Tuesday, December 27, 2011
This morning, right off of a long stint of reading Ursula K. Le Guin's "The Left Hand of Darkness", I finally got to crack open the wonder that is "EQUILIBRIUM", and devoured it in three hours. Yes, it's shorter than a lot of books--but who ever said that had to be a downside? Within those 108 pages, you'll find not only a strong, worthwhile romance, but panic, laughs, and those little prickly tears that never quite fall.
And there's the sex. We can't forget the sex.
The characters draw you in: you will want Hansen and Sam to hook up, and not just physically (the author leaves us not wanting any more of that--there's plenty of 'hooking up' to be had in this story). You want them to get together, and you'll have your pitchfork at the ready in case they don't.
The world and the science of the superhuman power don't, as those sorts of things have a tendency to do, overpower anything. It's subtle, wielded like a painter would chartreuse--just enough to make it bright, but not a chartreuse canvas. Of course, she includes it in the sweaty, salty, salacious scenes as well--a bite of lightning, warm hands 'down there'--but, in what is easily my favorite image of the entire book, an image that will stick with me for a long time, I believe, is Sam covered in thin streaks of lightning, just releasing it in the backyard. It's a delicious scene.
Now, I may not be able to sway you (though I hope I can), but I have been swayed, and bow at the Altar of Katey (not really, but I love melodrama!). If you still have doubts, you can check out her website, Superpowered Love. Still not convinced? Look at her Free Reads (Jealousy and The Best Gift Ever), both set in the same world (and relationship) as Equilibrium. If you still persist in your lack of faith, head over to the Equilibrium Page or, if you have been swayed, snag a copy at the Loose Id Store.
Friday, December 23, 2011
And so we begin.
Writing 'kinky' fiction is, in point of fact, a different art than writing your basic (contemporary) graphic romance. Maybe not as different as, say, a spaghetti western and literary bizzaro, but as different as science fiction and fantasy. In science fiction, you blow things up with antimatter, and in fantasy you wave your wand and it explodes. The same is true here. In contemporary erotic fiction, the characters get off the 'old-fashioned' way. In kinky fiction, they get off through spanking, latex, leather, ropes, hot wax, and all variety of more and less risky or generally accepted activities.
As with anything, you need to show a respect. You might think you know about bondage play, but do you actually know, or are you getting into it on too shallow of a level. Yes, the R-word--research. Talk to people, read, and, if you're daring enough, give it a go yourself.
There is an inherent warning here: kinky fiction limits your reader demographic, and could completely cut certain people out of it. That being said, who cares? You shouldn't be writing erotic fiction with that in mind anyway.
So, I want to issue a challenge: research kink you may (or may not) know about, and write something from it. You never know what you'll hit.
Also, as a sort of aside, I'll be launching myself into a little skiff of writing myself, all on this blog, and all for you.
Happy holidays, everybody.
Raven de Hart
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Before I continue, I first must say this: happy holidays!
Now for the news: I have become a bit of a submiting snowstorm in this wintery, cold climate. My work has been sent off to be examined for Roboterotica here and for Ravenous Romance's Geek Love anthology. I also plan to write my little old heart out for Under the Cape, also through Ravenous Romance.
Don't think I've forgotten you, though--I have a Christmas miracle planned for each and every lovely follower of mine, both here and on de Hart's List.
I can't give away every secret--I would be out of this business if I did--it is in my nature to tease and tantalize you.
- You will get three things for the price of none.
- These three things wil get you through the cold, sexless winter.
- These three things will have a specific theme drawing them all together.
May your days vbe filled with only the sexiest men of the highest libido--that's what I ask Santa for every year, after all,
Raven de Hart
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
What can you expect? Photography to tease your sensibilities, seeds to sprout your sensual stories, books to read, products to purchase, tales to tantalize your titillation, and a few more surprises on top of that. Of course, I'll be doing my part, but we really have Nova Chalmers, Ann Gem, and Blyth Nyx to thank for this wonderful world of whoopee.
