The 1999 Purple Prose Parody Contest

August 1, 1999:

The winner of the third annual Purple Prose Parody Contest is. . . Claudia Terrones. For her terrific effort, she’ll receive copies of The Elusive Flame and Mine to Take, both of which tied for Purple-est Prose in the 1999 All About Romance Reader Awards.

I first began this contest back in 1997 to celebrate the excesses of our beloved genre. That year, author Marsha Canham won top honors, featuring Randy Hawkesnose and Bliss, who, when she “threw her hands up to stop him, accidently pushed instead on the marble-hard bulge in his breeches. He groaned aloud as he felt himself swell to a state of turgid tumescence he had never experienced before in all his many years as a libertine and profligate debaucher. But before he could question his response, the buttons on the overstretched seams began to pop one by one, firing into the shadows like small bullets of desire, each ‘ping’ causing Bliss’s pulse to race a beat faster.”

In 1998, author Catherine Asaro joined several readers and entered a fabulous parody, but Doris Riley won the prize for The Queen & her Knight, which began with this poem (and only got better):

The king was in the counting house, counting out his money,
The queen was in her parlor, counting all her honeys.
She singled out the only man in mail.
For it was he, she intended to nail.

This year, I added a new dimension to our contest through the concept of the author homage. We received 13 submissions this year, and many were author homages. All of the entries were imaginative and humorous and wonderful. While the original idea was to write a love scene (or portion thereof) featuring as many oft-used phrases as possible, those who have entered the contest since it began have made it their own. More than a thousand people have read the parodies thus far this summer.

And now, without further ado, the entries.

[fusion_accordion divider_line=”no” class=”” id=””][fusion_toggle title=”The Garden of Earthly Delight” open=”no”]

Purple Prose as written by AAR Reviewer Katarina Wikholm:

The Garden of Earthly Delight

Blindly Chastity rushed deeper into the garden, her pulse beating madly. It had been utter foolishness to follow such an ill-reputed gentleman from the ballroom, but the naughty promises he had made had melted her coy resistance. Yet, she had not consented to being mauled and pawed, her bodice ripped, her skirts shredded until her ivory thighs were bared. Being a feisty and independent young woman, she had elbowed the cad in an impolite place and made her escape. But the inquisitive need he had aroused still burned in her blood. She had escaped the foul desires of that man, but she could not escape herself.

On rounding a bush, she caught sight of a man leaning against a tree and hesitated. He was lean and dark, his unbuttoned shirt starkly pale against the tree trunk. The sight of his hand stroking the bulge in the front of his trousers almost sent her scrambling the other way, but dark eyes and a sudden smile froze her in her place.

“I cannot believe you were looking for me, kitten, but it is me you have found. And you look like some fool didn’t do his manly duty by you. “

His words pulled her inexorably closer to him, as if she was a marionette and he the puppeteer. Staring at him, she stumbled on an unseen tree-root and plunged forward only to be caught in arms of steel. She felt herself being pressed against a hard chest as strong hands traced the lines of her back and lightly gripped her scantily covered fanny. He whispered into her hairline:

“I can fulfill you innermost desires, I can sooth the urgent fire that rages through your body. Just trust me and allow me to show you the sensual marvels men and women can perform together. “

Chastity felt safe and comforted in the arms of this stranger, as if their presence at this time and place had been foretold in the stars for a thousand years. Of course she could trust him. Following her intuition she raised her head and boldly answered him:

“Please. Do show me. Only, be gentle with my untried body.”

He bent forward to lightly kiss her pouting lips, dark curls tumbling into his eyes. The combination of that tender kiss and the sudden gleam in his dark eyes made her knees give way and she sagged weakly against him. Safely cradled in his embrace Chastity felt herself being lowered onto the mossy ground. A rogue moonbeam outlined them in a pool of silvery light and the perfumes of night flowers swirled around them. Dazed she watched him straddle her hips, and moaned softly as he bent forward to kiss her again. First her soft mouth, then the rapid pulse at the base of the hollow of her elegant throat, then finally his lips and hot tongue glorified the mounds escaping from her torn bodice.

Chastity could barely contain the gasp of admiration as he opened his trousers to reveal the ample treasures hidden in them. She had seen men naked before, but never one as powerfully equipped, as appealingly built as this stranger. Trembling at the look of undisguised heat in his eyes, she licked her lips with innocent anticipation as she watched him wrestle with his rampant beast as if he feared it would escape and savage her. One of his hands touched her silvered breasts, baring them further to the cool of the night and the heat of his eyes. Suddenly, his pearlescent shower of masculinity sprinkled dewdrops on her bulbous breasts and thirstily erect nipples. The shock of that hot rain made her hips squirm beneath his thighs of steel, eager for his magnificent rod to touch her, enter her.

“Contain yourself, my eager kitten. We have barely begun this dance as old as the world. This is only the appetizer,”

he purred as his deft fingers scaled the moistened peaks in magical circles. She arched her back to put her wanton protrusions more firmly into his hands, willing him to make this game more serious. The hoarse sound of ripping lace concealed her gasp of anticipation, as he tore off the damaged decorations of her bodice to roughly tease her nipples and trembling lips with it. The feel of the slightly rough texture of the lace made the need coursing through her a living thing, a hunting carnivore.

“Please. Oh, please. Impale me. Do it. Now.”

He looked up from her creamy breasts and pulled his writhing tongue back into his mouth before answering:

” Sooo, the kitten is really a she-cat in heat. Since you ask so prettily, what red-blooded man could possibly refuse a lovely creature like you?”

He kissed her quickly on dewy lips while his hands roamed lower, folding aside the torn layers of her silken petticoat. Chastity buried her hands in his dark mop of curls and rasped gently with elegant nails against the sensitive maze of his ears. This very touch, she knew, was what had led her into the hands of that dastardly defiler, and surely its effect would be just as impossible for this man to resist. She was not disappointed.

Peeking under her sooty lashes, she noticed his bold baldness flushing more brilliantly scarlet and, as she watched, it began to wave and dance with urgency. As he slid lower to kneel between her spread thighs, she lost sight of his magnificence, but the sensation of perfumed night air on her private folds distracted her from this loss. She felt his fingers explore her, moving along her crests and valleys until they discovered the tiny cushion of carnal delight and staked their claim there with a rhythmical dance of celebration. Closing her sapphire orbs, she submitted to the lusts his touch fanned from embers into fierce flames.

Marcel gritted his teeth, trying to restrain his need to sheath himself immediately in her plush center. Only a foolish youngster, new to the games of love, plunged in rudely, even when so willingly invited by a strange lady. With all that had happened in the past, he was not about to question the fickle luck that brought this wanton temptress to him. Removing her hand from his ear, he generously laved her palm and then lowered it between his legs.

“Touch me, she-cat. Fold you hand around the present I will bestow upon you, into you, again and again until your inner petals drip with desire. “

He closed his hand over her, teaching her how to slide her slick palm along the silkiness of his rigid tool and polish the smooth knob with its ring of sensitive crenellations. His throaty growl of pure pleasure grew increasingly rusty as she breathlessly exclaimed:

“Oh! How huge you are! My dainty fingers cannot span your circumference! “

Her tentative ministrations could be borne no longer. Marcel patiently unwound her curled fingers and placed them on one of her puckered nipples. While she tentatively began toying with her pebbled mound, he leafed through her billowing folds to unveil the unbreached portal to her sanctuary of sensation. Yes, she was already flowing with the honey juices of love, and his nostrils flared at the alluring scent of her arousal. Parting her petals, he positioned the tip of his pulsating pirate against her entrance and swirled his hips with exquisite control. Her shocked gasp was his instant reward.

Ever so slowly he eased himself into her, reveling in the tight embrace of her throbbing interior. To ease the unavoidable moment of discomfort that would come next, he wriggled one hand between their entwined bodies and again performed his magic on her pink pearl of femininity. As she whimpered and writhed, distracted by the rising need he created, he inexorably pressed on against the membrane of inexperience barring his way. With a swift stroke of forceful control he pushed past the constriction and into that chalice of heaven-sent pleasure only a man may experience.

