#1 in Parody on Kindle!

#1 in Parody for Fifty Shades of Garbage on the FREE list! Keep downloading and spread the word -- the freebie goes through tomorrow night! WOOT!

Sample from Fifty Shades of Garbage, by Allie Beck

It's out! Get your copy of Fifty Shades of Garbage, the next in the Dumpsterotica series. Here's a sample:

Her Inner Goddess was bright red, humming, and painfully engorged as Joe drove right past the donut shop.

“But that's the – ” Arching one eyebrow, he looked at her, the disapproving gesture making her shut her mouth. He was in charge. He was in charge. He was in charge.

Everything down there got a little fuzzier, a little warmer, and she needed him. Now.

That fucking book. The words themselves were ridiculous, the writing subpar, but the overall effect – it was like reading an Amanda Hocking novel. You knew the writing needed work, but the story was gripping – so gripping she picked it right back up after throwing the damn thing against the wall.

The Red Room of Pain did her in. She wanted a man to want her, need her, to provoke and sensate and destroy her like that, all for his own bidding, all because he needed to transgress and violate every norm for her, her, her.

Instead, she had Joe chugging along in his little eco-friendly, politically-correct car, bungee cords ready for dumpster sex.

Ah, a girl could dream.

Inner Goddess and Red Room and helicopters and billionaires – she let her mind go back into the world of Ana and Christian as Joe drove down the fourth alley in ten minutes, looking for – what?

And here they were, finally parking.

Behind the blood bank.

“Wh – ” she started, then stopped.

He swept his arm out in a gesture of welcome, climbed out of the car, and ran around, opening her door for her. The gleam in his eyes made her breasts swell.

“Marcia, er...Ana – your dumpster awaits you.”

He had found a red dumpster – that's what all this searching was for? She laughed, took his hand, climbed out of the car and kissed him, her tongue jumping in, his taking over. Rough hands claimed her skin, hands she didn't think were attached to Joe as he tore her shirt off, the buttons popping and pinging onto the asphalt. Breathless, she pulled back.

“Off to the Red Dumpster of Pain with you!” he growled. Her Inner Goddess quivered and nearly exploded on the spot.

Both scrambled in quickly and Joe took one wrist, wrapped the bungee cord around it, and hooked it securely to the edge of the rusty metal wall. He was good at this – a little too, suspiciously good. In no time she was completely tied up, all four limbs connected to the metal, her skirt barely brushing against her knees, torn shirt limp and dangling around her ribs.

Exposed.

Controlled.

He slid off his gray necktie, the one with the tiny diamond pattern she had given him for his birthday a few years ago. She licked her lips as he slid it around her eyes, blindfolding her.

Now she was truly at his mercy.

Oh, shit.

She hadn't thought about it, really, when she'd suggested it tonight. Just wanted a taste of the sheer control, of letting go, that Ana had in the book. Hundreds of pages of that fucking book made her simmer, then start to boil, and the magic of the story wasn't in the prose, but in the images it put in her head, the movie that flickered and groaned as she imagined being in such a cat-and-mouse game.

But now here she was, utterly helpless, in a garbage dumpster behind a mini mall.

How did she really feel? This was Joe, not Christian. He would protect her.

Hot breath struck her ear. “What now?” Joe asked, one hand sliding to her pussy, a warm finger teasing the labia.

“You are in control,” she whispered.

“Rules, then. What is your safe word?”

She frowned. “You read the book?”

“Answer me,” he hissed, the finger now making its way to her nub, the pain of not being in full release worse than never being touched.

“Uh...safe word. Um, Belichick.”

He laughed, “Belichick?”

“Well, it has to be a word I'd never dream of using in this context, so yes.” Now he used two fingers inside her, sliding them in her soaking wet pussy, her ass resting on garbage bags full of what felt like plastic bags and small boxes. She groaned, the feeling too much, when he pulled away. A wet finger touched her nipple now, slid under her bra, while Joe's other hand reached behind her to unclasp the lingerie, freeing her breasts to the night air.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

“Yessss....” Those fingers were her world now and she craved them, needed more, twisted against the cords that held her and it hit her – like being unable to orgasm anywhere except in a dumpster, some external force had total control over her.