You might also see some extras just for you in your inbox, so be warned--they might not all be appropriate for young (or parental (or spousal)) eyes.
Happy Holidays, my lovelies,
Raven de Hart
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The real world, my darlings. Thanks to a lovely little spark of inspiration, my other projects have been shoved to the side in favor of a somewhat frightening, but quite exciting opportunity to toss my name into the real world of publishing. I cannot say for certain that I will make it into this lovely anthology, considering I must struggle just to finish writing it in time for the submission deadline, but it is my first attempt. It could fail miserably, or be a smashing, sensual success.
Another trip into the real world may also be in my—and your—future. No, I fear I cannot travel too far from my home to visit you all—my condition as of right now is not the best it could be—but I can—and very well may—be starting in on a new project, one which you can immediately access, once it has been formed.
That's all I can say on the matter, my loves. Mum's the word on some things, and this is—for now—one of those things.
What I can do is introduce you to a fellow scribbler of sexual sensibilities, a teller of tantalizing tales, and a fabricator of fornicating fantasies: Katey Hawthorne. She offers all of the world a free taste of her literary lasciviousness through Smashwords, and I quite recommend that you read it. If your tastes are in line with my own—I hope they are—you will likely find that it hooks you. Maybe, come the future times for your little Raven, I can convince her to pay us a visit here.
Raven de Hart
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Fear not, though--I have a draft for my next tittilating tale sitting in the works, slowly but surely being edited. My next erotic release will come soon, I promise--mid-December, at the lastest.
Now, I must away...I have a...client waiting in the wings for me.
Raven de Hart
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Also, in the way of projects, I have a small, secretive something I am working on as we speak, but I can't go into details. After all, my skills are with a quill and with a man, not with computer programming. I'll let you know how it turns out.
Forever and a day,
Raven de Hart
Monday, September 5, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
What do you call that pesky, albeit lovely..."fleshy pagoda of expandable joy"? Obviously you shouldn't call it a "fleshy pagoda of expandable joy"...unless the situation calls for such extravagance. No, it all depends on your story, your characters, your setting, your style, and your own preference. I warn you now I must break decorum to give this lesson, so if you find yourself easily offended by vulgarities within an instructive non-fiction piece, I urge you not to read on.
Now, for those of you lovely, excited people out there, I welcome you to a discussion of manhood. As I said above, it depends on five things just which term you use for that oh so important part of the body.
STORY: Is your story lightweight, or is it a true heavy-hitter. In softcore erotica, it is recommended, at least by yours truly, that you avoid, forgive my language, words like dick, cock, or any other such pwerful terminology. Hardcore erotica, on the other hand, is much more open to that sort of language.
CHARACTER: Perhaps you have written an innocent character into your ertica, a character that is quite uncomfortable with said vulgarities, may resort to more subtle terms, such as growth, manhood, et cetera. A character may, you'll find, also just have a preference for one term or the other.
SETTING: This is simple. A medeival knight would not refer to his cock so, unless you are using an omniscient narrator signified as having been from the future, resort to other terms. Manhood, maybe even saber if you want to go into a more retro style of writing harkening to the eighties. You may also find a prince or other royal not using such vulgarities.
STYLE: This is purely your own. I have recently written a story for the Kitten Knights set in a very fable-like style. Naturally, I could not throw around dicks and cocks as thought it was one of my royal orgies (which I shall regale you with at another date, I assure you). Sufice it to say, there was much manhood, and a few snakes, in that tale.
PREFERENCE: This is even more your own than style, I daresay. There are words I simply despise, among them the greatest offense to taint our noble genre: schlong. It disgust me when I see this word in erotica, no matter the sitation--excluding comic erotica or comic relief. The other I avoid like the plague: member.
Apart from that, there are a handful of things to remember when referring to manhood:
It is not a man teat, no matter how much you have used the word dick throughout the rest of the story. No man teats, especially if they are quivering.