The slight moment of pain made Chastity hold her breath momentarily, but his rhythmical pounding sent waves of heat rippling out from her core of molten lava. She rose on that heat, circling like a raptor on the thermal winds. Soaring high, she daringly kissed him, fondled his tongue with her own and nearly screamed with the sudden surge of pleasure as he suckled her lower lip while increasing the pace of their dance.

She spread herself wider, urging him towards a goal she could not imagine. She felt him pressing his proud implement harder into her, swifter, harder as she panted with pleasure and joy. Suddenly, she felt his love juices burst their flood gates and inundate the parched receptacle called a womb. His moans and straining against her brought her to the edge of a chasm she had never suspected existed, and as she fell over the edge into star-shot darkness a warbling cry rose unbidden from her very soul: ” I love you! I love you! You, and only you! Forever!”

When Chastity dreamily opened her eyes, her lover was buttoning his trousers in a businesslike manner. Suddenly aware of her look, he smirked with devastating charm and tossed a sovereign onto her bared mounds.

“Such a talented little cat! You have a great career ahead of you, if you can elaborate on what I just taught you. I’ve detracted the not insignificant value of my teaching from your customary fee, naturally.”

The pain nearly choked her when she realized what he was saying. The upwelling tears transformed her eyes into sapphire pools of misery. As he turned and left, she called brokenly after his retreating back:

” No. Please, don’t. Don’t leave. Not like this. I love you. It is just a Big Misunderstanding. . . .”[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Knight of a Thousand Volts” open=”no”]

Purple Prose as written by Carol Taylor as an homage “to Dara Joy – I just love her!”:

Knight of a Thousand Volts

Cherry was simply following directions on how to test the batteries by pressing the little dot on the package when she felt herself spinning into a dark void.

“Bam, bam, bam. . . .”

A monotonous and annoying sound forced her awake. Shocked to see the Energizer Bunny setting on her chest she rubbed her eyes and took another peek.

“Where am I?”, she demanded.

“Dry Cell! You scamp! She’s mine!”, a male voice declared.

Cherry watched in amazement as the Energizer Bunny hopped off her chest and scurried off. Electricity crackled all around. Cherry could smell ozone as if a lightening bolt room deodorizer was in use.

“Who are you and where are you from?” the voice was closer.

“I was at the Wal-Mart store,” she replied. “The one in Dal Ass For Tworth Te Xas to be exact, and if you hope to gain all your battery customers by kidnapping. . . you don’t stand a chance; not with today’s enlightened consumer.” As a one time secret shopper, Cherry had experienced every high-tech marketing technique in the book.

Her initial disgruntle diminished when she saw the gorgeous hunk that offered his hand to help her up off the floor. She mentally retracted her first impression, here was a man for Diehards if there were such a thing.

“Cherry. You can call me Cherry.” she answered him as all 140 pounds of her heft lifted in his arms as light as a feather. “Do you carry rechargeables?” she breathlessly asked and thanked her lucky stars she had her makeup on.

“Who are these other rechargers you speak of?” The masculine beauty queried as his hands slid around Cherry’s neck and his perfectly chiseled lips closed over hers. Bzzzzz, his kiss stunned her senseless.

“Why I’ve never felt so alive!” she exclaimed a moment latter.

“That was just a sample boost,” he scoffed, “Aferall, am I not Gel Cell? Eveready charger and booster cable for little Candies like you?” Gel then proceeded to demonstrate his next two levels of energy.

Candies’ board straight hair coiled into perfect sausage curls. The manicure on her toes melted and redried as fresh as new. “Oh Gel Cell.” she breathlessly spoke in a newer more come hither voice, “I never dreamed it could be like this! Show me more, more, more. . .” In earnest she returned his affectionate caresses, but had difficulty keeping pace with him. Her clothes were being wisked away, while his seemed to be fastened with self locking fasteners. In a flash, a crack of lightening, she stood before him vibratingly bare.

“Turn around Candies, let me bestow you with more power.” His words warmed her to her now pretty pink toes.

“Cherries,” she corrected him while smoothly turning in his locknut grip. Her ripe peach derriere pressed against his shielded steel encased thighs.

“When things are bad Cause your circuits burned Reset, Reset Then plug me in again!”

Strange words she didn’t understand, but he spoke them urgently before his teeth closed on her spinal column. “This is not the standard recharging you are about to receive,” he warned her. His warm breath down her back sent amperes of desire through her limbs leaving her glowing incandescently.

He weighed each of her breast in his hands and murmured “D’s at least, you’ve made me a happy man Candies, not that C’s or even AAA’s wouldn’t have been appreciated,” he quickly amended not wanting to spoil their first junction.

He smoothly released his wilderness sized torch from his trousers. Already glowing and sparking in readiness, he expertly introduced himself to her open socket. “This is not the position I would prefer for our first flash,” he spoke as he wedged himself deeper. Gel preferred a triple prong connection to this standard safety, but he had to follow the dictates of his world’s customs.

Candies was beginning to feel a new effect. Her body gave off a black light and soon everything took on a Disco look. “Ah, Gel Cell, you’re so big!” Bam, Bam, Bam. . . her brain ceased to function as she gave into the new electrical urges he showed her. Her synapses were sparking charges that cleared every nerve gap in her body. “Sooo big!”

Gel Cell viewed the lovely Candies wrapped in his arms and knew his lifetime love was her AC to his DC. So moved by the feeling he gave her the special effect that all men of his world were sought for. Firmly gripping her on his torch, Gel Cell applied his latent energy. It vibrated.

“Ahhh. . . Candies you have drained me too fast!” he moaned in her ear after her fifth ear shattering orgasm.

“Oh Gel Cell! I have not broken you have I?” She turned her tear stained face up to his.

“Pzzzz! You need never worry about that my Candies.” But his form began to fade into pink fuzz right before her eyes.

“Oh my!” Candies cried. “He’s gone!”

Just then a pink Energizer bunny hopped on her lap. And kept going, and going and going. . . .[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Purple Prose as written by Rhonda Drummond” open=”no”]

Purple Prose as written by Rhonda Drummond:

It was not such a routine search as Agent Queue thought it would be. She and Agent Ess were on their hands and knees in the tunnel, and their usually pristine black suits had an orangy dusting about them. The tunnel vibrated as they heard the hum of ship warming up. These aliens had no clearance to leave! They had to find a way to stop them quickly! Agent Queue moved as quickly as her crawling would allow, which gave Agent Ess a wonderful view of her tight, wool-covered bottom. He had had worse assignments. A slight smirk touched his lips, and he continued to follow his partner.

In a few moments they were out of the tunnel, and the giant spaceship loomed over them. A few human-looking creatures known as the Vajroli were doing last minute inspections here and there. Agents Queue and Ess stealthily moved to the ship’s entrance. “Freeze! M.I.B.!” shouted Agent Ess. He held a simple-looking, yet very complicated weapon of unearthly origin. Agent Queue’s weapon was known to all as simply “Noisy Cricket”. The M.I.B. meant business. The workers froze.

“This is an unauthorized launch!” said Agent Queue. “Where’s the pilot?”

The workers motioned toward the inside of the ship.

“You watch these guys. I’ll stall him,” said Agent Queue.

“Be careful, Q,” said Agent Ess.

Queue disappeared into the ship, and met the pilot. She had known him since he first arrived at the M.I.B. headquarters three years ago. “Captain Laxmin! You have no authorization to leave Earth, let alone Colorado!”

The Vajroli captain seemed too human at times. His tresses cascaded down his back in some colour Queue could not identify. Could be brown, could be red, could be dark blond… He was all muscles and angles, covered in a green fabric Queue could not identify, yet his skin of his face was as smooth as an Earth toddler’s. Laxmin’s silvery eyes narrowed as they met with Queue’s velvety brown gaze.

“I must leave. The Vajroli have gone to war with the Purbans. Earth was merely an outpost for us. Vajrol needs its pilots, its fighters, all of them.”

“Not one leaves this planet until M.I.B. knows about it.”

“Now they do.” “You are very mistaken, Captain.” Queue felt a warmth flooding her in strange places. No alien made her feel this way, in fact, Earth men rarely did.