Except this time, it was Joe.

“Are you sure?” he purred, one mouth tasting her wet nipple, rolling it under his tongue until her ass clenched, her pussy walls started to tremor, and she felt the rise of irritation and frustration from not being able to come just yet.

“Quit asking me! You're in control,” she whined, regretting the words the second they came out, but so much emotion in her throat, her ears, her ass, her Inner Goddess ready to weave some wicked spells and kill off some nerve endings.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You know, Marcia, I can't reverse all these years of your being in control in one night just because you read that damn book.”

“Try harder!”

“Hell, Marcia, you've been the dominant one for so long that I'm out of practice!”

“But I want an alpha male!”

“Then go read a Bella Andre novel.”

50 Shades of Garbage on Kindle

Wait for it -- grinding through the Kindle process right now -- look for a Tweet when it goes live. Follow me on Twitter @dumpsterotica

Marcia and Joe are swept up in the 50 Shades of Grey mania that has hit middle-class America, and while Marcia devours the “Mommy Porn,” Joe scorns it – while secretly listening to a pirated audiobook on his morning commute.

Repulsed and magnetically drawn to it all at once, Marcia comes to Joe with a tantalizing request: can he be her Christian and she'll be his Ana? Is Joe capable of being a dom and Marcia a sub? A frantic search for just the right dumpster – the Red Dumpster of Pain – leads them to a blood bank on the far side of town. After a rousingly intimate session of ropes, whips, empty blood bags and more, they find themselves in their own surreal version of Twilight, as teenage vampires discover them and take advantage.

Are the kids really vampires, or just EMO? Does anyone really care? Just as they get rid of the Twilight crowd, though, an old nemesis appears, looking for blood in all the wrong places for a new art project he might never get a chance to finish...

Can Marcia finish reading 50 Shades without throwing it across the room again? What do Bella Andre, Taylor Lautner, Jon Hamm and Bill Belichick have in common? Will Joe ever really understand what Marcia's Inner Goddess wants? What the hell is an Inner Goddess? And does “down there” really describe anything, ever?

50 Shades of Garbage takes readers of the Dumpsterotica series on a new chapter of the Joe and Marcia saga, a down (there) and dirty look at how BDSM has gone mainstream – all the way to your local dumpster.

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How Dirty Are You? is FREE on Amazon.com!

Dumpsterotica: How Dirty Are You? is FREE on Amazon.com!

#11 in Erotica!

#213 in the FREE Kindle Store.

Go download your copy now!

Dumpster Sex is stinking up the joint everywhere

You can now find Dumpsterotica -- all 3 books/short stories -- at BookStrand, Amazon, B&N, ARe and Smashwords.

Happy reading, wherever you go.

And Dumpsterotica: How Dirty Are You? is still free!

How Dirty Are You? is now on Smashwords!

Have it your way -- ePub, HTML, PDF, whatever -- get your copy of the short story that starts the three-book saga...

Book 3 is coming any day now! Look for Dumpsterotica: A Hole in One

Uploaded and waiting for publishing on Kindle NOW.

New sample! From Dumpsterotica: A Hole in One

The third book in my Dumpsterotica series is underway. Here's a taste!

What is that man thinking? Marcia wondered, eyeing her husband as he pulled into the driveway. Every window was open on his car, and she could hear the air conditioner running. A whiff of White Linen perfume wafted past her. She hadn't smelled that in years, not since their college graduation, when her mother had informed her that Estee Lauder was passe. No scent was the new scent, so she'd gone bare ever since.

Joe scurried out of his car as if she'd shouted “Free blow jobs, Honey!”

As he shut the door, a new wave of odor hit her.

White Linen and death.

Death covered in Hairy Buffalo vomit.

She remembered that moment, his junior year, a few months into dating, when he hadn't answered emails and she heard the rumors. Death had struck the Delta Upsilon Mu house, and it wasn't pretty.

Her Mama hadn't raised a wimp, so she decided to go make sure he was okay.

Maybe that's why she was attracted to fucking in dumpsters, because the Delta Ups were forever known, after that day, as the Chuck Ups.

All she could think to do, especially after seeing mold growing on the frat president's puke-covered shirt (which he was still wearing), was to take Joe outside, hose him down with a garden sprayer, strip him naked in the front lawn and roll him in a picnic blanket from her trunk.

