The Seven-Year Eldritch

By Foxxi Smolder

Jacqueline "Jackie" Ashcroft is on a secret mission to raise the Old One named R'dhras: a being of terrifying lusts who drives its victims insane with sexual horrors when it awakens, once every seven years. Her plan is successful - but what will she do with the tentacled terror now that she's summoned it? Why, challenge it to satisfy her own abnormal desires, of course! Whether R'dhras takes the adventurous Jackie up on her offer, or decides to feast on her mind instead, Jackie is in for the night of her life. All she has to do is make it to sunrise...

Horror lovers, read on for over 7000 words of bodice-ripping tentacle erotica with a touch of Lovecraft. Mature readers only.

Excerpt:

Cruel laughter bounced around in the cavern of her skull. With an effort, Jackie mastered the pain of it. Despite its effectively terrifying demeanor, the thing hadn’t come any closer to her, had made no effort to truly harm her. And she was still standing, which must count for something.

After the roaring cackle subsided, Jackie blinked slowly, then looked askance at the monster. From the corner of her eyes it was easier to gaze at it without fear. It had indeed stolen aspects of poor Fred’s shape. She recognized the meaty neck, the biceps like boulders, the tight muscles of his torso and abdomen. She had spent so many fond, if dull, years tracing the landscape of Fred’s musculature. Seeing it replicated in this eerie stranger, familiar yet horrifyingly unknown, gave her a thrill of the uncanny... and of something else, too.

Not yet, Jackie reminded herself. Not yet!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foxxi Smolder
• Release date: Oct 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463925461

Foxxi Smolder

Confirmed bacheloress by day and scribbler of indecent material by night, Foxxi Smolder has been writing sweet, smutty short stories since 2015. She is dedicated to bringing her readers works that embrace kink without sacrificing sex positivity or a sense of humor. When not writing, she enjoys tending her rose garden, doing Tarot readings for her cats, and adding to her collection of fainting couches.

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The Seven-Year Eldritch

© 2019 Foxxi Smolder

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Seven-Year Eldritch

By Foxxi Smolder

There was a certain calm that fell upon the Blackgarden Cemetery after night had fallen and human activity had stilled. The trees, thickly laden with leaves, bowed their heads in reverence over the field of headstones. No animals came near, and those that did never made a sound – even owls hesitated to fly over this place. Its acreage, studded with gravestones, spooked them and all other inquisitive types that would normally make it their home. Only the moon, gleaming bone-white and gibbous in the cloudless sky, cast her sight on a graveyard as still and as quiet as its inhabitants.

So it was only the moon who saw a young couple, man and woman, furtively hopping over the fence surrounding Blackgarden.

The man climbed over first, then waited below to catch the woman as she straddled the chain links and swung over her other leg, jumping into the man’s arms. He caught her somewhat heavily, with a sharp grunt. Instantly they were alert: both heads whipped around, straining to sense if they’d been heard and discovered. But no one saw them save the moon; and even she did not care.

The young man straightened and dusted himself off. His posture broadcast a kind of gruff masculinity, the kind at home in white waters or a pine forest. Even his trim moustache and beard looked like the accoutrements of an outdoorsman. In one of his hands, he hefted a crowbar. His clothes said he’d rather have been building a log cabin, but his tools suggested that he came to rob a grave.

At his side, slim, tall, fit in a willowy sort of way, stood his female companion. Her glossy black hair curled fetchingly over her temple, and was cut short in