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Seven Deadly Sins
     

Seven Deadly Sins

by K. D. Grace, Rebecca Bond, Victoria Blisse, Lily Harlem, Lexie Bay
 

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Seven Deadly Sins provides a unique twist on a very popular theme. An illustrated collection of tales based on the seven vices, written by seven sinful sirens and salaciously illustrated by John LaChatte!

Overview


Seven Deadly Sins provides a unique twist on a very popular theme. An illustrated collection of tales based on the seven vices, written by seven sinful sirens and salaciously illustrated by John LaChatte!

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781909181083
Publisher:
Sweetmeats Press
Publication date:
12/07/2012
Series:
Seven Deadly Sins (Sweetmeats Press) Series
Pages:
346
Product dimensions:
5.10(w) x 7.70(h) x 1.10(d)

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

Seven Deadly Sins


By Kojo Black, John LaChatte

Sweetmeats Press

Copyright © 2014 Sweetmeats Press
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-909181-08-3



CHAPTER 1

Aphrodite Gets a Piece of the Action

* * *

Jack Calendar hoicked himself up into the sturdy branches of the oak tree for the third night in a row. Christ, was he out of his fucking mind? He fought his way through the thick summer foliage that slapped at his face and scratched his arms. With a move that was less than graceful, and dangerously close to costing him the family jewels, he straddled a nice thick branch, leaned back against the rough bark of the trunk and settled in for the show.

It didn't take long. Almost as if she had waited for him to assume the position, the gorgeous blonde, whose antics he'd been watching the past two nights, arrived. Tonight she wore a black leather mini with a matching halter top that cupped those luscious tits of hers like a groping pair of hands. He flexed his fingers in empathy. Tonight Blondie — that's what he called her in his head when he thought about her — and he thought about her a lot. Tonight Blondie was accompanied by a stunning women with skin the colour of mocha. Her hair was jet black and cropped short. The chick wore nothing but a very long string of pearls knotted at her throat, which Blondie used as a leash. Jack couldn't help thinking that Blondie's pet looked and moved like a sleek dark cat. Every muscle was a delicate balance of tension and release, tension and release, and at the forefront, taut high tits with chocolate truffle nipples, led the way. The thought made his mouth water, and he fumbled and shoved at his track bottoms to release his cock and get a grip.

Blondie led the chick to the edge of a plush chaise longue. And dear God in heaven, it was right in front of the window, almost as though she had arranged it centre stage for Jack's viewing pleasure. She ran a hand over Cat Woman's tight little titties and down her belly. Her dark eyelids fluttered in response. Jack could almost swear he heard her whimper as Blondie examined her naked pussy, slipping two fingers into that luscious pout and swirling them, all the while worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, almost as though she were testing bathwater before she sank in deep. Then she withdrew her fingers, brought them to her nose and inhaled Cat Woman's scent before her tongue lapped off the wetness that glistened in the incandescent lighting, lighting that seemed way too bright for the sexy encounter that Jack anticipated. With a flick of her wrist, she motioned to Cat Woman, who knelt expectantly on the floor in front of the chaise longue.

Then, just before she seated herself, Blondie eased the hem of the skirt up until her own succulent pink cunt made an appearance in the limelight. Jack's balls surged with the weight of his lust, lust so heavy that he was amazed it hadn't broken the branch on which he sat.

Once Blondie was positioned with her legs wide apart and her pussy gaping at Jack like a hungry mouth, she gathered Cat Woman's pearl leash and pulled her face close. The disappearing view of Blondie's puss was replaced by the pleasing sight of Cat Woman's whole split, from the gripping bud of her asshole to the heavily sheened pout of her cunt. It wasn't hard for Jack to imagine sidling up behind her little round ass, hunched so high in the air like it was, and shoving right in to her tight grip, shoving right in and riding her deep and hard while he leaned over to release Blondie's heavy tits and give them a good fondling. Oh yes. He could imagine that alright.

He really didn't need to make an effort to hold it, to make it last. He knew that Blondie was just getting started. No doubt, Cat Woman would only be the first act. The last two nights had been a regular orgy at Blondie's place, and Jack was so fucking greedy that he'd stayed on for the whole show, or at least until he'd had to leave and go to work.

The thing was, he'd always had a high libido. He masturbated ... well he masturbated a lot! There were no women in his life. That would have required him making some effort to actually meet someone. Aside from the fact that he was perpetually shy where women were concerned, he'd be the first to admit he was too lazy to make the effort, but he could live with that. He'd never claimed to be ambitious. Still, he supposed it was a bit strange. He was a consultant, working for himself. He practically lived online, and yet he spent none of that time on the porn sites or in chat rooms. None of them could do for him what his imagination could, at least not until he had, completely by accident, discovered Blondie's boudoir.

