unspeakable cover

So I’m trying something a bit different here today. I’ve written a 50 Shades of Grey/Cthulhu mashup, and rather than just giving it away, I thought I’d do that quixotic thing people used to do before the Internet, and actually try to see if anyone would be willing to pay me for it. It’s available at the Amazon e-store for Kindle; if you’d like to read it you can click on over.

Here’s the exciting summary:

Alyssa Irons has been assigned the task of interviewing mysterious, powerful, exciting billionaire Sebastian Mauve in his gleaming headquarters throbbing with the intoxicating rush of capital. Little does she expect that behind Sebastian’s dark eyes are terrible secrets, and also fish monsters with tentacles. Can she survive the twisted pleasures he offers — and

3900+ wds of heaving bosoms, thrashing tentacles, thrashing bosoms, and heaving tentacles. Also fish monster sex, pouting billionaires, and true love lurking hideously outside of space and time.

And an exciting excerpt:

Oh, my. Even the elevator was intimidating and impressive. I gulped and bit my lip and tried not to be too overly stimulated as the shining glass tube shot upwards through the slick, vertical passageway. On one side, a magnificent view of the Pacific. On the other, the inner workings of Mauve Enterprises, stacked floor on floor, shining in transparent glass. I could see people bustling here and there. Impressive looking people in suits. You could almost see the money steaming off those impressive suits. It was…impressive. I looked away to the Pacific again. Also impressive…but not as unsettlingly stirring as that money moving through corridors, directed by an enticing, directing will.

I struggled to get ahold of myself. I breathed deeply, causing the smooth, luxurious skin of my cleavage to rise enticingly — though, of course, I was completely unaware of my own considerable personal beauty. Would Sebastian Mauve be unaware as well? Did I want him to be? I was here on professional business — to interview the wealthy mystery man whose incredible power, wealth, and mystery probed into every rarefied orifice of finance. He was…mysterious. And it was up to me, Alisa Irons, reporter for the spunky internet startup Power and Money, to plumb that mystery.

Or, suggested my traitorous inner lady bits with an involuntary flutter, to be plumbed by it.

The elevator slid to an immaculate stop redolent of good taste, and the doors hissed open. I gasped, once more unconsciously agitating my bosom, as I beheld the massive antechamber beyond. Holy crap. The décor was sumptuous and subtle…but also, subtly, disturbing. The thick carpet was covered with swirls and patterns, almost seeming to form a script or an alphabet throbbing with unspeakable meanings. Directly in front of the elevator was a pedestal, upon which a nude bronze sculpture of a shockingly well-formed and realistic woman (somewhat resembling myself!) struggled with what looked like an octopus. I looked closer, and realized it was not exactly an octopus — there were too many tentacles, and the central head was not really a head, but itself a mass of writhing limbs. My broad reading led me to conclude, therefore that it was some sort of mythological thingee. Not an octopus, anyway. Also it was not struggling with the woman, but…holy crap. I turned my eyes modestly away to the wall hangings, which were also covered with swirls, swirls, swirly swirls. They dipped and slid and criss-crossed not unlike those not-octopus limbs. They coiled around and up, sliding smoothly into my eager, pouting brain the way they slid right up into the statue’s….

“Miss Irons?”

I started. Oh, my. I was looking into the eyes of a very beautiful woman. Her dark eyes were limpid pools, her white bosom strained against the fabric of her blue dress. Around her neck was an odd piece of jewelry…a kind of octopus, but not really an octopus, like the one on the statue. Its tentacles seemed to be exploring her cleavage, which was more amply visible than I would usually expect in a business setting. But perhaps cleavage amply displayed was what Sebastian Mauve demanded. I imagined Sebastian Mauve perusing the cleavage. My inner lady bits sat up and did some complicated writhing at the thought. What sort of man was he, who would so boldly, so shamelessly, peruse both staff cleavage and octopus statue rape? Skeevy, perhaps. But it was the skeeviness of power.

It’s witty! Meaningful! Suspenseful! Buy the whole thing here!

If there seems to be interest and enough people purchase it to make the time investment worthwhile, I may well write more. So if you enjoy it and want further product along the same lines, encourage your friends and relations and elder gods to invest as well.

If you’re a regular reader and have spent the past five years desperately wishing there were some way you could help HU pay it’s hosting fees, this is a nice way to make a donation to the blog. Sort of like a kickstarter, except you just pay to receive the finished product. Innovative!

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