Thursday, September 13, 2012

Coming October 12! Purr by Paisley Smith


Paisley Smith

Having been caught kissing a servant girl, Arabella suddenly finds herself shackled and bound for Katzenhalle Villa, where she expects to be forced into servitude. Instead, she discovers the mansion is home to other young women with Sapphic penchants—and good behavior is rewarded with kittenhood. All who reside at the villa dream of donning cat ears and tails and earning status as one of the mistress’s “pets”.

There’s one caveat. Romantic entanglements are strictly forbidden, and this poses a problem when Arabella catches the eye of a favored pet, Giselle.

Risking discovery, the women indulge their mutual desire, heated looks escalating to thrilling touches with fingers, mouths…tongues. Until Arabella discovers things are not as purr-fect as they seem at Katzenhalle. While breaking the rules may see them punished, the treachery of falling in love may come at a fatal price.

Reader Advisory: The kittens of Katzenhalle can’t get enough hedonistic sexual attention. They enjoy female/female sex, light BDSM, ménages, multiple partners and even the occasional sensual enema. Meow!


Available October 12, 2012!

Ellora’s Cave | ARE | Amazon | B&N

An Excerpt From: PURR

Copyright © PAISLEY SMITH, 2012

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

“Disrobe and leave your clothes on the floor,” Petra instructed, then stood back to wait.

Arabella paused. “W-with you in here…with me?”

Petra nodded.

Arabella had never undressed fully in front of anyone else that she could remember. Shame rose when she remembered the paltry condition of her undergarments. Shaking, she turned her back so the servant could begin to unlace the ties on her bodice. The room was warm and Arabella didn’t feel a chill as she shrugged out of her frock. As directed, she dropped the garment on the thick rug. Fingers trembling, she untied the ribbons holding up her skirt and then let the fabric billow downward into a pool around her ankles.

“Everything,” Petra said firmly.

Arabella gulped as she toed off her slippers then steeled herself before whisking her chemise off over her head. Hugging her arms over her breasts, she dashed toward the tub and plunged into the hot water. A gasp tore from her throat at the shock.

Petra chuckled softly. “You will soon lose your reticence. There’s no need for it at Katzenhalle.”

“What do you mean?” Arabella asked, quickly adjusting to the soothing effect of the scented water.

“It will be necessary for you to be comfortable wearing very little clothing if you are to eventually become one of the komtesse’s kittens.”


Petra nodded. “The komtesse will explain the details but, yes, most of us wish to earn her favor and join the ranks of the kittens.”

Arabella took up a sponge and began scrubbing one arm. “I don’t understand.”

Petra leaned closer as she whispered, “You were brought here because of your partiality for females, weren’t you?”

A torrid blush infused Arabella’s cheeks. She clamped her lips shut.

“There’s no shame in it. We all were,” Petra confessed.

“But what does that have to do with—” Arabella began before Petra shushed her.

A hidden door in the wall flung open and another servant paraded in, bearing a jeweled case. “I am Eleanor. I am here to coif your hair.”

As the servants thoroughly bathed Arabella, washed her hair and then neatly snipped the ends, she pondered all she’d learned thus far. Petra’s words gave credence to the look the komtesse had bestowed on her. There had been blatant sexual interest in the aristocrat’s eyes. Still, Arabella could not discern whether Katzenhalle merely posed as a safe haven for wayward women or if these walls harbored a deeper, darker secret.

Yet another servant appeared who manicured Arabella’s finger and toenails, trimming and buffing until they gleamed in the light. Petra helped her dress in the uniform, a cherry-and-white striped ensemble with a shepherdess-style skirt. Swan-white stockings and embroidered slippers completed the outfit. She had never worn such costly clothing, and she couldn’t resist preening in front of the looking glass.

Petra smiled. “I am to take you to the komtesse for approval.”

Arabella thanked Eleanor and the manicurist before she followed Petra through the meandering hallways and down the stairs to what appeared to be a study. Her uncle’s house boasted only six rooms. The sheer massiveness of the mansion was not lost on Arabella.

Liveried guards served as sentries, their powdered wigs immaculate as they stood expressionless at the open doorway.

The komtesse sat behind a gilt desk that faced the massive hearth. She rose. “Ah, Arabella. This is quite a welcome change indeed.”

Both Petra and Arabella curtsied.

“Turn around for me. Let me see you in your entirety,” the komtesse cooed.

Arabella revolved slowly, knowing the pride she felt at being turned out so well shone on her face.

The komtesse smiled, but the display of pleasure held no mirth. Something devious lurked in the woman’s eyes. “Lift your skirts and show me your cunny.”

Arabella’s breath froze in her lungs. What? She cleared her throat. “Pardon me?”