He'd gone up the tree to rescue a cat. The cat had sounded so distressed that he couldn't just walk away. God he was such a bleeding heart. Thing is, when he got up the tree, the cat was gone and he had the best seat in the house to watch Blondie do ... well, do a whole shit-load of nasty things to a whole shit-load of nasty people. And once one group was spent, she called in the next. The woman was tireless, and apparently so was he. Jesus, he couldn't remember how many times he came that first night, and every time he came, his lust was only stoked to new levels and the pleasure of it was not like anything he'd ever felt before.

After the first night, he was sure nothing like that would ever happen again, but he had to find out, didn't he? And when he climbed back up the oak tree with his balls feeling like they were lined with lead, sure enough, Blondie was taking it up both holes from two guys in togas and roman-looking breast-plates, which she peeled off them like she was peeling shrimp. And that was how it started.

And what was totally unbelievable was that Jack wasn't exhausted. For the last two days he'd faced his work clear-headed and focused in a way he'd never been before. He'd never been so productive. He'd even made it to the gym, a thing which he still couldn't figure out. He'd made it his life's ambition to avoid gyms. But there he was, sweating and grunting and feeling invigorated and aroused. And fuck if he hadn't cum like a fire hose afterwards, wanking and tugging and huffing away in the locker room shower before he headed back home — back home for a couple more hours work, then it was off to the oak tree. Tonight he'd decided to run to Blondie's place. He wasn't sure how far it was, but it didn't matter. He was just so keyed up with lust and vigor that it seemed like the thing to do. Plus the smell of sweat and pheromones, the smell of his own animal lust set the ambiance for whatever Blondie would do tonight.

And the ambiance must have been well-set because, right on cue, a mountain of a man blew into the room, nearly ripping the double doors off the decorative hinges. He was enormous, and every square inch of his bulk was muscle. He was barely covered by the white bath towel wrapped around his waist, which began to part like the red sea as his, definitely built-to-scale, schlong rose to the occasion. The man was hung like a donkey and he walked with a limp. Jack couldn't help wondering if that was due to all the weight he carried between his legs. He forgot all about the limp when the man dropped the towel and his cock lead the way to the party on the chaise longue. First, he practically ripped open Blondie's halter top, his huge hands offering way more tit coverage than the top had. He curled one hand in her hair, yanking her neck so hard that Jack feared he'd break it, yanking her practically up off the chair to ravage her mouth with tongue and teeth. His other hand pinched nipples and slapped luscious tittie-flesh until Blondie whimpered and whined and squirmed even more than she'd already been squirming.

Then with a hard slap to her excited tits and a bite to her throat that looked painful, he moved around behind Cat Woman, parted her cheeks with one hand and guided his pole into her wet pout with the other. Jack held his breath at the first thrust, which he feared would surely split the woman in two, but her cries of ecstasy or agony — Jack couldn't tell which — were muffled into the swollen valley of Blondie's slit.

The man was tall enough that he could hump the hell out of Cat Woman's cunt and still pay lip service to Blondie's bouncy tits, yanking her forward until the whole tableau looked like a human pretzel mixed mocha, sun baked and delicate cream, skin against skin, thrust against thrust. Blondie's legs were now wrapped around Cat Woman's neck, and the big man hammered into her raised cunny for all he was worth.

And when he came, Jesus when he came, he pulled out and shot his wad up Cat Woman's bare spine all the way up between Blondie's pointy tits. And Jack unloaded empathetically in a hefty arch out over the limbs of the oak.

"Hey you! Ass-wipe! Don't make me come up after you."

Coming up wasn't necessary. Startled, Jack lost his balance on the limb and fell out of the tree backward, his fall slowed by the hard thwack, thwack, thwack of a half a dozen smaller, more supple branches before he hit the manicured lawn flat on his back leaving him winded and stunned.

"Izzee dead?" A voice hissed from somewhere above Jack's prone, breathless body.

"Course 'ees not dead. His cock's still hard.

Sonovabitch! Hat's off to 'im, I say."

"Don't matter. When her dad gets through with him, he'll wish he was dead."

