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Purple Prose as written by Candy Tan, “in tribute to all the ladies of love who use the word ‘savage’ in their love scenes”:

Love’s Savage Passion

Arianna Labellepuce looked into the savagely glittering green eyes above her. Hard, she thought, hard and cold like a rain-drenched emerald. She was starting to become very nervous; after all, she was a gently-reared girl, standing alone in the middle of the night in the study of the most powerful man in England.

Wolf Falker, Duke of Grannet, stared at the quivering expanse of flesh exposed by Arianna’s low-cut gown. It looked smoother and softer than the finest mint jelly. His rapacious gaze traveled slowly upward, taking in every luscious inch of creamy flesh with a sense decadent pleasure. A curl of her flame-colored hair lay across her chest, emphasizing the creamy skin, exciting him like a red banner waved before a randy bull. S’blood, she’s a fine, lusty wench, made for a man’s arms-MY arms! he thought savagely. His eyes came to rest on her pouty, red lips. Her tiny pink tongue darted out to wet her mouth nervously. His loins immediately responded by tightening and throbbing.

“Ariadne,” he growled savagely…


“Whatever. You do know what it is I will do to you, do you not, wench?”

“No. . . .” she whispered, her tiny pink tongue darting out again to wet her lips nervously.

“S’blood, wench!” he ground out savagely. “You come unaccompanied to my house in the middle of the night. ‘Tis plain to me that you are no virtuous maiden. You are half French, are you not? Pretending innocence will not avail you now!”

“But truly, Your Grace, I told you, my mother is sick and needs the doctor, and since you are the nearest neighbor. . . “

“Call me Wolf, my dear,” he snarled savagely. “For we shall soon know each other far too well for formalities!”

“No. . . No. . . .” she whispered faintly.

“Yes! Yes!”Wolf could not bear the savage burning in his loins any longer, and dragged Arianna into the steely circle of his arms, crushing her against the rock-hard planes of his chest, exposed in all its manly glory by his half-opened shirt. He lowered his mouth to hers and ground his finely chiseled lips onto her plush, pillowy ones.

Arianna moaned against the savage onslaught and fought to free herself from the unyielding clamp of Wolf’s grip. Yet, his kiss was having the strangest effect on her. Strange, shivery little quivers were dancing up and down her skin, and the wet heat of his mouth was intoxicating – as intoxicating as the brandy she could still smell on his breath. She groaned, closed her large violet eyes and gave up her useless, puny struggles, surrendering to his rugged, manly embrace.

Wolf moaned savagely as he felt Arianna’s feminine surrender and slanted his mouth over hers with greater fervor. He could wait no longer. His tongue finally invaded Arianna’s deliciously damp mouth, a meaty spear of love, thrusting in and out languorously. S’blood, he wished he could repeat that motion with his true love spear in her wet cavern of passion!

Arianna gave a small start of surprise at this new sensation. How shocking… And yet how stimulating at the same time! Before she knew it, her small, pointed tongue was engaged in a sensuous duel with his. She gave a moan as savage desire poured in a molten stream through her veins, like hot lava.

Wolf’s hands ran up and down Arianna’s luscious body hungrily. She was small yet perfectly curved. Seemingly without conscious volition, his hands reached her stunningly beautiful upthrust cones of flesh. He caressed and fondled the white globes, feeling her nipples harden into sapphire-hard peaks. With barely restrained savagery, he ripped her flimsy pink satin bodice encrusted with tiny seed pearls in one harsh downward pull and felt her glorious bounty spill free from their confines. He dragged his lips from hers for one brief moment to catch a glimpse of the quivering glory that was now exposed to his hot, hungry gaze.

Arianna gave a small squeak of maidenly dismay. Never had a man done such a shocking thing to her! She was sure mama (who was dying right now) would never approve! Her hands flew up like distressed hummingbirds, trying ineffectually to cover herself, yet her tiny, dainty limbs were unable to cover the lush bounty of her savagely overspilling flesh.

“S’blood, wench! Cover not yourself! Know you not how beautiful you are?” growled Wolf in savage arousal. “N-No. . .” stuttered Arianna, feeling an almost savage timidity at his avid, lascivious gaze.

“Yes, you are, and I want you, damn you! Even if you are naught but a half-French harlot out to seduce me for my money, title and position, I am powerless before this display of your ample charms!” snarled Wolf, and pulled Arianna’s hands away. He bent his head and pulled a turgid, pouty nipple into his mouth, sucking with gentle savagery.