“Perhaps you could persuade me to stay, Agent Q. . . “ He ran his nimble hands through her silky chocolate-brown hair. He could feel her heat. Vajroli had enhanced senses, and this made intimate encounters very intense. He wondered if the dark-haired Earth female had ever had more than a mediocre experience.

“Well, if you have a war to fight,” Queue whispered. . . .

“I don’t think it’s as violent as the war you fight within yourself, Agent Q.” He felt a slight quiver come from her. He tried to hide his wisdom, but the sly smile that played over his face denied him from hiding this information. Agent Queue suddenly frowned in disgust at this alien’s arrogance. “Go the hell home, then!” she scoffed.

“I really don’t want to, since this planet offers so many niceties.” Laxmin scanned every inch of Agent Queue’s lush woolen-covered frame. He especially like those short skirts the female M.I.B. agents wore. That more females could be blessed with such legs as these. Laxmin had seen Agent Queue before, many times, and wondered how it would be to have her tanned gams wrapped about him.

“If you don’t want to leave, then don’t, at least until we have authorization.”

“Let’s just hope that takes some time.”

“Time enough for what?”

“As if you didn’t know, Agent Q.” Laxmin’s slow, easy strokes stopped, and he twirled Agent Queue about to face him. She didn’t even have a nanosecond to think before his lips locked onto her own, hard in pressure, soft in texture, demanding in everything. Agent Queue attempted to break from the alien pilot’s grasp.

“This is anything but professional, Captain!” she squeaked. She fumbled for her neuralizer, and found her hopes dashed when she realized that she had left it with Agent Ess.

“Don’t go looking for your gadgets, Q,” whispered Laxmin, hot against her ear. His teeth grazed at her earlobe. Agent Queue knew she would lose this fight. There was an external battle with the Vajroli captain, along with an internal battle of her own. He knew her thoughts, even though his race did not have telepathy.“Give into your own desires, Q.”

Agent Queue no longer argued with that primitive part of her, and turn about to meet with Laxmin. “Again!” she urged. Laxmin wrapped about her, strong and sure, his kiss melting into her mouth, soft and sweet. She opened her lips to match this initial invasion, and retaliated with a sweet invasion of her own. She squirmed in surprise when she felt Laxmin’s tongue tickle the back of her throat, and stopped when she thought about where this sensation might take her. She leaned back against the control panel. Multicolored light danced over the board and through her head. Her eyes were closed, and she relished in the sensual way Laxmin had suddenly taken control of her with his touch.

“You must enjoy all the pleasures your planet has to offer, Q,” Laxmin said as he unbuttoned her woolen jacket. He moved her black tie aside, and quickly popped the buttons of her white oxford shirt, surprised to find a black lace bra binding her taut breasts. She had an amazing set, and they appeared to have defied the pull of gravity in her thirty-five years. Laxmin found the sight to be too tempting to hold back, and he nuzzled against her neck as his hands filled with her firm, fleshy mounds. The tips were hardening quickly, as was Queue’s pulse. He moved down and laved at their tips with intricate accuracy, bringing a heat within her that she thought was long dead, and she wanted to do so much more.

“Laxmin, Captain. . . “ Queue sighed. She grasped at the velcro straps of his suit, relishing in the ripping sound they made as she tugged on them. That was all that held his suit together. Such a wonderful invention! Which groups of aliens gave them that one? Not the Vajroli, but it worked so well on them! She ripped at the velcro tap just above the crotch of his suit, and his earthly member fell free, growing and pulsing. “So, this is what M.I.B. agents do for you,” she whispered.

“Only certain ones. . . “ He shuddered slightly when Queue wrapped her strong grip around him and stroked him slowly. Her hands were nimble and fast, then slow and lingering. What had she learned whilst in the employ of this agency? So many cultures came to this crossroads, it was hard to tell, but it was just so hard! How many other women from this planet had such an effect of him? He swallowed hard as he felt her do the same thing. Agent Queue’s mouth replaced her hand, and she was sucking him, teasing him, taking him into a sweet oblivion. She lapped at that one secret place upon him that few women from any planet knew of, and she worked that little muscle for all its worth. His soft squeals and moans were enough to let Queue know she was stalling him quite well. “Q. . . , ooh, yeah. Ohh. . . “

Queue stopped a moment, only to say, “Can’t answer you. Mouth is full.”

“If you don’t stop, it will be very full of something else.”

Queue stopped, and pulled back. “I think I like where this is going.” She came up to meet him, silver eye to brown eye. “Where is it going, Captain?”

Laxmin did his talking with his hands as they slid up beneath Queue’s short, black skirt, teasing her pleasure bud through her cotton panties. His mouth claimed hers again, and she sighed into his kisses as she met her first climatic wave. Such skilled, manipulative fingers Vajroli men had. She hoped the Purban war would end soon so could experience more, but that was Laxmin’s intention. To give her all he could in this short amount of time. Enough time for her partner to get the clearance he needed, but really did not want. She was very much ready, very wet, very slick with need.

“You don’t usually do this, do you, Q?”

“Not often, no, but you made it so, Captain. Finish what you started!”

No more invitation was needed, and Queue flinched slightly when she heard the ripping of cotton, and acknowledged the fact that her panties were merely scraps now.

She gasped as he entered her warm recess, so long it had been since any man had been there, human or alien. His strokes were varied, quick and slow, shallow and deep, teasing and taking, taking and taking and taking her to her own brilliant galaxy of delight. She swept through her personal stars and rode through climatic vortexes of Laxmin’s own making.

Laxmin relished in her garden of earthly delights, slipping further and further into his own walls of sensations and satisfaction. He plunged on and on as Agent Queue’s womanly muscles milked him hard and tight. One last, stellar-bursting ebb took Agent Queue and Laxmin over the edge, and he erupted into her warm vortex, never wanting to come out of this black hole.

A few minutes of silence passed as they both collected their clothes and thoughts.

The quiet was broken by Agent Ess’s voice. “Agent Queue?”

“Yes?” answered Queue.

“The Vajroli has been cleared to go home. Turns out the Purbans are pretty nasty.”

“You can go on home, Captain,” Queue said. “You will come back, though.”

It was not a request.

“Far be it from me to break the statutes of the M.I.B., Agent Queue.” No more was said, and Laxmin sealed his unspoken promise with a simple kiss.

“Unusual stalling tactics, Q,” said Agent Ess.

“Who said I was stalling?”[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Love’s Savage Passion” open=”no”]

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.”[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Purple Prose as written by Meredith Whitford” open=”no”]

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!”[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”The Hired Hand” open=”no”]

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.[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Whose entry is homage to Amanda Quick” open=”no”]

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?”[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Purple Prose as written by Claudia Terrones” open=”no”]

Purple Prose as written by Claudia Terrones:

Shaydie looked up, her huge doe eyes eclipsing most of her blank, pale face. He was here. The cad who’d paid for the rights to her bed was, and, shuddering with fear, she threaded slim, graceful, trembling fingers through her thick, waist-length golden hair.

“There you are, little one,” Drakkar Bleue murmured, the sinfully sensual tone in his deep voice matched only by the smirk on his handsome face. He walked around the desk, past the chair where she sat, immobile. Shaydie’s legs twitched as his manly scent reached her pert nose. Horse and sweat and male blended intoxicatingly, making her cough helplessly into a dainty hand. She stood, and began walking toward the fire. “I was going to fetch you some wine, Lord Bleue.” She couldn’t wait, not another heartbeat, for him to drink the poison and then she’d be free, like a bird in heaven.

He nodded, watching the enticing ivory mounds that all but spilled out of her tight, low cut gown. They moved with every step she took, and suddenly, when she tripped over the chamber pot and nearly went sprawling, he couldn’t wait. His strong, battle-scarred, callused hands grasped her extraordinarily slim waist and pulled, so that her delicious body was pressed against him. If he thought the motion would relieve his enormous erection, he was sorely mistaken. If anything, he grew bigger at the feel of her delectable globes and Shaydie gasped again, feeling the silk encased hardness that demanded entry to her innocent body. She reached out sharply to grab a vase, anything to hit him with, and the fabric at the back of her gown tore. With a harsh, demonic laugh, he began undoing the useless laces of her gown. “You’re proving most cooperative, wife.”

