Actually, I have been remiss in my blogging.  Not only that, but my posts have not been as bizrotic as I originally intended.  So, in an effort to kill two birds with one stone (and then have sex with them before making bird stone soup and feeding it to innocent travelers lost in the woods) I am attempting to illuminate more on the subject of suspenseful writing.

This is meant to help me as well as anyone else who stumbles into this trap I’ve set.  I do occasionally get wordy in my writing.  You see, I love descriptive and emotive writing.  Whenever I come up with a thought-provoking simile or metaphor I get closer to my happy place.  Of course, my editing pal cringes when she hits them.

So, I am trying to tone it down.  And one place where wordiness never works is action/suspense.  It kills it.  In the bad way.

Enough talk.  On to the exercise.  The key point here is that short, concise sentences (or even incomplete sentences) add to the suspense levels.  Long winded crap sucks the action right out of your scene.

First the long-winded business…

The body lay contorted and unnatural on the cobblestone path.  Her arms were up above her head like a ballerina en point, but instead of rod-straight legs, her lower half was alien.  A foot was completely missing on one leg and the other had something like an extra joint between the hip and the knee.  The leg stuck out, arced like the crescent moon that faintly illuminated the scene.

I leaned over the gruesome shape and breathed deeply.  The odor of chloroform assaulted my senses.  But there was another far more sinister scent pervading the body.  The musky smell of dog clung to the dead girl as thickly as the tenacious strings of saliva that dripped from her wounds like mutilated jellyfish.

I looked up in horror as the sound of a low growl rumbled in the still night.  Orange eyes met mine briefly before the wolf leapt through the air.  I watched its snowy underbelly close in on me in slow motion.  I pedaled backward like a crab but the beast was too fast and met its mark.

Air rushed from my lungs like the bellows of an accordion and I felt the beast’s hot breath steam across my cheek.  A runner of drool slid from his yawning maw and slithered down my cheek.

I knew I would share the same fate as the pathetic woman who lay mere feet from me.  Too bad I didn’t get to hit that first. —-There is was, folks.  Just as promised.

Okay, let’s take the last 3 paragraphs and try to tighten them up for better action/suspense pacing.

I looked up.  A low growl rumbled from the beast.  I backpedaled like a crab.

But it was leaping.  Desperate, I pushed myself back.

Too slow.  The wolf collided with my chest.  Air whooshed from my lungs.

Its rancid breath overwhelmed me.

Thick drool slithered down my cheek.

I was a dead man.

————–

So, anyway.  That was the lesson for the day.  My example was crap because I think the first one was better with the mood building/description.  Probably would have worked better with a fighting scene.  Kicking and punching and all that.  POW!  I’ll keep practicing.  Feel free to give it a shot in the comments or to make fun of me.  I’ll look for a good example from a literary master to lay on ya next time.


Creating Suspense in Writing

Well, it ain’t like the movies.  Queue the creepy out-of-tune piano.  Turn up the volume and speed of the hero/heroine’s heart beat.  Flash to a memory or vision of the future such as the word REDRUM scrawled on a mirror in blood-red lipstick or a tidal wave of sangria spilling out of an elevator.

Good.  Now we’re all shaking in our boots.  The blatant waste of that much wine certainly scares the crap out of me.

But in writing, we don’t get the benefits of sound effects or music, unless we describe them.  It is a delicate matter.  An author can’t be too overt with the auditory description.  Fine smatterings of sound clips sprinkled throughout do more to suck the reader into your world.  And therein lies the suspense.  The reader must feel that the action that is occurring is their own.  Your world building must be real.  The pounding heart rate, or rush of blood beating in the character’s ears, become the reader’s heart rate, the reader’s ears.

And when the shriveled up naked lady jumps out of the bathtub and tries to strangle the little boy, she is really strangling us all.

At least I hope so.

In the next couple of blog postings, I plan to explore different writing techniques used to add suspense.  So stay tuned (insert evil laugh).


Connecticut Daylily Society

For the Latest News on the Connecticut Daylily Society

Luv My Books' Reviews ♡

~Archive of 100 book reviews! 18 + Romance, Contemporary, Erotic, Paranormal -Enjoy!

three books over the rainbow

Blog about m/m novel - TRE LIBRI SOPRA IL CIELO

Alexis Duran

Writer of Fantasy, Science Fiction and Erotic Romance

Reckless Indulgence

of the Written Word

piper vaughn

piping hot

Moonbeams over Atlanta

A writer's, and reviewer's, area to explore stories in erotica, romance, and love. Love is Love: Romance with a twist.

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Book Reviews From a Professional Reader of Erotica

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Star-crossed loves are my specialty.

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Digital Designs, Photography & Fine Art by Kamryn E. Priebe

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A Place to share my love of MM romance, coffee, captured moments, dragons and more.

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