Arianna gasped at the sudden tidal wave of feeling that swamped her senses. She felt a shockingly warm, moist trickle at the junction of her creamy thighs. She felt as if her body was melting like a mound of jelly left in the sun, like a cube of sugar left to dissolve in tea. Very hot tea. Very sweet, savage tea. . .

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow they were lying on the stunningly soft carpet in front of the fire. She was naked! And so was Wolf! She shook her head. His caresses and kisses had so beguiled her that she had not realized he had cunningly removed all her clothing and his! She squeaked in dismay and again tried to cover herself with her hands, which fluttered like intoxicated butterflies. However, she could not help but stare with unabashed curiosity at Wolf’s magnificent physique. He had a beautifully sculpted chest, covered with a thick pelt of black hair. From the fur on his chest, two tiny flat brown nipples peeked like the eyes of a shy woodland beast. His thighs were huge and strong, like trunks of oak trees. And between his legs… His large manroot towered proudly, pulsating with passion, a glorious confection of steel and silk. Arianna’s liquid violet eyes widened briefly then slammed shut, as her maidenly modesty returned to her tenfold. Her whole body flushed a most becoming pink with her embarrassment – and her stimulation.

“Nay, do not cover yourself!” Wolf barked. “The sight of your glorious beauty almost unmans me, but ‘tis a pleasurable unmanning.”He bent his head to her breast again and started suckling like a hungry babe at his mother’s teat. He moaned in savage hunger as he felt her small hands begin to travel up and down the naked, bronzed expanse of his back. He knew she was naught but a harlot! Yet, he was surprised at the pang of remorse that thought brought him. S’blood, he had never felt such tenderness for a woman before – e, who was so accustomed to using women as mere objects of pleasure! Yet he wanted to hold this small woman in his arms forever, to make her scream in ecstatic passion and sigh his name like a sweet, warm summer breeze. He wanted to feel her love grotto hug his fleshly battering ram in its tight, amorous grip. Still suckling with intense concentration on her, his hand gently moved down to the thatch of fiery curls that shielded her tender petals of femininity. He gently insinuated a blunt finger among the crimson down and was gratified to feel his finger immediately drenched in her sensual love juices. She was ready for him! More than ready! She was eager for his amorous invasion! His finger pushed into her moist cavern and nearly moaned at the feel of her tight, wet heat.

Arianna was quivering in ecstasy. Never had she known that her body could feel such exquisite sensations! She gasped as his thumb found a tiny bud of whose existence she had been unaware of, nestled in the midst of her curls. His thumb brushed and massaged it in a savagely stimulating cadence, while his finger plunged in an ever-faster dance of love. Her hips lifted clumsily in an attempt to capture more of that sweet rapture, and her breaths escaped in ever-quickening pants from between her rosebud lips. She was reaching for something. . . something. . . yet she knew not what…

Wolf felt the warm walls of her love grotto begin to tighten and pulsate with her growing passion. He withdrew his fingers with savage regret. He was selfish, he knew, but he wanted to feel her climax against his amorous rod. Feeling like a boar in rut, he placed his staff of desire against her portal of heaven and pushed in. He felt himself immediately surrounded by warm, slick walls weeping with tears of love. With a final grunt of effort and ecstasy, he pushed his pulsating plunger of passion into her – and felt the rip of the frail barrier of her innocence!

Arianna shrieked in agony. Never had she felt such pain! She felt as if her innards were being ripped apart from the inside by a savage demon with sharp claws. Her pleasure gone, she pushed frantically at Wolf’s unyielding body, trying to escape the horrible, tearing pain.

“S’blood, Ariadne, stay still!” Wolf gritted out, savagely trying to control his impulse to move within her deliciously tight love glove.

Arianna stopped moving, subsiding in a small, weeping heap. “You – you savage brute!” she sobbed.

“Ah, no, kitten!” Wolf growled, feeling savage claws of remorse tearing at him. “Why did you not tell me you were but an innocent babe? Stay still now, the pain shall pass, and I promise that I shall not hurt you again. Instead I shall give you pleasure untold!”Wolf rested his forehead against her shoulder, still feeling stunned from his discovery. S’blood! A virgin! And she being half-French!