She shivered at the feel of the cold air on her naked back and turned in his arms. “You may take my body, sir, but you shall never have my soul,” she declared passionately against his lush lips. Much to her embarrassment, her maidenly fears were suddenly overwhelmed by the beat of desire, pounding steadily between her legs.

Drakkar thrust his hand into the silken length of her hair. Shaydie lunged, desperate to be free of his grasp, succeeding only in smacking her forehead against his rock hard jaw. Ignoring the pain, he parted her rose lips with his own, delving inside with his roving tongue, capturing the moans she made that threatened to make his seed burst from his lust-stiffened rod right then and there.

Madness, he thought. He’d had a million whores, and now an innocent was nearly bringing him to his knees. Instead of succumbing to that particular desire, he began tearing at what remained of her dress, ripping at the garments until she was blessedly naked before him. She pulled away, shy to have a man look at her like this, and her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. “Do not cover yourself, my little wife, let me see you.”

She hesitated, and it took his strong hands to pull away her own. Oh yes. She was perfect, pure, and his. He’d never have thought her so perfectly formed, never thought that her slim back and delicate waist could give place to such lush, abundant, creamy breasts. He touched a flowering pink nipple with his finger. It swelled instantly, puckering into a throbbing little button of need before his very eyes. “You like that, little one?”

Before she could answer he bent his head down and grasped the diamond hard nipple between his teeth, tugging until her head fell back and she moaned, the sound making his love lance swell even further within the confine of his snug breeches. Releasing her breast, now glistening with moisture, he embraced her, pulling her down on the bed. His engorged manhood was not going to stand much longer the siren call of her, and, discarding all of his clothes in a single second, he returned to her. He spread her thighs, apologizing when her ankle cracked against the bedpost, watching how she bit her lower lip in a combination of fear and anticipation. The gesture made his sex twitch and her eyes widened, feeling him against her woman’s portal of bliss.

Not yet, he told himself, willing to delay his own pleasure if it killed him. His long, large knuckled fingers began probing, stroking the slick, velvety petals at the juncture of her thighs, feeling the silky dew that told him she was ready for him. Oh how he wanted to taste her, to bury his tongue in her love pudding. But that would have to wait. Shaydie sucked in a breath, having expected nothing like this. “Drakkar-“ she whispered, her voice tremulous.

“Give yourself to me, little one. I will take care of you, and tomorrow, you shall awake a woman.”

Shaydie smiled at the thought of leaving her childhood behind, all thoughts of poisoning him forgotten, and pressed herself up against his hand. “Oh yes, Drakkar.” She twined her slender arms about his neck and kissed his cheek, knowing he would do as he promised. Hooking his arms under her knees, he spread her further, and, unable to wait another moment, thrust his rod, a lance of steel encased in silk, into her waiting honeypot. Shaydie screamed as her maiden’s barrier was violently ripped by the thick, pulsing intruder. Drakkar was very still inside her, not moving for fear of making the pain worse. He rained kisses over her cheeks, tenderly sipping the tears that fell from her chocolate eyes. “It will be better, sweeting, I promise.” Her milky thighs were shaking along his hips but she smiled bravely for him and nodded. Only a heartbeat later did she feel the pain vanish and a sudden need begin to coil deep in her belly. She couldn’t take it, him being there, inside her, not moving, and her hips began moving in a primitive rhythm as old as time, her head thrashing back and forth on the pillow as he joined her, his hips pumping vigorously into her impossibly hot sheath.

It was happening, Shaydie thought, what she’d heard the maids gossiping about. The pressure inside her was rolling, tighter and tighter, making all thoughts vanish from her head. His fingers delved between them, finding her sensitive nubbin of flesh and plucking repeatedly. Suddenly, a burst of ecstasy roared through her untutored body, sending lashes of pleasure through her until she was screaming, mindlessly, wordlessly, and felt Drakkar’s huge hand clamp down on her mouth, her body heaving and tossing about as if she were on a storm at sea. He’d thought it would be over in a minute. He’d been wrong. Her newfound passion was burning him, and he summoned every ounce of his legendary control so he wouldn’t spill his seed inside her yet. He was still monstrously huge, and hard as any of the silver candlesticks that littered her room. When they were finished, three hours later, he watched her sleeping in his arms as if she’d slept there all her life, and kissed her forehead. Asleep, Shaydie swatted at him, cutting his cheek with her ring and then she turned, caught in the blankets, and fell off the bed with a loud thud. His cheek was burning, dripping blood, and he yanked at the corner of Shaydie’s blanket to stop the flow. Shaydie rolled all the way to the hearth, where her skull collided with the stones with a loud crack.

Drakkar stilled, the blood forgotten. He felt the lack of pulse at her neck, stood up again, feeling the blood drain from his head. A chill enveloped his powerfully muscled body and, not wanting to touch the blanket that had last held the body of his late wife, he stood in front of the fire. He needed to think, Drakkar mused, as he lifted the cup of wine to his lips.[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Hatred Turned Love – Love Turned Hatred” open=”no”]

Purple Prose as written by Suzie Choi:

Hatred Turned Love – Love Turned Hatred

Oh, how she hated him!!!

With her dainty fists, Elaine de la Chaise pounded against the heavy oak door and shouted at the top of her delicate lungs. “Let me out, you swine! How dare you lock me up like this!? I hate you! You. . . you are despicable!”

The heavy oak door remained silent and unyielding.

This wretched man always managed to make her mad beyond human bearing. Rascale de Boudoir might call himself a Nobleman, but he was in no way a Gentleman! Elaine stood with her back against the door. She remembered to breathe again and air filled her lungs, making her breasts shiver. Oh, how she’d like to hit him hard on his stubborn dark-haired head! Yes, she was mad at him! No other man could anger her until she was nearly bursting with red-hot fury. A faint voice at the fringe of her mind whispered that she wasn’t that bad in riling up this impossible man, either. A smug smile of satisfaction slowly spread out on her porcelaine white face. She finally admitted it: she reveled in their repartee, if one could call it that, at least in his reactions to her “teasings.” She hated him, all right. But she wildly desired him, too. Elaine thought about the first time they had made love after he had taken her captive. If one could call their savage mating thus. She hated him, because he was the enemy of her father, but nevertheless. . .

When he had first touched her, she had tried to resist, but a slow and intense burning had ignited the essence of her womanhood. When he had first kissed her, she had tried to free herself of his passionate embrace, but when his tongue met hers in a mesmerizing dance of heated lust, she had felt herself go all weak and defenseless in his strong, hard arms.

Now, that the memories of that night were coming back, Elaine had to steady herself against the bed-post. She was all weak-kneed again just from thinking of his rough, utterly male touch. She sat down on the bed with her eyes closed and let the memories of their first intimate encounter flood back into her mind. Images came back in flashes, his dark hand on her full milky-white breasts, his tongue lovingly ravishing the moist and slick folds of her most private place, his eyes hooded with savage passion as he entered her slowly, piercing her soul with his demanding hunger.

Elaine swallowed. She felt all hot and bothered. She found herself gasping at the touch of a big male hand.

“You are touching yourself in a most unladylike manner.” Rascale said. Elaine looked down her willowy, perfectly shaped body and saw that her hand was resting on her breasts. Color flooded her skin from her creamy and lace-rimmed cleavage upward. She jerked her hand away from its lush, pillowy resting place and jumped up.

“How dare you sneak up on me, you dirty bastard?!” She flung herself at him and began to punch his broad manly chest with her dainty fists. He only laughed and gripped her tight around her tiny waist.

Rascale loved it when she was shaking with fury, her breasts began to quiver in a most intriguing – and arousing – manner. He thought about how she looked when she was in the throes of passion, and desire washed over him in a liquid hot wave. Elaine suddenly stopped writhing in his steel-hard grip and looked up at him with her eyes wide open in shocked realisation. It took a short electrically charged moment for her to regain her composure. Then, she began to hit him with renewed vigor.

“Oh, how dare you to be aroused when I am trying to kill you!” she shouted. “Have you no sense of propriety in your big oxen’s head?”

“Not one modicum” he replied, a wide and mischievous smile on his handsome face.