"Shut up, you two. No one asked your opinion," a third voice said. Then the owner of that voice grabbed Jack by the arm and hauled him to his feet nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. He found himself nose to nose with a man possessing perfectly coiffed hair that looked like it came straight from an 'eighties cop show. And the rest of him looked like a poster boy for a hard core muscle mag, right down to the bad-ass eagle tat rippling up his bulging right bicep. If that wasn't crazy enough, the man was wearing a toga, for chrissake! His pecs bulged and his nipples looked like they'd been clamped within an inch of their lives. And who the hell noticed a man's nipples, Jack wondered, especially when Blondie's old man was about to make him wish he were dead. "Tuck it in, Bub," Toga Man nodded to Jack's cock which, embarrassingly enough, still offered a full frontal salute. He shoved and shifted it back into his track suit, but even then it led the way as he fell into step behind Toga Man with two black-suit security types flanking him. What the hell was the matter with him? He could die or worse and he still had enough wood to start a bonfire.

"Big Z ain't gonna be happy you watching his daughter do the dirty," the suit to his left spoke out of one side of his mouth.

"You shut your pie-hole," Toga Man said. "You dunno what makes Big Z happy. Besides, she ain't his daughter."

Big Z? What the hell was this, Jack wondered, some kind of Mafioso toga party? They made their way through the enormous marble foyer of the house Jack hadn't noticed being anywhere nearly so huge from his perch in the oak tree. But then his attention hadn't really been focused on the house, had it? At last, Toga Man dismissed the Mafia-thugs and quick marched Jack (both hands folded protectively across the bounce, bounce, bounce of his erection) to another set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. He threw them open and with a hand on Jack's shoulder, half shoved him into an opulent study. There, Jack found himself face to face with the bare ass of a guy doing the nasty up the bumhole of another, a situation that didn't prevent Toga Man from announcing loudly. "We found this scumbag up the oak tree watching Aph."

The man administering the ass-fucking pulled out with a jerk and tugged his toga down over the heavy equipment. "Goddamnit, Ganymede, what's a man gotta do to get a little privacy around here?"

The administeree of the ass-fucking, who had no toga to tug, grabbed a velvet pillow from the settee for frontal coverage and slunk off red faced, but not before receiving a scorching glare from Ganymede, who then struck a muscle-bound pose with eagle-tat bulging and addressed the man Jack assumed was Big Z. "Well, he's been doing it for the past three nights now. I just thought you ought to know."

That seemed to get Big Z's attention. "Did you say three nights?"

"Three long nights." Ganymede rolled his eyes and looked down at his Rolex for emphasis.

Big Z slipped into a purple velvet robe and tugged the sash tight around his waist, still doing battle with the bulge, then he gave Jack the once-over. Jack stood, hands still strategically placed over his own ill-mannered cock. "Does she know?"

"Of course she knows. She's the one who sent me. Like I got nothing else to do but watch this air breather wank."

By now Jack was beginning to wonder if maybe he'd fallen through the rabbit hole because this was all just too nuts for words. And still, his cock betrayed him. What the hell was the matter with him anyway?

"Leave us," Big Z said, waving a hand covered in a good kilo of gold rings. And damned if he didn't sound just like Marlin Brando in the Godfather. He even looked a bit like him if Jack were honest.

Ganymede gave Big Z a heavy-lipped pout, then he gave Jack a sour look and stalked out of the room, closing the double-doors behind him.

Jack braced himself. But Big Z said nothing. He filled two glasses from a crystal decanter and Jack caught a whiff of expensive whiskey as he took an offered glasses and sipped nervously while Big Z swallowed his back and refilled it to the brim.

Then he spoke, looking down into the swirl of his whiskey. "Three days you been watching my daughter?"

"I didn't plan to," Jack said. "I went up the tree to rescue a cat, but the cat must have got down some other way and then I saw her and...."

Big Z nodded as though that explained everything. "The old cat up the tree trick. She ain't pulled that one in a while." He offered a twitch of a smile. "And when there was no cat and you saw Aphrodite humping some chump's brains out, you wanked your balls off."

Jack didn't reply. There was hardly any need to when he had been caught in the act.

Big Z waved a dismissive hand. "She's not actually my daughter. Look, what's your name?"

"Jack. Jack Calendar."

"Sit down, Jack Calendar." He nodded to the settee in front his desk, then he settled into a huge leather chair on the other side. "It's complicated, Jack. Aphrodite's, well, I suppose you could say that she is my ward. But I have always treated her like she was my own offspring because I have a great deal of affection for her. In a filial sense of the word, that is. Her sexual proclivities are none of my business. She is an adult and it ain't my way to interfere unnecessarily. But I've always known from the very beginning that Aphrodite is a woman of ... special needs."

