Today’s guest blog is something a little different: an extract from a book by Gloria Sync, who writes queer life-affirming sex-positive erotic magical fiction. Her first book – Swinella – is published independently by Dirty Sexy Words (click that link to grab a copy!) so to introduce it properly, I’ll hand over to the publisher Zak Jane Keir…

“About a year ago, I read Swinella for the first time. I was the first person, other than the author, to read it and it absolutely blew me away. I thought back then that everyone else needed to meet Swinella, that this was a character and a story whose time has come, and that seems even more the case now…”

Swinella is a bestiamorph, one of a small percentage of people whose sexual predilections manifest themselves as animal characteristics during adolescence. Follow pig-girl Swinella’s curly tail as she leaves her small-town origins behind and heads for Hamden Town, a kaleidoscopic London neighbourhood where teenage tribes, music, self-expression and sexual freedom collide in a dizzying whirlwind of endless possibility. Set in a parallel world in nineteen eighty three, with a supporting cast of cat-girl dominatrixes, dog-boy skinheads, witches, demons, rabbits and goats, Swinella is the filthiest, funniest and most heart-warming book you’ll read all year.

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This glorious fantasy story is written and read by Molly Moore, and originally appeared on her website – MollysDailyKiss. Note that this story contains elements of non consensual kidnap and dubious consent that turns into consensual non consent/ravishment. It contains fear and terror, creature/human sex, tentacles, and copious amounts of jizz.

Why did I do it? Like so many things that we do on impulse, in a fit of madness it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, as he guided me into the cave, I was not so sure.

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I wrote this last week when I was excited to go to a festival, pondering whether this might be the first time I ever got laid at one. I always have this romantic fantasy of finding a festival boyfriend – someone who I can snog while the bands are on, who then disappears into the night, not seen again until (perhaps) next year. But then every time I go to a festival with the aim of getting laid, I fail. But failure here is sweet and this is why. 

He catches your eye in the beer tent, your festival boyfriend. Gives you a smile and a nod. Mouths ‘cool shirt’ and lifts his plastic pint in a casual salute. You smile back, flushing hot with nervous energy, and wonder if you should go over and say hello. But you’re struggling to catch the attention of the stoner who’s working the bar, and you’ve got to get back to your friends. Besides, by the time you turn round, full hands sticky with cider, he’s gone. Your festival boyfriend has disappeared into the crowd.

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This shameless medieval cock-fest is written and read by Ariadne Awakes. Note: this story is a fantasy that contains kidnapping and implied non-consent.

“Suck.” The countless times she’d been issued this command and it still sent glorious shivers straight to her constantly aching cunt. It was the time of year the court had nicknamed ‘The Grand Suck’, where the King’s most worthy subjects had the privilege of watching their wives, daughters and sometimes mothers kneel before him and show obedience to the sceptre with which he ruled. His cock.

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This gorgeous steampunk orgasm erotica is written by The Queer Earthling and read by Sherryl Blu. Note that this story contains: bondage, fucking machines, and hints of forced orgasm.

It was a cool autumn day in New London when I decided to call upon my friend, whom most knew as the Professor. Well-traveled, slightly eccentric, and exceedingly attractive, the Professor was somewhat famous for their inventions. They often spent hours in their workshop, a private space that none could enter, emerging rarely until they’d produced another of their magnificent creations, which were both spectacular and quite stimulating. These inventions sold, some said, for obscene amounts at private auction, but you would never know it—the Professor just wore their same tweed suit at all times, except for formal occasions, when they might instead don a tuxedo that had been out of fashion for a good five years or so.

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