“I hate you!”

“Now, let’s make love” he murmured, distracted by her musky, womanly scent that drifted in intriguing wafts from her breasts. He sank down on the bed, taking her with him, but somehow she got hold of the chandelier beside the bed and hit him with it. She missed his head by a hairsbreadth, but her blow still landed on his shoulder. He groaned. Enough was enough.

His eyes glittered dangerously as he looked at her with a savage expression on the chiseled planes of his face. Oh, how she would pay for making him lose his temper! Slowly, menacingly, he bent over her, his intent to make her beg for his love clearly showing on his pirate-like features. He took her small hands in one of his impossibly big ones and pinned them above her head.

Mesmerized, Elaine watched, as he descended upon her, glorious, like an eagle on its prey. And his prey, she was, for she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his sensually beautiful face, the face of a fallen angle. Yes, she brazenly admitted to herself, she loved to look at his gorgeous features! Just looking into his eyes made her knees go weak and made her breathing shallow. Now, she could only watch as he took possession of her. He brought his mouth down on hers and made her gasp as his tongue invaded the velvety recesses of her mouth. The slow movement of tongue against tongue, all hot and wet, made her breasts tingle achingly and desire began to curl deep down in the secret place between her creamy thighs.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his big strong hand moved down the line of her neck and settled warmly on her lace-covered breasts. He gently squeezed them, and her juices began to flow for him. He tried to open her bodice with his free hand, but the laces had somehow become entangled during their fight. With an impatient groan he ripped open her bodice until her breasts fell into his rough manly hands. A whisp of air made her nipples tighten into dusky peaks, aching for the touch of a man. Rascale smiled knowingly. He lightly rubbed his palm over her nipples and was rewarded by a shiver and a breathless intake of breath. “So, you like this, Precious Pearl?” The only answer he got was a soft groan. He growled lowly in appreciation. “I’ll make you beg for me to take you hard!” he murmured huskily against her breasts. She moaned, and as his tongue toyed teasingly with her softly rounded mounds, he heard a sharp intake of breath. Her response to his teasings made him even grow harder than he had ever thought was possible. Still smiling, he bent over Elaine again to lave her rose hued globes with his knowing tongue.

Elaine writhed lasciviously beneath his weight and allowed herself to succumb to the mastery of his touch. She wildly desired him, and as he murmured deliciously naughty suggestions in her ear, she felt her desire grow into an all consuming flame of passion. Rascal breathed feather light kisses onto her already heated skin, slowly moving over her flat belly toward the v-shaped nest of hair at the juncture of her milk-white thighs. She could barely stand it any longer and her hips pushed eagerly upward to meet the soft hot touch of Rascale’s tongue. She didn’t have to wait for long. He worshipped her with his mouth, he explored every single fold of her most private place and finally found the pearl of her womanhood, glistening with her desire for him. His touch made her feel hot and wild. She panted as he slaked his thirst with the evidence of her desire and felt her hips move to heighten her pleasure even more. After a short moment of ultimate bliss, or was it eternity, the starry dream-world around her exploded and she lay breathlessly in the bed again.

It dawned on her what she had done. She had succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh again, although she had sworn herself not to. And who was to blame for it? Rascale de Boudoir. He was always the cause when she lost control of herself. The anger from before returned with a vengeance. Hot-cold fury boiled under the surface as she turned her gaze to her right where that swine sat with a smug self-confident expression on his handsome face. No man had the right to sport such a beautiful face! She hated him even more for it. She felt a sudden and very strong urge to punch him on his arrogant beautiful nose, but instead, she gave him a sugary-sweet smile.

“Now, beg for me to take you hard!” he said. He began to flick her nipples. “I know you want it, wench!”

She gave him another sweet smile and settled down on her knees to undo his breeches and pull them down to his knees. She looked at him. His pulsating manroot jutted proudly out of a nest of crisp black hair. Inadvertently, her eyes went wide at the sheer magnificence of him. Desire pulsed through her body again, but she ignored it. The swine deserved a blow to his male ego! She lavishly caressed his male flesh that stood towering before her with her dainty fingers. And when he began to pant with unfulfilled wanting, she brought her mouth to his male member and laved him with her little pink tongue until he was nearly, but not quite, at the edge.

She nodded with satisfaction, stood up and went to the door. She knew, that he couldn’t follow her fast enough with his breeches down. She gave him another utterly sweet smile and hissed: “I hate you!”

He growled with frustration. “Please, come back! Let’s make love. You can’t leave me like this!”

Elaine walked out of the door, closed it and turned the key . Now it was her turn to smile smugly with a self-confident expression on her face. She passionately loved him, but from time to time, this impossible man needed a set-down.[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Building a Mystery” open=”no”]

Purple Prose as written by Eryka L. Peskin, as “an amalgam of author many influences: Linda Howard, Elizabeth Lowell, Susan Johnson, some Jayne Anne Krentz., and some Rachel Gibson for the road. Enjoy!

Building a Mystery

“I can’t believe that this is happening to me!” Sarah Sue moaned, banging on the door once more for good measure. But it was true. There was no doubt. She was locked in the building. Alone. For the rest of the night.

Sarah Sue had a charming penchant for talking to herself when she thought she was alone, and muttered to herself about the dangers of workaholicism. Then, just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, the electricity went out. “Oh, no!” she moaned. Simultaneously the air stopped, the pervading silence suddenly loud in her ears.

Sarah Sue immediately felt the temperature change. New York in the summer without air conditioning was no small matter, and without the a/c fighting the heat-well, Sarah Sue knew that she’d have to get out of there soon.

She whipped her cell phone out of her bag. She realized that this wasn’t exactly an emergency, so she dialed the non-emergency police number. All she got was the fast busy signal-the one that signified that the number wasn’t working. She tried again. This time she got that annoying tone and the “You have reached a number that is no longer in service. . . ” message. Once more. At last! It was ringing! And then. . . nothing. The battery had died-again.

She strode over to the security desk. The phone was offline, and she didn’t know the code to activate it. She stood by the door, thoughtfully chewing her full lower lip, trying to figure a way out of the reality of this calamitous situation.

“Is there a problem, Miss?” a husky deep voice asked.

She couldn’t help it; she shrieked. Loudly. She pressed her back to the tinted glass window. “Who. . . who’s there?” she asked nervously.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the voice soothed. “I’m doing some work on the building electrical system. That’s why it went out. That’s why you can’t get out. It’ll be fixed soon.”

“Where are you? Who are you?” Sarah Sue asked of the sexy voice, still wary, still cautious. “I’m right here.” A shape began to form out of the shadows by the elevator. The light of the setting sun pierced through the windows, illuminating his face.

Sarah Sue barely managed to hold back a gasp at the Adonis in front of her. He was tall, well over a foot taller than her tiny 5’1” frame. He was tall and rangy, the ropy muscles in his arms well defined. The light cast his chiseled cheekbones and jaw into stark relief, and illumined his royal blue eyes. A frisson of pure desire shot uncontrollably through her.

She had to clear her throat several times. “Promise?”

By that point he was right in front of her. He placed his hand on her face, rubbing her cheek. “I promise,” he comforted.

Sarah Sue couldn’t help herself; she nestled her face into his hand and felt herself drown in his eyes. It had been so long since she’d felt any kind of connection with a man. Not since that disastrous love affair years ago…and it had never, ever been so strong.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in awe. His thumb toyed with her lips, and she swallowed hard. Again.

“Th-thanks,” she whispered past the obstruction in her throat. She managed to tear her gaze from him. She thought she should pull away and put some distance between herself and this wondrous creature, but Sarah Sue was rendered immobile by desire and want.

Sarah Sue was a modern woman, and had learned that to get what you want, you have to reach out and take it. Even as these thoughts of empowerment were running through her mind, lust and desire were fogging up her normally acute thought processes. I know I shouldn’t-I hardly know him. . . but how I want to kiss him!

“I know I just met you,” he murmured huskily. He ran his hand over her silky hair. “But – “ he paused. “I have to kiss you.” And with that, his strong mouth came stormily down on hers.