In general, it is not a penis, but that can be let slide given the correct situation, such as a doctor's office or, again, for comic relief or the like. Do not use that during sex, however, unless very sure of its rightness.
Lastly, if your man's dangling bit must be referred to as a sword or a saber, never "plunge it into a forge of passion." Ever.
Thank you for going this far. May these lessons serve you well.
Raven de Hart
Thursday, August 25, 2011
As I promised, I am here to direct you to the glory of "The Reunion"
This tale, while I can make no promises to this, I would not be surprised if more chapters in this saga appeared through my quill.
Joy to you all,
Raven de Hart
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
I bring news. As of yesterday, on that most glorious of days, I am a knight. While it would normally be beneath me to take on such a menial task, I am willing to take the slings and arrows of fate for this order of knights.
The Kitten Knights are those who I speak of, founded by Blyth Nyx, Nova Chalmers, and Ann Gem.
What does this mean? One thing, of course--the gospel of de Hart shall be spread further still! Wine for all!
On top of this--yes, thre is even more--I ahve spread my ventures to Smashwords, beginning with "House Arrest. While I lament the death of the stories in their blog format, we must evolve or perish, no? They will no longer be presented here, I am afraid, but fear not--they can be found on Smashwords with little to no difficulty--I will post links.
So you can see where I have fallen just slightly behind, no?
To my work, then,
Raven de Hart
Monday, August 15, 2011
I shall make it up to you. I plan to lock all my subjects and suitors from my chambers until I can produce two new tales for you to fill these scrolls. I can only hope it shall be enough.
For those of you that are still with me, you should know that the trip to SpoCon did not dissapoint after the first day. Many and many more men were thrown out at me, so much that I could not hope to keep up with the onslaught. I rather enjoyed that onslaught, however, so no harm done.
As a small tease, allow me to provide you with a concept I plan to realize before the week is out:
We all have crushes in our school days, that is a given. What should happen if, after ten years, the class reunion becomes the time when these feelings are finally made known?
I beseech you to forgive me,
Raven de Hart
Saturday, August 13, 2011
I have seen plenty of fodder here. While I don't feel comfortable posting any of their pictures here, I'm afraid, I can give you my assurance that they are unique and each lovely.
I also found a lovely fantastic pair of panels about paramore and adult themes, all for you, of course.
Now, I return to this lovely bit of the world, since I've only pulled myself out of the sea of ecstasy long enough to address you momentarily. Forgive my brashness.
Raven de Hart
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
I am scheduled to make a journey to a festival called SpoCon, wherein the area's brightest scientists, bards, story-tellers, and artists conjoin in the frivolity of life.
Now, while this focuses on the myths and the art of the future, this festival also draws in numerous people, many of whom I am sure I can draw my specific sort of inspiration from. Yes, I take this journey for you, my people, to imporve my craft and improve my tales.
I may also seek out the local, how shall I say, 'loose men' of the area to gain still more, shall we say, 'first hand' experience.
I leave you with this image, in the hopes that it might carry you through to the next scroll:
Cloth wrappings, shorn and sheared and tossed aside, lit by licks of flame.
Raven de Hart
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
My kingdom--our kingdom--has recently experienced an influx of new immigrants. Huzzah!
So, while the air of celebration is still about, I feel I should encourage you all, for it seems so wrong to live in my tales alone.
I pass unto you an inspiration from the muses, for that, I believe is the way it was meant to be. I have held onto this lovely idea for years, and I ralize now I should ahve released it to my able and willing subjects for them to explore, for them to succeed where I, alas, could not.
Go buy a cinnamon roll. Or make one. Whatever it takes, just make sure it has the icing on top. Sniff it. Feel the icing, finally, taste it. Let the glory consume you.