"Special needs?" Jack breathed.

Big Z tossed back his drink and poured himself another one. "She's the fucking goddess of love, for chrissake."

Jack choked on his own whiskey. "She's what?"

"You ain't no moron, Jack Calendar, surely you musta suspected something about her was ... unusual after three days." Big Z looked down into his glass and nodded slowly. "Ever since she rose up out of the sea foam on that giant oyster shell, I knew that she wasn't your garden variety goddess. There she was looking all innocent and doe-eyed and all alone by herself. Well, I'm a pushover, Jack. Softhearted to a fault, I am. Of course I had to take her in, didn't I?"

Sea foam? Garden variety goddess? Jack wondered what the hell the Z Man spiked his whiskey with.

If the man was joking, he was definitely po-faced about it. "Trouble is," Big Z continued, "I had no idea that the woman had such a libido. I mean, you got your Athena and you got your Artemis, all chaste and proper like goddesses are supposed to be, then along comes Aphrodite."

All this goddess talk was beginning to make Jack really nervous. If the man was really a nut case, if he really believed that Blondie was the goddess of love and Jack had been watching her have sex, then Jack could be in way more trouble than he thought. For all Jack knew Big Z could be some murderous serial killer who lured men into the tree to watch Blondie's orgies, then had his thugs bring them to him and ... Jack shivered at the thought of the bloke being butt fucked when he arrived. Who knew what horrible means of torture and death someone with delusions of godhood could dream up, especially if they thought they were protecting the goddess of love.

He shifted nervously in his chair as Big Z leaned across his desk and held Jack in an earnest gaze. "Within her first week on Olympus, she fucked all the servants — chicks and dudes, it didn't matter one iota to her. And you see, the thing is, she was just so lovely and so delightful that it didn't matter. We all loved her, and we just let her have her head, so to speak."

"Wait a minute. Are you serious? Are you telling me that you're really. ... That Big Z's short for ... that you're Zeus, the Zeus. The one from Greek mythology and Mount Olympus and all that?"

Big Z blinked as though Jack had suddenly become an idiot.

"And Blondie, I mean Aphrodite, she really is Aphrodite, the goddess of love?"

Big Z drummed his ring-laden fingers on the desk.

"Didn't I just say that? Am I not speaking the Queen's English?"


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Seven Deadly Sins by Kojo Black, John LaChatte. Copyright © 2014 Sweetmeats Press. Excerpted by permission of Sweetmeats Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author


K. D. Grace describes herself as a hopeless romantic, born with an obsession to write. Unbeknownst to many, her romantic streak can get gloriously debauched....so of course she was welcomed with open arms at Sweetmeats Press! K. D. is the creative force within her own raunchy universe and she thoroughly enjoys spending so much of her time writing erotic stories.

Rebecca Bond is a reader, writer, lover and caresser of erotic stories. A natural and passionate writer, Rebecca uses a combination of urban and rural inspiration to carve stories steeped in fantasy and imagination.

Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, editor, reader and award winning erotica author whose writing celebrates the beauty of the full-figured female form. Victoria loves to cook and she is equally at home behind a laptop or a stove. Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her life.

Lily Harlem is a multi-published, award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance. If the story isn’t deliciously romantic and down and dirty sexy, it won’t be written - at least not by her! So, with the bedroom door left well and truly open, hang on for a steamy, sensual ride.

Lexie Bay began writing so that she could immerse herself in a fantasy world where women are adored and men fall at their feet... But it wasn't long before she realized that sometimes men do that so you can stomp all over them in your stiletto boots! Since then, Lexie's been creating stories that stay true to her original romantic dream while exploring the erotic, the kinky and the downright filthy. She writes about anything that emerges from the murky depths of her imagination, whenever she gets the opportunity.

Lucy Felthouse is a well known name in the world of erotic literature. A prolific author of erotic and romantic fiction and fantasy, she has numerous books and anthologies in print.

Sarah Masters is a multi-published author in three pen names writing in several genres. She lives with her husband, children, and three cats in an English village. She writes full time and is also a cover artist and blog designer. In another life she was an editor. Her other pen names are Natalie Dae and Charley Oweson.

John LaChatte is a French artist working in London. After studying Graphic Design in the South of France, he moved to London to further his career. Working mostly in black ink, his two main inspirations in life are fashion and comic books, which he uses to enhance his erotic illustrations.

Kojo Black has compiled nearly a dozen collections and anthologies, and considers himself to be an unrepentant purveyor of the playfully perverse.

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