Sarah Sue was overwhelmed by the assault. The obdurate pressure of his mouth forced her own open, and the moist citadel was conquered by his marauding tongue. Moments – years? – passed by her, and she tore her lips away from his before she fainted from lack of oxygen.

Deprived of the sweet succulence of her lips, his own lips and tongue traveled down the sensitive line of her throat. He felt her pulse beating rapidly under her skin, and laved the area, drawing the skin into his mouth. She gasped at the sensation, astounded at the explosions taking place over her nerve endings.

His hands, which had caged her against the window, had transplanted themselves to her waist. His thumbs drew erotic circular patterns on her hips, and slowly, her skirt was rising, dragged inexorably upward by his big, powerful hands.

Sarah Sue knew that this was wrong – he was just a stranger! – but the tide of desire was sweeping her along. Somehow her hands found their way to his head, and she wove her fingers through his sleek hair. Distantly she wondered what hair product he used. His hair was so silky! But her jealousy, along with her second thoughts, continued to drift away.

His hands slid upward until his thumbs were pressing against the bottoms of her full breasts. “Touch me,” she whispered throatily. She placed one of her delicate hands on his, and dragged it up to cover her breast entirely. She gave a shudder of pure pleasure and gasped with delight. Her breast fit perfectly into his hand.

“You’re so small, so petite, so perfect. I can practically span your waist with my hands. But your breasts are so full and firm!” he growled.

Sarah Sue melted. “And you’re so big and strong!” She measured her hand against his, pressing it against her breast.

“Look how big my hand is,” he rumbled. “See how completely is covers your breast.” He could feel the nipple harden in the center of his palm. His thumb swirled around it, plucking it to a sure point. His other hand came to her blouse and suavely opened the buttons, leaving her pale orbs open to his view.

Without further ado he’d flicked open the front clasp of her lacey lavender bra. With a sigh of pleasure Sarah Sue clasped his hands to her aching breasts and leaned on the glass, weakened even more. The sun had almost completely sunken into the Hudson, leaving them immersed in darkness. But her pale body glowed like a beacon, drawing his hungry gaze to her voluptuousness.

He had to taste her. Now. Like a ravening wolf, he swooped down on her lusciousness. He drew her thrusting nipple into his mouth, laving, suckling, nipping. She moaned in delight, almost beside herself.

Dimwittedly Sarah Sue realized that though her breasts were exposed to lips and air, his own shirt was hiding his glory from her own eyes. She had to feel his skin next to hers. The compulsion couldn’t be denied. With a will of their own (but supported by the will of her mind) her hands tore open his shirt, the buttons making pinging sounds as they hit the marble floor. With a sigh of relief, she ran her fingers over his well defined musculature.

“Oooh, you’re so big and strong,” she breathed.

“Mnrmph,” he mumbled into the deep valley between her breasts.


He released her nipple came out of his mouth with an audible pop. “Thanks.” He grinned up at her wolfishly. Unable to withstand the brief torture of having his lips removed from her breast for even a millisecond, she grasped his head and shoved it right back where it belonged.

After a moment of frantic suckling he needed to make her his own – in all ways.

It seemed that Sarah Sue read his mind: “I need you inside me. Now!” she uttered. Not one to wait when she was in the moment, she finished stripping his now buttonless shirt from his broad and muscular shoulders. When it caught on his arms, she made a sound of impatience and ripped it clean from his body.

“Do you work out?” he murmured against her lips.

“Of course,” she said, intent on her task. His shirt off, she was free to take in his resplendently mighty chest. It was the kind of chest that inspired women to shove money down a man’s pants. This time, however, Sarah Sue’s impulse was to get into his pants. She licked a path down the arrow of hair that pointed inevitably to his throbbing tumescence, now standing at titanic attention.

She struggled to unbutton his jeans, but her fingers were trembling a yearning to deep to control. “Let me,” he said thickly. With a few twists of his long, svelte fingers, his buttonfly Levis 501s were loosened. With a sigh of relief his manhood stood at attention, unfettered by the stiff denim, poking through his boxers.

Again, the only word Sarah Sue could emit was “Wow.” It was so big, particularly from her current vantage point-on her knees. Her mouth watered, and she took his bulging maleness into the hot wet cavern of her silken mouth.

A deep groan rumbled through the entirety of his buff body, and his hands entangled themselves in her curly glossy hair. Over and over she worked him, until he could take it no longer. “Inside you – I must be inside you,” he rasped, and pulled her head away. Again there was an audible pop.

Sarah Sue felt her liquid essence pooling between her silken thighs. With an ever increasing urgency, she pushed at his pants until they were around his legs. Savagely he kicked off his timberland hiking boots-and dimly heard the shattering of glass as a boot crashed into something breakable.

But he cared not, and neither did Sarah Sue. In fact Sarah Sue attributed the tinkling sound to the preorgasmic tension roaring through her slender body.

Sarah Sue felt herself sinking further and further into the succulent morass of her shameless yearnings. Whilst he was occupied by ridding himself of his very tight jeans, Sarah Sue entertained herself by playing with her breasts, continuing to stoke her own lustful fires.

Finally he was unclothed. Before her he stood tall, naked, proud, and sinfully gorgeous. “Let me do that,” he said, fascinated by her auto-love play. Gently he pushed her onto her back. Her shirt and bra were open, framing her luxuriant torso; her skirt ruched to her waist.

He licked an incendiary path down her torso, circling her nipples and navel, all the way down to her weeping mound of Venus.

Sarah Sue couldn’t control her reaction any longer. She cascaded over the precipice, the explosions continuing for what seemed like aeons, convulsing gently. But there was something missing; she wasn’t complete. She needed to feel him inside her. She writhed against his tongue, feeling her desire escalate anew. “Oh, please. Please,” she whimpered, twisting against him, unable to articulate.

But he knew what she wanted, and wanted it himself. He kissed his way up her body, latching onto her peaked nipple, so attuned to her body that he could feel the postorgasmic return of desire.

His control was dwindling. He had to be inside her, now, or he would embarrass himself in a way he hadn’t since he was a teenager. The blunt tip of his pulsing rod was poised at the entrance to her love grotto. He penetrated slowly.

Sarah Sue was stunned at his breadth. Even though she was way aroused, and still wet from her previous paroxysm of bliss, he was still too large. A cry escaped her.

“I know it hurts,” he said manfully, trying to control his impulse to drive mercilessly into her moist warmth. But if there was one thing he had been taught, and taught well, it was that a man always waits for the pleasure of his woman. Sweat dripped from his face, splattering on the floor. He reached one hand down between her legs and toyed with her button of pleasure. As he played her like a lute, she relaxed more, and he entered her deeper.

On and on this game went, playing, penetrating, deeper and deeper, until at last, he was touching the tip of her womb, sunken to the hilt. Sarah Sue was writhing under him, tossing her head from side to side. She pushed her hips up to commence the rhythm she needed so much to attain that completion.

He positioned her so that every thrust rubbed against her sensitivity, driving her closer and closer to that point of no return: la petite morte. She moaned, whimpering, “Yes! Yes! Yes! And was again tossed into a wild starburst of paradise.

Still he wasn’t with her; he was still iron hard within her. “You have…so much…control,” she gasped out.

“Tantra,” he panted. “It’s an Eastern method of prolonging lovemaking to attain that higher plain of pleasure,” he grunted, his hips still maintaining the rhythm.

“Oh my god, I can’t bear it any longer,” Sarah Sue cried out. “Harder! Harder!” she commanded. He couldn’t handle it any longer. In the past his training had allowed him to achieve hours of throbbing hardness, but Sarah Sue was just too potent; she completely undermined his control. His hips thrust faster and faster. She was still positioned in that same way, so her desire grew as well.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he grunted sexily. Finally, just as she disintegrated once again, his muscles turned to stone, and she felt his wetness burst inside her. He collapsed on top of her with a deep groan.

Moments later, he was still nestled within her-softened, but not limp. Sarah Sue felt boneless and couldn’t move-particularly since he was still on top of her. Yet in spite of the fact that the floor was marble and he was an extremely solid and large male, she felt quite comfortable. She felt…loved.

