Sapphic
Smut: Tales of Lesbian Lust Out Now!
Blurb:
Light hearted, sexy Sapphic smut is the
theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Lucy Felthouse with assistance from
Kev ‘Mitnik’ Blisse.
From coffee shops to exotic Indian
adventures to cosy cabins in France, Sapphic Smut has it all. Fun with sugar,
naughty spankings, seductions by strangers, seductions by friends, cougars and
even a twist on a fairy tale abound in this exciting collection of lesbian
stories from erotica’s finest authors.
This delicious girl-on-girl anthology
contains stories from Lucy Felthouse, Kay Jaybee, Louisa Bacio, Sallyanne
Rogers, Vanessa de Sade, Tabitha Rayne and Elizabeth Coldwell.
Amazon: http://mybook.to/sapphicsmut
Editor’s Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/lucyfelthousewriter
Excerpt:
Alana really
couldn’t believe how flat Holland was. She’d been told by many people, but
somehow, she still wasn’t expecting a place that made Cambridgeshire look like
the Peak District. Her view from the train as she travelled from Schiphol
airport to Amsterdam’s Centraal Station was unimpeded. Not so much as a hillock
was visible.
And now, here she
was, standing outside the station with crowds milling around her. A mixture of
tourists, businesspeople and natives. She herself was a combination of two of
those groups—she was here on business, but she’d deliberately extended her trip
so she could spend a couple of days exploring the city. She had a day either
side of her meeting, the boring part a filling to a sightseeing sandwich.
Though, despite the boring tag, the meeting definitely wasn’t a bad thing, it
was an appointment to cross the ts and dot the is on a very lucrative
deal—certainly the trip was worthwhile.
After watching
the insanity for another minute or so, she began to head away from the station,
wheeling her small case along with her. Already armed with a guidebook and a
decent map, she knew where she was going. Her map-reading skills were
excellent, and she made the short walk to her hotel in less than twenty
minutes. Anywhere else, she’d have gotten a cab, but it appeared they were a
rare commodity in this city.
She’d checked in,
dumped her bags and freshened up within another ten minutes, and was back on
the street.
An online
acquaintance had sent her a bunch of information for her trip—about the best
museums, interesting things to see that might not be in guidebooks, and details
on transport. It appeared that Amsterdam was unlike London, Paris and Rome, in
as much as it had trams as its preferred mode of transport, rather than
underground trains. Only one Metro line ran through the city, north-to-south.
Everywhere else was utterly dependent on trams, bikes and being on foot.
And fuck, there
were a lot of bikes. They zipped here, there and everywhere, not always staying
where they were supposed to be, it seemed. The slim Dutch people atop the bikes
were oblivious, just concentrating on getting where they were going.
Alana searched
for the nearest tram stop, and quickly discovered she needed to be on the other
side of the road to head in the right direction.
Crossing the road
was a chore in itself. A dice with death. She’d thought Rome’s motorists were
insane, but at least they were fairly predictable. Here, she was faced with
crossing a road that held a cycle path, a tram line and a lane for cars.
Shifting down the pavement, she stood at the conveniently placed crossing. It
still didn’t make things much easier, but at least she could mingle in with the
crowd. Traffic was much more likely to stop if it was going to hit a crowd of
people than a single pedestrian. Right?
By some miracle,
she reached the opposite pavement unscathed—except for her nerves, which were
shot—and approached the tram stop. As if by magic, a tram arrived, and it was
the correct number. Things were looking up.
After a few
minutes, she realised that public transport in Amsterdam was nowhere near as
easy to navigate as in the other major cities she was familiar with. There,
their Tube or Metro stations always had plenty of large, unmissable signs
telling you where you were. Piccadilly Circus, Anvers, Piramide. Here, it
seemed you were left to your own devices. There were announcements on board the
tram, but they were in Dutch—a language which she knew very little
of—incredibly muffled, and pretty much drowned out by the sound of the tram’s
motion and its passengers.
Lucy Felthouse
Writer Marketing Services
No comments:
Post a Comment