Remarkably, the naked man on the front lawn went unnoticed, such was the Delta Ups reputation. What did make the rumor mill, though, was Marcia's fortitude in rescuing Joe. No other girlfriend or fiance had done so. She was known, for the rest of the year, as Iron Maiden.

She snuck him in her dorm and he lived in a small closet for two days. Her roommate, a women's shot put record holder, lent him clothes. His recovery involved Wonder Bread, diet Dr. Pepper, and a steady supply of Flintstones Vitamins, administered four times a day.

What on earth was that man doing?

Sometimes she wondered why she'd saved him.

He opened the hatch of his Prius and began throwing bag after bag into the driveway dumpster, thin streams of liquid splaying from the cornered bottoms of shiny black trash bags, the liquid arching and falling in spatter patterns, like blood at a violent crime scene.

Oh, someone was about to get hurt, all right. She was going to kill him.

LibraryThing Giveaway is yielding great reviews for How Dirty Are You?

I offered a review giveaway on LibraryThing at the end of August. 100 readers responded and requested a copy of the short story.

Then Hurricane Irene hit. I'm still finishing sending off review copies, as life has been tough for the past month as we recover from the storm's impact on our life, but I'm also overwhelmed and grateful for the reviews that have been trickling in, on Amazon especially.

Read them here!

Nothing Like a Big Gusher to Slow You Down!

Now, now, I'm talking about Hurricane Irene!

I lost power and went through the general mayhem that comes from multiple days without electricity. Thank goodness for batteries!

(Again, get your mind out the gutter, you naughty thing!).

So while I was without email, it turns out Clemency Joplin wrote about Dumpsterotica! Check out her great blog, loaded with vintage/20th century images, sexually-oriented illustrations (not hers, but her reviews of various graphic artists/artists), and book reviews. I know a senior woman in my life who would love to read Naked at Our Age.

Nice sudden boost in sales! So who is it? Come out, come out...

I appreciate the sudden spurt (no pun intended) of sales for my erotic comedy, How Dirty Are You?.

So whoever is linking to it, thank you! Reveal yourself so I can express my appreciation!

I'm interviewed on No Trees Harmed! Dumpsterotica Series Featured

Donna at No Trees Harmed was wonderful and interviewed me for her blog, No Trees Harmed. I talked about Dumpsterotica: Talk Dirty to Me. Five lucky readers will win a free copy! Go and enter!

Online porn vs. romance novels: which wins?

In 2008, as many people read an English-language romance novel as visited online porn sites, according to Instapundit.

In 2011, will romance novels win the catfight? With the increase in erotic romances (and I consider Dumpsterotica to be an erotic romance as much as it is erotica) are more people exploring the genre and the "romantica" aspect of erotic writing?

I'll take a stab at a prediction and say that eReaders (free apps and devices included) tipped the scales this year toward the written word.

"Erotica is when you use a feather, porn is when you use the whole chicken."

Erotica is when you use a feather, porn is when you use the whole chicken. -- Isabel Allende

Stop! We Have Cameras!

Lights! Cameras! Dumpster action!

Dumpsterotica Nook Options!

Nook lovers (heh) can find How Dirty Are You? and Talk Dirty to Me on Nook now.

Happy reading!

Sample Sunday! Talk Dirty to Me Excerpt

Book 2 in the Dumpsterotica series is out on Kindle and Nook for just $.99. Here's a nice, long excerpt from Talk Dirty to Me to catch your interest!

If she could have, Marcia would have come that second.

He grabbed her and threw her on the bed.

Then he stripped naked and joined her, his penis a steel rod and her vagina an electromagnet. Labia drew him to her like an oxygen tank getting sucked into an MRI tube, as if –

And then she saw the tampons.

“Son of a bitch!” she said, pawing them off her custom-made pillow. Joe laughed, a wicked, defiant sound that made her pulse quicken, a deep throb forming in her clitoris. Sweeping the pillow and her old tampons aside stirred a scent of rotten steak and she cringed.