He couldn’t believe what had happened to him. A chance electrical outage had brought him the greatest pleasure he’d ever known, and his contentment knew no bounds. He was pillowed quite comfortably on her luscious body, and never wanted to move.

Somehow he managed to push himself onto his hands, gazing into her face. They looked into each other’s eyes, all of their feelings evident through those windows to the soul.

Sarah Sue cleared her throat and licked her dry lips. “Um…”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He bent his head and gave her a soft kiss.

“What’s you’re name?” they said, against the other’s succulent lips, but forgot to come up for air, and their velvet battle, in which there were no losers but only winners, was engaged again.[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”An Evening in the Mind of Maureen” open=”no”]Purple Prose as written by Ava Hawkins, whose entry included this brief reader note, “Um, ahem, well. . . sorry, ladies, I just couldn’t resist. I am a lover of language, and after helping my dear hubby with a particular feat requiring a sink and a steel pipe and a large metal tool and a leak, this submission was born. I just couldn’t help it! What I love about purple prose is that these words, which in a certain context make us blush and giggle, are just plain, old ordinary words. Words we use everyday, and as a lonnnnnnnnnnnnng time romance reader, I find that when these words crop up in regular conversation I can’t hold back the grins. So grinning from ear to ear I respectfully submit”:

An Evening in the Mind of Maureen
Maureen struggled. . . writhing about, almost painfully, for the fit was too tight. She looked down with trepidation. “This will never work!” she moaned. Yet with a breathless gasp she struggled a bit more, just one more shove upward. . .

“Nothing doing! This zipper is not gonna budge!” Maureen stated, and she ripped the offending jeans from her body and flung them to the far corner of the room. Then she flung her climbing boots each in separate directions too, for good measure. One landed on the bed, the other crashed into the wall. So much for going out to eat. Marching with determination toward her armoire she reached for the knob and felt it jerk off. She stared at the offending knob that had come into her hand and flung it, too, across the room to follow the boots.

“Craftsmanship!” she muttered, and slipping her fingers into the shadowy crevice she pulled the door open. Maureen loved this piece of furniture, and even though it was a very manly chest, it fit in well with the decor of her summer cabin. As she reached for a soft, sheer chemise she made a mental note to screw that knob back on tomorrow morning. Right now she had more important things on her mind. Like supper.

Immediately visions of lush, tender breasts rose in her mind. Chicken would be nice. Or even duck! Her mouth watered. Ah, how she would love juices dripping from her chin about now. She could amost feel the smooth flesh of a warm, roasted Italian sausage sliding over her tongue. She closed her eyes and envisioned her mouth gently closing over the rounded tip, little pearls of juice beading on the tight, hot skin. She would lick them off and then chomp right down into the meat.

She thought of fruit, heavy and ripe in her hands as she sucked on the wet, slick flesh. Peaches would be nice. Quivering cones of snow white frozen yogurt sounded good too. Her tongue darted out to catch the saliva escaping over her plump bottom lip.

On the way to the tiny kitchen she caught sight of her dimpled derriere in the mirror. Which, of course, she could clearly see outlined by her almost transparent chemise. She made an abrupt bypass of the kitchen. Maybe she could forget this hunger clawing at her belly if she fell asleep. It was a familiar feeling, this burgeoning need, deep and pulsing within her loins. Fruit juice diets do that to you. Especially prune juice.

She was certainly tired. Maureen thought of the satisfaction she felt when she reached the peak of her desire today. For six months she had struggled to conquer the ridges of stone behind her cabin, longing for that rush of sweet exhilaration she knew would come when she reached the rugged peaks. Today her desires were fulfilled. It was quite a feat, to come so high up. As she spread her legs wide and reached her arms over her head in jubilation upon that mountain top, arching her back (carefully, of course) for joy, she had screamed in satisfaction.

“Probably scared the mountain goats clean outta their horns!” she chuckled. She would never forget how that felt. Standing there with the steepled rock thrusting up between her wide spread legs, nothing but sky above her. It had been a hard days climb, and inserting the rods of steel that supported her harness into the crevices and cracks of the mountain had taken their toll. Muscles throbbed in places she didn’t know she had them. Yes, bed sounded better and better.

Maureen flung herself facedown on the coverlet, and promptly thrust her butt straight up in the air. Then she pushed up on her forearms and looked down. Her breasts had pebbles on them! And there were rocks rubbing the sensitive skin of her exposed thighs! Quickly jumping up she pulled the blankets off the bed, shaking them savagely. Well, she admonished herself, that’ll teach me to fling my boots just anywhere!

Now that she had pebbles and bits of dirt clinging to her once spotlessly white sheath chemise, Maureen needed a bath. Bath, and then bed, a rock-less bed, she thought.

As steam rose from the tub, Maureen gently eased into the slick wetness. She sighed and leaned back against the smooth hard surface of coated steel. Her eyes closed. Then, as she heard a drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, her eyes popped back open. She surveyed the tangle of metal pipes exposed under the nearby sink. At the junction of one long, glistening steel rod into it’s matching orifice, telling moisture seeped from the seam.

“Oh, darn!” Maureen said. “I’ll hafta call the plumber tomorrow.” Then she thought. . . hope he brings the right tool. . . and grinned.

And with that last thought, Maureen drifted off into the dreamy, steamy place known as her imagination.

(Needless to say, there were a lot of hard thrusting protrusions there, not to mention all those things that are soft, deliciously slick and creamy!)[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Purple Prose as written by AAR Reviewer Anne M. Marble” open=”no”]Purple Prose as written by AAR Reviewer Anne M. Marble, as a “uhm, tribute to a certain type of romance. The ones with a so-called hero who thinks the worst of the heroine, and a heroine who is too naïve to be believed. I’ve also made this into my tribute to headhopping, a subject near and dear to my heart.”

Jane stood near the fire in Rafe’s study, clutching her reticule to her heaving bosom. Goodness, why were Rafe’s eyes burning through her very soul? And why did his trousers suddenly seem tighter in the front? There was some sort of strange bulge in the front of his trousers. What could that item be? And what a strange place to put a pocket! Oh, well. There was so much about men she didn’t know. Her voice aquiver, she asked, “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Oh, you know very well, you darling slut,” Rafe said through clenched teeth. Once again, he thought of his mother, who had fornicated with several members of the House of Lords. And his devious departed wife, who had created an even greater slur upon his family name by sleeping with members of the House of Commons. Now where was he? Oh, yes. Speaking to that tramp in front of him. “You’re no innocent, no matter what airs you put on. After all, I’ve seen the way you look at Lord Tilden. And the Earl of Hampton. And the Duke of Earl. You sweet, sweet harlot.”

Her grasp tightened on her reticule. Whatever did he mean? She wished her parents, well meaning though they were, had taught about more about this frightening world outside the vicarage. Why was he calling her those odd names? Following some deep instinct that was somehow, well, instinctual, she folded her arms in front of her chest. Jane didn’t know why she did that. After all, it wasn’t as if men liked a woman with a large bosom like hers. Why did she think she had to hide her heaving bosom from his seeking eyes?

“Playing innocent again? How cute,” Rafe hissed. Blast it, did she have to block his view of those creamy orbs with her arms, however lovely those limbs were to his jaded eyes? He took his calloused hand – or was that his callused hand? He never could get that one right – ran his fingers up and down the silk of her dress, imagining her were caressing her smooth naked flesh. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

Jane shuddered, although it was far from cold, as she was so near the flickering, glowing fire. A strange, foreign, terrible, wonderful thought came to her confused mind. How would it feel if he caressed her smooth naked flesh with those strong, callused hands? And how had he gotten all those calluses, anyway? He was from a wealthy family, so it wasn’t as if he spent much time toiling in drudgery.

“I see you like this after all. So I was right about you all along!” In some deep recess of his mind, he had dared hope that she was innocent after all, but when she shuddered at his touch, he knew she had to be yet another lightskirt. “You’ll pay for leading me on.”

What was she leading him on to? Jane didn’t get a chance to ask, for suddenly, Rafe nudged her reticule aside and slid his hands underneath her arms. His searching fingers slithered to her breasts. His diligent digits stroked, fondled, petted, and when he found her nipples. He played with the tiny buttons as if they were tiddlywinks. Jane’s eyes widened in shock as her body caught fire with a million tiny flickers of delight. Goodness. No wonder her parents had never taught her about this. If she’d known touching her breasts could make her body sing with joy, she would ever have gotten her schoolwork done.