Arianna’s weeping had already begun to taper off. The pain had faded to an almost bearable throb, and inside her, she could feel Wolf’s man-carrot twitch heavily. She gasped at the strangely stimulating sensation. Her lush hips stirred slightly, and Wolf moaned and moved between her creamy thighs, now sprawled in wanton abandon, bracketing his hard, brown ones covered in a sprinkling of curly black hair. She could not help but wonder at the wonderful differences between her soft woman’s body and his hard male physique. Then Wolf moved again, and a shaft of passionate pleasure spiraled through her. As he began plunging in a cadence as old as time within her, inviting her to join him in the primal universal dance, she felt her body begin to move and respond, omega to his alpha, yang to his yin, Eve to his Adam.

Wolf gave a grunt of pleasure as he felt Arianna’s uninhibited response to his lovemaking, and began thrusting with greater and greater savagery. The fire in his loins was raging far beyond his control now, and only the sensual rain of the woman beneath him could put it out. He wrapped her legs around his waist and ground into her with savage insistence. Suddenly he felt her tense in his arms, and he felt the slick walls of her femininity grip his shaft in a tight, convulsive grip, signalling the beginning of her woman’s peak of pleasure. With a harsh groan, he gave himself up to the sensual madness and thrusting hard into her core for one last time, pumped his seed into her receptive womb.

Arianna had never felt such mind-numbing pleasure before. Her body had reached an ecstatic peak of pleasure, and she had felt as if she was flying in warm currents of delicious air. As she floated back to earth, she realized that Wolf’s body was lying above hers, covering her in a warm blanket of flesh and muscle. She smiled in sleepy satisfaction, combing her fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. She knew that after what they had done tonight, she was no longer a girl. She was a woman, and she felt like roaring. She could smell the deliciously musky smells of their bodies and what they had just done enveloping her in a perfume more delicious than attar of roses. With a start of surprise, she felt his sword of flesh hardening within her. Wolf raised himself from her body with a savage curse, and glared down at her with glittering emerald eyes.

“S’blood! Do you feel what you do to me, wench? I want you again! Even the merest touch from your hands is a sensual agony to me!”He began to slowly thrust into her again, eliciting gasps of delight from her and grunts of savage rapture from him.

Arianna looked up at Wolf’s features, harsh and bronzed from passion – the face of the man she loved, even if she had only known him for a scant three hours. She whispered throatily to him, as he continued his exquisite pumping: “If this is agony, my lord, then let us perish happily… in love’s savage passion.”

Purple Prose as written by Meredith Whitford:

The sensual rain had ceased, and as the timid sun kissed the earth anew a burst of passion o’ertook them, and they could no longer resist their bodies’ tumultuous urges. As he swept her urgently into his hot embrace she felt the muscle-chiselled male hardness of his tapering, strong, sun-browned body, in sweet contrast to the silken-soft, creamy delicacy of her femininity. Trembling, she yielded up her mouth, willing prisoner to this virtuoso conqueror.

After an hour, a day, a year, an eon, he ceased his tender assault upon the rose petals of her lips.

“My proud beauty,” he rasped in a passion-thickened voice, “you may be but an innocent girl now, but by God in the morning you will know you are a woman who’s been loved by Jett McCraw!”

“Darling!” she passionately uttered between lips swollen and aching from his hot ardour. “Teach me how to love, and make me yours!” Tremblingly she embraced him, her untutored rose-tipped hands brushing the iron-hard bulge of his desire and waking his flat male nipples to alpine-peaked glory.

With a passionate groan of feeling he thrust his hard, sun-bronzed hands, hands toughened by honest toil, through the answering bronze waves of the hair that tumbled to the firm, pouting orbs of her breasts. As his mouth touched her sensitised buds she moaned in a desperate confusion of feeling, his caresses arousing tingling sensations beyond her wildest dreams. Ardently he slid the fine silk organza ruffles from her alabaster shoulders, revealing her proud, tumultuous womanhood to his searing coffee-dark gaze.

Her own gaze, as cerulean blue as the skies above, answered his tacit question. The muscles of his arms writhed like pythons as he lowered her upon the satin of the gilded sofa, its velvet cushions no softer than the heated centre of her pulsing woman’s passion with its sensitive nub. With a great, wrenching moan he impaled her upon the throbbing shaft of his need for her.

“My Samantha-Jayne,” he husked, “I am going to take you to heaven!”