“This isn't exactly what I –” and then his mouth was on her, between her long-suffering thighs, tongue lightly dancing on her pulsing red nub, soothing the burn and stirring the fire all at once. She inhaled the scent of garbage, rotten chicken and blood and aloe-scented tissues and limp celery – and began to gag.

On. Off. On. Off. As Joe's tongue worked magic with her labia and clit, licking up and strumming her skin like a guitar, pressing the perfect frets to find the right chord that would activate her inner harmony and crescendo, Marcia vacillated between ecstasy and disgust.

Unlike the dumpster, the garbage on her bed, strewn all over her chenille bedspread whose pinstripes perfectly matched the knobs on her nightstand drawers, repelled her.

Joe, on the other hand, seemed to be really into this, reaching for a banana peel and rubbing it on her hip. No matter how often she turned and writhed and scrambled to get away, he pinned her ass in place and ground the rotten peel into her hipbone, triggering a loathing that quickly overcame any arousal he generated with his skilled tongue.

Off finally won out and she said, “What on earth are you doing with that banana peel?”

Confusion clouded his face as he frowned. “It seemed to excite you when we were in the dumpster, so I...”

A lead ball of dread filled her stomach. “It did?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You don't remember?”

“No.”

For the first time since he'd found her in the bathroom he laughed, a rich, true laugh of mellow and joy. Joe's laugh. “Ah, well, I do.” He crawled up her belly and leaned into her, pressing himself against her, the smattering of chest hair sliding up her public bone, over her navel, stretching on the ribs and arching her nipples into twin peaks.

When he kissed her she tasted herself and smiled through the kiss, desire blooming again, chasing away the lead weight of doom in her gut.

“So – a banana peel? Really?” she asked, laughing, her hand reaching for his stiff cock.

He sucked in half the air in the room. “Yes.”

As much as she wanted to blow him, to take him into her warm, wet mouth and to run her tongue over him, make him grow inside her until she made her mouth more enticing than any vagina, she knew if she did this would end quickly.

Instead, she used her hands to roam over his ass and hips, sliding up his back and over his shoulders, hoping that this time having him inside her would do the trick for them both.

Taking command, Marcia climbed on top and plunged him inside her. The wave started and she felt the tingling in her knees, shooting up like a line of kerosene set afire, a straight shot to her pussy. A cherry bomb of heat opened her wider, made her ride him harder until she was pogosticking him.

His face changed as Marcia watched, roaming her hands over his pecs, settling on his shoulders to catch a better angle and bracing against him. The pounding triggered a wave of pleasure in her and she felt unleashed, ready to lose all walls and boundaries and to become one with Joe, one with everything, even her vagina-smeared Etsy pillow.

“Talk dirty to me,” she whispered. They'd tried it, once, on their honeymoon, and Marcia had been too embarrassed to ask again.

“Uh, OK,” Joe replied, his voice carrying a note of surprise and playfulness. He paused, then said, “Rotten tomatoes. Old coffee grounds. Ooo – three-day-old shrimp in garlic sauce...”

Marcia sat all the way up and punched him in the solar plexus as hard as she could. He arched, hard, upward into her, as much a Newtonian reaction as a remnant of pleasure. And then his erection closed in on itself, his cock sliding out of her like a wet, buttered noodle.

Dumpsterotica featured on Kindleboards banner tomorrow!

Are you a Kindleboards member? Readers and writers who use Kindle congregate at "KB" to share tips on good books, free books, the ins and outs of publishing (for writers), outstanding genre favorites (for readers), and so much more.

My Dumpsterotica series will be featured in the leaderboard banner tomorrow, July 16, with an animated banner designed by Streetlight Graphics, the same company that designed the covers for How Dirty Are You? and Talk Dirty to Me.

Check it out tomorrow and let me know what you think!

Tucker Max and Butt Secks. It's All Dirty.

How in the hell have I NOT heard of Tucker Max? Now I need to go spend more money on books and read his, huh? Damn it. As if I don't have an absolutely enormous TBR queue in my hacked Kindle app for Ubuntu.

You will never, ever think of ass sex (if you think about anal at all -- and come on, everyone does at least once. Think about it, I mean) the same way again after this. Makes me think of the infamous scene from the first episode of Californication. You know -- the painting Hank pukes on?

Now I'm wondering if Tucker ever had sex in a dumpster.