Rafe’s mouth curled into a sneer – he had trained it to do that. “So all your lies are revealed for the untruths they are. You know what I’m doing, and you know what’s coming next.”

Oh, if only she did know! Soon, his pillaging mouth was covering her mouth. And his pillaging tongue was sliding around her mouth. How strange, yet how marvelous the sensation. She tried to comment on the unusual style of contact, but it was hard to do so while his tongue was running up and down her tonsils.

Rafe heard her muffled words as he kissed her thoroughly, and damply. He couldn’t make the words out. No doubt she was admitting to her lewdness and begging him to keep going. Well, naturally, he would just have to accommodate her, even if she was just like his devious departed wife. He lowered Jane to the ground, and she didn’t even protest. Yet another sure sign that he was right – she was a hussy indeed.

Jane remained quiet as Rafe bent her knees and pulled up her skirts. Whatever did Rafe intend to do next? Surely it would feel just as marvelous as whatever it was he had been doing to her breasts! She wondered why Rafe was unbuttoning his trousers. And what would emerge from his trousers but the most amazing thing. A shaft of flesh, the likes of which she had never seen before, dangled between his legs. It was as if he had another limb altogether. Did all men have one of those? Even her father? She stared at it in amazement.

“I see the way you’re looking at my member,” he said accusingly.

Member of what? she thought. I didn’t know he belonged to any clubs. But she continued to stare at the thickening staff, wondering about its purpose.

Rafe knelt between her legs, his eyes bearing a strange, cruel glow as he crowed, “I’ll bet you know what this is for!”

Before Jane could reply, he plunged the staff into her secret tunnel. She felt a sharp pain, a rending, a tearing, a twinge of agony. Ouch! Ow! Ooo! Oh, why hadn’t her parents taught her any decent swear words, blast it?! But then, miraculously, the pain metamorphosed into pleasure-pain. Oh, oh, oh. She saw a speck of ecstatic fire looming in the horizon of her vision. Amazing! What other worldly treasures would he help her seek?

Rafe groaned in agony and frustration. He was awash in a river of denial. He heard himself crying out in betrayal, “You strumpet! You really were a virgin all along! How dare you fool me like that, you Jezebel?” With that, he withdrew his love sword from her shimmering sheath.

How dare he stop just when it had gotten interesting?! Jane hit him on the head with her reticule.[/fusion_toggle][fusion_toggle title=”Purple Waves of Rapturous Passion” open=”no”]

Purple Prose as written by Karen Carlini:

Purple Waves of Rapturous Passion
As she waltzed around in her underwear, Sergeant Major Doctor Bambi Breastly paused, wisely choosing to defend herself with a letter opener rather than her Glock, from the person she knew was near. She knew, although she was 4’9, she could handle anything that came her way.

At least, until he stepped into the moonlight pooling on her floor and undoubtedly leaking through the floorboards. The silver moonlight spilled over his powerful form, clad solely in a revealing pair of black swim trunks, that could not hide his fierce erection.

“Lance Wellfavored! What are you doing here?” she gasped in surprise, breathless, the creamy mounds of her breasts heaving and straining dangerously in her simple black lace bra, which matched the lacy panties and garter belt she had chosen to wear to bed tonight on a whim.

“You are my destined mate, or at least fated to be a hot love monkey of unbridled lust with me here tonight, in the sacred rituals of my people!” he replied, stepping closer to her, his long, sleek muscles rippling beneath his shirt like an epileptic panther. And this time, he swore darkly to himself, as his manly brows crinkled with the effort of thinking when aroused, he meant it. It wouldn’t be like all the other women, or the unfortunate incident of the shapely sheep. He still couldn’t look at lamb chops without remembering. . . He gathered the thin, curvaceous beauty into his arms and kisses her petal-pink, pouty lips passionately, claiming her fiercely with the hard movement of his mouth on hers, and the feel of his massive staff against her stomach.

“Oh, Lance, that doesn’t sound quite right! There’s a psycho on the loose and we’ve got family in a room nearby!” Bambi gasped, pressing her soft curves against him helplessly, her elegant hands fluttering around him to hold him against her. Her sweet, though vacant eyes, one cerulean blue like the summer skies, and the other the dreamy jade green stared up at him.

As his passion roared in his ears like a might blaze, or he lost all blood to his brain, his turgescent staff swelled further. Lance conquered her mouth boldly with his own, invading the strawberry and garlic sweetness of her mouth with his tongue, teasing her to open further to him. Her lean thighs rubbed mindlessly against his muscular thigh.

Her eyes darkened with passion, and she leaned against him further, all thought of protest gone for the moment. She didn’t even notice the slight clang as she dropped her letter opener.

He caressed the heaving ivory of one breast above the lace, and then gently cupped each breast in his hands, lifting and kneading the high, perky, yet heavy weights. His smoldering gaze rose to her as she panted, and pleaded for him to touch her, and he suddenly flung himself away from her.

Stretched beyond endurance, her bra broke, and flew across the room, ricocheting off a wall and zooming back like a deadly Victoria’s secret chakram, when he shoved her out of the way and it winged out the open window. The psychotic killer incapable of thinking in complete sentences or in anything other than the color of blood cried out as it wrapped around his neck, and fell off the ladder he had been climbing. A white silk chasuble fluttered slowly down to rest across his sightless eyes at the bottom of the ladder. Ignorant of this, Bambi threw herself into Lance’s arms.

“You saved my life! I love you!” she cried out passionately, the exposed and naked flesh of her lush curves pressing against his warm masculine skin. Her delicate hands pressed against the unmistakable bulge in his trunks, and he thought he would explode right then in the red tides of passion. He touched her rose-pink nipples, and began to squeeze, kiss, suck, nibble, and aerobicize her sumptuous breasts, three sizes larger now freed of her lingerie.

“You’re such a hottie!” he moaned, and then, “Yes, I want you now before I lose my mind! I can wait no longer! I will abandon all of my plans for revenge, but I must have you now!” he cried out like a boy with his first woman. The unmistakable sound of metal against metal, his zipper, and then their soft curses as they realized he just unzipped his pocket filled the air. Impatient, he reached out to the wet scrap of lace between her legs, and ripped away the last barrier to her inviting secret place. The moist petals of her woman’s love zone called to him, and he plunged his fingers inside, testing her, feeling her tightness, all thought lost other than the rapture in her arms, distilled down to the essence: Cool.

She pulled down his shorts, not bothering with the zipper, lost in the tumultuous need to have him within the place that ached between her legs, to satisfy the breathless craving. Tremulously, she raised her eyes to meet his dark, shadowed eyes, alight with a joy she knew he would find only with her. He pressed her back, against a small bedside, and in a single fluid move, impaled her on his man’s spear. As he thrust his huge manhood into her warm femininity, reveling in her tight passage, he cried out harshly in triumph, his cries met by her answering, joyous moans. . .

Turning away from the keyhole, Dotty Ant, Lance’s relative, elbowed Bambi’s father.

“Quit eavesdropping,” she said, wiggling her walker at him provocatively, “we both knew they’d do it.”

The old man nodded, his eyes drifting over to the woman’s impressive cleavage which hung to her knees. Noting the direction of his burning gaze, she laughed coyly.

“Like what you see, do you, old man? There’s plenty of me if you’re fast enough!” she said, opening her flowered housecoat and flashing him with the creamy pale beauty of her senior citizen charms. As he stared, dumbstruck, or perhaps testing his pacemaker, she clumped off, moving her walker spryly.

W.A.Keydad whistled appreciatively and popped a wheelie in his wheelchair, and then motored off down the hall after the sultry, blue-haired beauty.[/fusion_toggle][/fusion_accordion]

 histbutIssue #77 of Laurie’s News & Views – details of the contest’s outcome and reader response

histbutIndex for Laurie’s News & Views (Check the index for “silly sex”/”purple prose”)

histbutFerri Tales – There’s plenty of purple prose here! (And a return link to the PPP section as well)