Purple Prose as written by Tanya Wade, who wrote, “although it is not an homage to one author, it’s sort of a take on the Americana romances of Pamela Morsi and LaVyrle Spencer”:

The Hired Hand

Maryann walked slowly out to the barn, just as she did every morning, to milk Bessie. But this morning Jack, the hired hand, was on her mind more than ever before. Just yesterday she had spied him rinsing off the hard day’s labor in the horse trough. The site of the cold water sluicing over his shirtless chest had made her heart palpitate and her innards tighten up in shameful longing. She couldn’t stand his nearness much longer, even if he was helping mend her ramshackle farm, which was all she had left in the world since her husband Tobias had died five years ago.

She pulled her shawl tighter over her threadbare nightdress and entered the barn. Taking her place on the stool, she put the pail under Bessie and slowly began the rhythmic squeezing. As her eyes started to drift shut, she saw him, outlined in the dawn’s light at the entrance to the barn.

“Hello Maryann,” he breathed in a husky whisper. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“What do you want,” she answered, “can’t you see I’m milking Bessie?”

“Watching you with your hand on those teats makes me want to put my hands on yours. Come here, woman. You’ve been eyeing me too long. I know you’ve been a widow for five years. You have needs that I can satisfy. Wasn’t that part of the arrangement?”

She couldn’t believe his boldness. Her fingers left the silent cow, and pulled her shawl closer to her quivering breasts. Was this really happening?

As Jack slowly walked toward her, she thought of a lone wolf stalking his prey in the henhouse. But she was no spring chicken. She was thirty-year-old woman who’s needs had been too long denied.

Jack suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into the adjacent stall. It was empty but for the covering of fresh hay he had placed there last night, almost as if in readiness for this morning’s capitulation.

“No words now,” he said. “I know you think I’m a no-account drifter, but let me show you what I can do to earn my wages.”

He pulled the shawl from her grasp, revealing her creamy, sloping shoulders. The thin cotton of her nightdress outlined the fullness of her breasts, each nipple standing at attention and poking out towards him, like fresh new shoots that had just been planted in her vegetable garden. Grasping the bottom of the garment, he pulled it up, up over her milky white thighs and the soft, downy curls covering her secret woman’s place. Slowly glancing at all he revealed as he continued, he noted her gently rounded belly and finally gazed upon the perfection of her full (yet high and firm) breasts.

As Jack agonizingly removed each of her coverings, the last vestiges of her modesty, he placed them on the soft, crisp hay and then gently lowered her in the stall. Pressing her down, he explored every aching inch of her woman’s body. Stroking her breasts, he whispered words, words he had promised he wouldn’t say. “Your nipples are like two fresh strawberries, poking out of fresh cream. I wonder, Maryann, if they taste as sweet.” Oh my lord, he was about to send her over the edge.

She felt a pull down in her womb, unlike anything she had ever felt with her late husband, whose name suddenly escaped her, may he rest in peace. Jack laved each tender nipple in turn, sucking and pulling with his mouth in a rhythm not unlike that she had used earlier upon the cow. Looking up, she saw the desire in his moss green eyes, and felt the black silk of his sinfully long hair brush against her belly as he traveled down her body. Sensing what he was about to do, she recoiled. “No, you mustn’t!” she cried. “It isn’t proper!”

“Did that husband of yours never love you in this way, Maryann? It’s the most proper thing a man can do.” And so she let him. Feeling his mouth on the soft inner folds of her sex, she gasped in shock and ecstasy. He laved her aching flesh, as she felt a sudden cresting about to happen. Spreading her legs wider, she placed her feet on the walls of the narrow stall. But then, he pulled back. Jack sat up, and with slow deliberation, undid the buttons on his worn denim work pants. She saw the straining flesh press against the buttons, about to pop them off by sheer force. Then, he was naked and revealed, and she was in awe of his male splendor, rising like a tent pole towards the rock-hard flatness of his belly. In a trance, she traced his flat male nipple with one finger, and the tip of his pulsating shaft with another finger. One on her left hand, she thought in her delirium.