Happy writing, my dears,
Raven de Hart
Monday, August 8, 2011
Raven de Hart
“Don’t worry about anything, Mrs. James. I’m a professional.” The woman, luggage in hand, still didn’t look convinced, but Levi needed this job. There wasn’t a whole lot of need for a personal guard in the suburbs, so he had to jump on any job that came his way—even if it was just some brat on house arrest. Levi led her to the door before she had any more time to change her mind, “Trust me, he’ll be fine. I can handle whatever he throws my way. Go on your vacation and relax.”
“O-Okay.” He moved behind her to make sure she couldn’t turn back into the house without going straight through him, “Just remember that he can’t go past the edges of the yard and he’s not allowed to watch TV or get on the computer or play video games or—“
“Relax,” he laughed. “Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
She still didn’t look reassured and he had a suspicion as to why, “Aren’t you a little, well young?”
He did his level best to hide his annoyance, though he didn’t know how well it worked. As long as he could remember, people had told him he looked too young. He knew he had a baby face, but it didn’t do him any good to be constantly reminded of it, “I’m twenty-eight. Please, put some faith in me, Mrs. James.”
She sighed, dropped her shoulders, and smiled at him, “All right. You’re the professional. My cell phone number is on the fridge if anything goes wrong.” She hesitated again, staring into the house behind Levi and shaking her head, “Maybe I do need to go on a vacation.”
She finally turned around, got in her car, and drove out of sight, “Thank God.” She made him uncomfortable. Then again, so did most women. He closed the door, turning the lock on the deadbolt, and went back into the living room, “Your mother’s gone, so you can relax.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I am relaxed.”
Levi had to admit that he looked decently relaxed. He was on the couch, shirtless, and scratching himself without a hint of discretion. Normally, Levi would have agreed, but he knew better. At least, he thought he knew better, “I know you’re just putting on a show for your mom, trying to look like you don’t give a damn, but I’m not buying it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Fine.” He wasn’t sure exactly what this ploy would win him, but it couldn’t hurt to put him in his place. He slipped out of his shirt and tossed it on the floor. He realized soon after that it wasn’t his best move. The room didn’t feel cold—if you were wearing clothes. Maybe a minute after he tossed aside the T-shirt, his nipples hardened. Still, he had to continue with it—anything to show Tyson he was no longer in charge, “Well you can’t very well relax wearing jeans.”
He saw the hesitation pass across Tyson’s face, darkening his brown eyes almost to black, but he definitely had the balls to play this game with him, “You’re right.” He stood up and pulled the denim down. Levi wished he wouldn’t have, “What, you didn’t go commando when you were my age?”
He struggled a little to pull his pants over the ankle bracelet, but before too long, Tyson was naked and back on the couch. There was no longer any mystery as to just what he was scratching. Levi cocked his head, hoping the young man didn’t notice he was just stalling for time, “How old are you?”
“And you’re only on house arrest?”
He snickered, “They took pity on me because it was my first offense.” He snorted, “I’m sure glad I never got caught in high school.” He eyed Levi and the redhead’s heart jumped a little. He patted the couch, “Well, take a load off. It’s not like I’m going anywhere any time soon.”
After a few moments of hard consideration, he sat down on the rough fabric, making sure to put a good six inches between himself and Tyson, “You seem to be handling house arrest fairly well.”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt to have a pretty cell mate like you.”
Whoa. Was he flirting or just keeping up his act? Levi didn’t ask, but he figure it couldn’t hurt to try and probe a little more, “What, are you going to make me your bitch now that you’re in prison?”
He spread his legs out in response, brushing his knee against Levi’s. A shiver of cold excitement snaked up his spine, but he stifled it, “I won’t say no, but I’d pay close attention from now on.”