The komtesse motioned with her fingers. “Come, girl, lift them up. Let me see.”

Arabella glanced at Petra, who merely stood waiting, chewing her bottom lip.

“Silly goose, pull up your skirts. That humility will get you nowhere at Katzenhalle,” the komtesse said impatiently.

Shaking, Arabella slowly gathered her skirts and lifted the fabric over the tops of her ribboned stockings to bare her thighs.


A voice in her head confirmed she’d wanted this. She’d wanted to be intimate with another woman, so why was she so frightened when the opportunity was clearly presenting itself? Even Petra had told her everyone here sought to earn the komtesse’s favor. In a swell of courage, Arabella raised her skirts to her waist and held her breath as the komtesse appraised her.

“Lovely. What a beautiful black pelt you have.” The aristocrat stepped closer, fingers reaching. Her eyebrow arched in wicked amusement. “I’ll wager it’s quite soft as well.”

Arabella’s breath faltered when those fingers touched her. There.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

News and New Releases!

I received two acceptances in one weekend!

I contracted my lesbian, kinky historical, Purr, with Ellora’s Cave, and another historical set in the gritty 1950s South, Every Waking Hour, with Loose Id.

I also have a couple of short stories that have recently released ~

Cymone’s Dominatrix

On the eve of the games, gladiatrix, Cymone, prepares herself by submitting to her equally deadly lover, Appolonia.
Appolonia knows exactly what it takes to force the gladiatrix prima to her knees—and keep her there. The lethal warrior-woman has stolen Appolonia’s heart. But when you are fated to die on the sands, love comes with a high price.


Appolonia finished her wine and looked across the table to where another Hellene, Cymone, sat staring into her cup.

Cymone. Gladiatrix prima. She dominated on the sands, knowing just how long to drag out a fight so that the crowd cheered her to victory again and again, knowing how to make a spectacle of dealing the death blow to anyone unlucky enough to have to face her. She was a true champion, an entertainer who’d risen far above her status as a slave to become one of the most celebrated gladiatrices of her time. A scar marred her olive-skinned cheek, but to Appolonia, the imperfection only made Cymone that much more intriguing, that much more beautiful.

For all her prowess in the arena, however, Cymone delighted in darker pleasures of the flesh and Appolonia was pleased the gladiatrix had chosen her as her lover. Most nights, they lay in each other’s arms, kissing and caressing, bringing each other release before succumbing to the god, Hypnos’ spell. But on the evening before an appearance on the sands, Cymone allowed Appolonia a far firmer hand.

Appolonia squeezed her thighs together in anticipation. Any moment, Cymone would rise, giving the signal for her to follow.

Buy Cymone’s Dominatrix for .99!

ARE | Amazon | B&N | Smashwords

*Cymone’s Dominatrix is also featured in the Girls Who Score anthology


“Even the ravens of the Tower sat silent and immovable on the battlements and gazed eerily at the strange scene. A Queen about to die!” George John Younghusband


Amazon | B&N | Smashwords | ARE

Fortune’s erotic dreams featuring a black-haired beauty who beckons her from another time and place have lured her to the Tower of London. As the images intensify, she discovers a world of witchcraft and magic, of dark lust and death that threatens to drag her back every time she closes her eyes. But facing her past—and the Tower raven stalking her—just might change Fortune’s future.


Touch me,” my lover pleaded, her voice but a broken whisper as she took my hand to guide it under her nightrail to the soft thatch of curls between her thighs.
I did not need coaxing. Love surged as I sought her delicate folds in the darkness. Her breathing hitched and her thighs parted for my touch. Already slick with her juices, my fingers slid easily over the swollen pearl and then into the wet-velvet of her sheath. Her hands drew me closer under the covers and I realized I could not get close enough to her. The need to fuse with her body, nay, her soul, rose hard within me.
Light from the fire flickered, casting her face in a glimmer of shadows, but I did not miss her impassioned expression. Sweet lavender emanated from her luxurious, inky locks. With her lips parted and her wealth of black lashes resting against her cheeks, I found her incredibly beautiful. Bewitchingly so.
I ached to kiss her, and I craned my neck until my lips brushed hers. Her eyes flew open, and we stared at each other for several steep seconds until she lifted her chin, fusing her mouth with mine.
Wild desire raged inside me. Still kissing her, I compelled her onto her back and I moved over her, parting her knees with mine, opening her treasures to my touch. My tongue slipped between her lips, and she accepted it, grasping my head in her hands, spearing her fingers into my hair to hold me captive.
She did not have to hold me. My heart was already her willing prisoner. As much as I wanted to please her, I wanted to protect her, to secret her away from this place and hide her from the world. From court. From him.

*The Night Crow is also featured in the She Shifters anthology