Suddenly, he pushed her hands away and grasped her ample hips as he pushed his way into her already slick entrance, sliding his way to the hilt. “It’s been five long years Maryann,” her dazed mind heard him say. “Let me ease your wanting.” And he did, as he pounded into her again and again. She closed her pale blue eyes, the eyes he had called blue as a summer sky just yesterday. Was that the reason why she was finally giving in to him? She didn’t know. All she knew was the pressure of his strokes, as she rose, higher and higher, up to some unknown peak she had never experienced with what’s-his-name. Her late husband. Who was probably spinning in his grave out beyond the old oak tree in the yard as she gave in to the unbelievable pleasure Jack was bestowing on her.

His muscular arms stood out, sheened in sweat as he braced himself above her, preparing for the final assault on her senses. She called out his name, keening in a mindless joy as she felt his hair sweeping against her cheek.

Sweeping, brushing, tickling her cheek as she felt herself tightening over his shaft again and again…….

Sweet Jehosaphat, what was that tickling her cheek and making her nose itch till she was about to sneeze?

Maryann jumped to wakefulness on the milking stool as Bessie’s tail twitched in her face. Then, a voice called from outside. “Ma’am, you in there? It’s me, Jack. Do you need any help in there?”

Oh my. Did she ever.

Purple Prose as written by Nicole Guynes, whose entry is homage to Amanda Quick:

Virtue touched his shoulder. “You are not alone, my lord.”

The Earl of Hellfire looked at her. She was not considered beautiful by the ton, but to him she had an allure that went beyond mere loveliness. Her red curls tumbled messily over her shoulders, and her green eyes were shielded by thick spectacles. Her small, round body beckoned him with its promise of warmth and shelter.

“Miss Oldname, do you realize what you’re doing?”

“M-my lord?”

“You have walked into a devil’s den. You know what everyone says about me, do you not?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “That you are richer than God – hence this very nicely appointed library – more powerful than the king, and have a darker soul than Satan’s?”

He smiled grimly, his eyes watchful. “Don’t forget the dead wives locked in my attic.”

She laid her hands gently over his. “I do not care about any of that, my lord. I feel as though we are two souls born of the same light.”

Lucifer mentally groaned. Not the born of the same light business again. If he let her get going on that, she would treat him like a brother and never realize that he had desired her from the moment they met. “If I do have a soul, it was born of darkness.” He grasped her wrists and pulled her to him. “You would do well to remember that.”

He captured the soft lips that had beckoned him, and crushed her pillowy body against his own granite chest. “Oh, my lord, I do not–“

“Quiet, Virtue.” She had opened her lips to protest, and he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside her warm, wet mouth. Her body fell against his in surrender. Her heat drove away the icy loneliness. He laid her down on the rug and gently unbuttoned her dress. Her small, firm breasts gleamed pale in the night. He bent his head and took one ruby tip into his mouth.

“Oh, Lucifer.”

He lifted her skirts and found her feminine passage. He carefully rubbed the bud of her passion. Her reaction was most satisfactory.

Lucifer, OH, my goodness, oh. . .”

He trapped her moans and soft cries of fulfillment with his mouth. Now that he had given her release, he undid his breeches. There was no time to take them off completely. He caressed her rounded thighs, reopening her channel of womanhood.


She opened her eyes. “My lord?”

“Do you want me?” He touched her intimately.

“Oh yes, please.”

He thrust into her sweet tightness, until he was halted by her maidenhood.

It had, of course, survived thirty years of riding and other normal activity. “My sweet, it will only hurt for a moment.”

Virtue was leaning up on her elbows and staring at their joined bodies. “Uh. . .my lord. . .perhaps you are a bit too large for me.”

He smiled and kissed her until she dropped back in weakness. “I assure you, we will fit perfectly.”

He withdrew slightly, then thrust into her completely in one swift movement. She stiffened and cried out, then all pain was lost in pleasure as she felt his thick heat filling her. She lifted herself against him to feel all of his length.

“My God, Virtue.” He stroked her center of desire with the same rhythm of his manhood moving inside her. She felt the fire sweep through them, and she tightened around him. By this point she was so tight the circulation to his member was beginning to get cut off, so he allowed himself release, falling on her.

“My lord?”

He stirred. She was looking up at him with an expression of sweet anxiety.


“Are you all right?”

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Issue #77 of Laurie’s News & Views – details of the contest’s outcome and reader responseIndex for Laurie’s News & Views (Check the index for “silly sex”/”purple prose”) Ferri Tales – There’s plenty of purple prose here! (And a return link to the PPP section as well)

If you liked this parody,

try this one!