He couldn’t, could he? No, that would be unprofessional. Then again, he crossed the line of professionalism as soon as he told Tyson to take off his jeans, right? What was one more step? The whole time they sat there, hours, it seemed, Levi batted those questions back and forth in his head. A part of him wanted to throw all caution to the wind and have at it—and that was a part he’d neglected in the past few months. The logical part knew what the ‘right’ thing was, but he couldn’t shake that tiny voice: you need to let loose. He started to strain against the denim of his jeans as his lust grew. He doubted Tyson would notice unless he tried to readjust it, but that’s what every synapse shrieked him to do. Instead, he could only sit there in ever-growing worry, ever-increasing desire. He had to say something—however long he’d been sitting like this, that much silence would raise anyone’s eyebrows, “Aren’t guards supposed to thoroughly search the prisoners?” While Levi worried, Tyson had already gotten off the couch and bent over the low coffee table. With his feet spread easily two-shoulder-widths apart, every bit of smooth skin was exposed. Levi’s whole body tightened up, “I might be carrying contraband.”
Keep it together. As long as he kept himself in control, Tyson would eventually quit this game and move on, right? He cleared his throat, but didn’t risk standing up, “You might be carrying contraband on house arrest?”
“Maybe I’ve got some weed up there.” He wasn’t even playing around the subject anymore, reaching a hand back and pulling the split open even wider, “Isn’t it your job to keep me from doing anything naughty?”
“No.” He had to struggle to keep his voice steady, “I’m getting paid to make sure you don’t get out of your ankle bracelet somehow. That’s it.”
“Come on, now,” he simpered. “I promise not to tell anyone, officer.”
It had taken him all of two seconds to lose control of the situation, and he didn’t see it coming back again anytime soon. His seven inches struggled, trying to claw its way forward. He felt the familiar ache down in the core of his being—if he didn’t take this calmly he’d end up pouncing on Tyson and having his way. He cleared his throat again and stood up, taking the time to readjust the rising snake in his jeans, “You’re acting pretty suspicious.” His mouth had gone dry, lips tacky and sticking together with every touch, “I’ll give you one chance to come clean about what you’ve got. If you don’t take it, I’ll report anything I find straight to the police.”
“It sounds like you want me to do your job for you.” Tyson shimmied himself as close to the edge of the table as possible without his hands slipping off, “Or are you worried you don’t know what to do?”
Not in the slightest, “All right, I gave you a chance. Where are the gloves?”
“We don’t have any.” He flexed the muscles of his entrance, contracting the tiny circle down to a nearly invisible dot, “I guess you’ll have to do it the old fashioned way.”
He swallowed hard, catching himself massaging his growing member, “Well, I’d tell you to bend over, but you seem to have taken care of that.” He knew it was only stalling, but some tiny voice of reason still tried to keep Levi from doing the inevitable—and it was looking more and more inevitable by the second, “I hope you know I won’t be able to just slide my finger in there, no problem.”
Tyson didn’t miss a beat, “I bet you’re resourceful enough to figure something out.”
He didn’t have another excuse to use, and the morally corrupt option had long since flown out the window. He knelt down, using Tyson’s back to help support him until he was on his knees, lungs filling with the pungent scent of sweat. He ran his hands along the tan lines of the young man’s hips, coming to the center and pulling the two muscles apart. They didn’t budge much, but he needed more time to brace himself for this. With one hand, he fumbled his zipper down and finally let himself fly loose. The colder than average air chilled the precum glistening on the tip of his shaft, sending another rush of sensation through his nerves. He wrapped his fingers around the rod, his face inching closer and closer to Tyson’s hole. He watched the muscles flex again, tightening and loosening. Levi’s whole palate filled with musk as he breathed in the scents and tastes. He parted his lips, no more than half an inch from the entrance now, and darted his tongue out, just brushing the skin. Saltiness covered his taste buds, the muscles pressing back against him. He dove at it this time, his face fully buried in between the two muscles. He ran his tongue around the crevice, licking up and down the milky flesh. Every time he passed over the hole, he considered finishing what he started, but whatever shred of a professional guard he had left in him at this point convinced him not to.
Apparently, somewhere in his self-love, he hit just the right nerve. A shockwave vibrated through his dick, breaking apart the knotted nerves in his belly, and short-circuited the inhibitors in his brain. Levi gathered up as much saliva as he could muster, all the while pressing his lips against the hole. He felt Tyson squirm, but he never seemed to want to get away. He squelched out the mouthful of spit, the liquid running cold down his chin. He’d stalled enough. His lips opened up just enough and he wriggled his tongue out. Tyson’s muscles tightened up to a barrier, but he kept massaging them with his tongue until they gave way and he made it inside.
Tyson had fantasized about rimming for as long as he knew it existed. He cruised the personals to find a guy that would be willing to do it for him, but always chickened out before it went any farther than dirty talk. In high school, he was always the one to suggest they all play truth or dare, a lot of times just to get to a point when he could dare one of the guys to go for it, but it always felt wrong to him.
As Levi’s tongue swirled and darted around inside of him, it no longer felt wrong. He did his best to avoid clenching down on the intruder as it meandered across the flesh, seemingly sampling every inch it could reach. It got to the point that he panted and whimpered, try as he might to avoid making any pathetic noises—he wanted to maintain control of the situation.
The thick muscle spiraled out of him slowly, but too soon. He wanted to keep it in him as long as possible, but that was one thing about this he absolutely couldn’t control. He found himself flexing his hole, some kind of involuntary reaction to the sudden emptiness, he guessed, “I think you’re lubricated enough.” He sort of wanted to argue the point with him, grunting the beginning of a ‘yes’, but it wasn’t long before the pressure against the tiny ring of muscles returned. With the slick saliva coating the flesh, it didn’t take any effort for the finger to slide into him. The pressure traced circles in his ass, twisting in and out in the process. When the pressure hit his prostate, Levi’s knuckles pressing against his spread cheeks, it wasn’t so much a whimper or a groan as a wheeze, deep and long like he’d just pumped the bellows of some long-neglected organ—which, in a way he had.
Levi’s finger trailed over that lump of flesh, trained on it like a hunting hawk, and Tyson continued to wheeze. The finger wormed its way out and he started to clench and unclench again, but it wasn’t more than a few seconds before something began to work its way into him again, a tighter fit than before, “I think you’re clean, but I have to make absolutely sure. It’s my job, right?” He kicked the two fingers around in Tyson’s hole, his knuckles ground up against the flesh again. The tightness caused a surge of icy pain to travel through him and he winced, his breaths drawing short. Soon after, he heard a change in the breathing coming from behind him. They grew louder and sharper and the pair of fingers working on him moved faster, thrusting deeper and harder until it started to hurt—a good hurt. On one of the backward draws, Levi pulled all the way out, his now free hand resting heavy on his ass. He could feel weight and pressure from the hand and heard Levi groan a little as he rose back to his feet. More weight came to rest on his hips. Levi didn’t say a word as he shimmied further up Tyson’s back, the hard cock resting along his spine. He felt the rough pounding as the redhead jacked himself off until the final, inhaled groan signaled the end. Warm cum splattered between Tyson’s shoulder blades, but cooled almost immediately. He counted the spurts—one, two, three, four—the fifth spray came with a shaking that traveled through both of them. As his dick grew soft, Levi slid off, leaving a thin trail of cold along Tyson’s back, “I guess you weren’t carrying anything in there after all, were you?”
Spent, he flopped back on the couch, his erection showing no signs of dropping down yet, “You were right. My bad.”
Friday, August 5, 2011
I am Raven de Hart, the Weaver of Dreams. Forbidden dreams, to be more precise. The sultriest forays into the taboo are mine for the picking, and pick I do, weaving them into a particular type of story.
In my absence from this throne, things have changed, both in me and in the world. Therefore I have opened my doors to you all so that you may sit in the spledor of my throne room, my sanctum, and drink of my wine. Partake of all that is here, for I can find plentiful more. Read the scrolls I hand around the room, for this is the reason we have truly come together. Bawdy, salacious, tantalizing tales to arouse your...curiosities.
I hope you will stay with me long,
Raven de Hart