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Book One in The Vodou Trilogy

By Fulani

EPUB, 87 pages ebook Online Price:
ISBN: 9781909335752
Imprint: Xcite Books
Published: 7th February 2013

Category: BDSM / Fetish, Contemporary, Paranormal

Rating: 0 vote(s).

Ridden, part one in the Vodou paranormal erotica trilogy by Fulani

Eloise has been in a car crash, and the doctors think she has concussion. But that doesn’t explain why the world has a sparkle to it that isn’t normal, or why she has a suddenly voracious sexual appetite. More bizarrely, she has the experience of being drawn to a graveyard, where a stranger waits to fuck her. A person? A hallucination? Or something else? Why does she feels compelled to turn sex into a bondage ordeal and why, every time that happens, is someone connected to the person she’s screwing miraculously healed? Has she been given a spiritual gift she can’t bring herself to believe in – a gift that comes with, and works through, a compulsion for extreme sex …

She sat on a lounger, on the balcony, with a glass of white wine that was drinkable mainly because it was almost frozen. She watched the lights come on in ones and twos, heard the buzz of half a dozen languages from the street below, and tasted more than smelled the heady mix of night-scented blooms with an undercurrent of diesel.

It was difficult to get her head around what felt almost like a personality change. There was a sense of desire unleashed. Of primitive, animalistic urges that needed to be fulfilled. Of a reality – psychological, emotional, whatever – that was just under the surface of the world. Of conventional standards of morals and behaviour stripped away because, after all, who really gained from them? And who was enslaved by them?

All this was literally visible and tangible to Eloise now, both inside her own body and in everything she could see and hear and taste. The city lights flickered in some arcane sexual code. The scents of the flowers were designed to attract moths, used by the plants to achieve procreation. Even the faint diesel tang in the air spoke of lovers moving around the city, complex patterns of passions, assignations, infidelities.

She’d showered when she arrived home, catching her breath in pain as water jets directly caught the bruising and tender spots caused by the accident. She’d only wrapped a sarong around her body, but in the sticky night air it still felt like too much clothing. Parting her thighs and allowing the sarong to fall open, she used a finger to take droplets of condensation from the wineglass, used its coolness to trace around what felt like inflamed and hungry labia. Then shivered at the sensation it triggered, and put the finger to her mouth. It astonished her that after the argument with Tom – still not resolved – and the injuries she’d received in the accident, her body was telling her it needed sex. That wasn’t normal, surely?

But then who needed normality? What was normality but a consensual delusion she no longer shared?

She held the glass against her pussy and shuddered at the sudden, astonishing flow of craving it unleashed. Amazed herself at the sudden soddenness inside there.

Eloise imagined herself walking to the bedroom, lying down, employing the small vibrator that nestled in her bedside cabinet.

The door opened and Tom walked in.

He dragged a beer from the fridge on the way to the balcony and sunk heavily onto the other chair. He took deep swallows from the bottle. Just like it was a normal evening and yesterday had never happened.

‘I stayed over at the party. You missed some fun stuff.’ Like Eloise might have thought it was fun. Then, ‘I did wonder if you’d be here. Thought you might’ve gone to stay with one of your friends.’ Meaning one of the other teachers at the language school.

‘Nope. I ducked out because you were drunk and angry. I caught a taxi. Had a crash. I’ve been in hospital overnight.’

Tom nodded slowly. She stood in front of him in the shadows, presented the bruises on her arm and leg for inspection. And then – because why not? – allowed the wrap to fall from her body, displaying the colours of the night distilled into flesh.

She could see Tom’s emotional energy whirling round like a coruscating aura that enveloped his head. Reds, blues, and sparkles of silver. This time she couldn’t put it down to visual disturbance. She couldn’t put it down to anything at all, and just accepted it.


Fulani has been writing erotica for around ten years now, much of it dealing with BDSM and fetish, worlds he’s known for longer than he cares to remember. He has published numerous short stories, several novellas, and two novels with, among others, Xcite Books, Pink Flamingo, Renaissance Sizzler, 1001 Nights Press and Sweetmeats Press.


Find him at:
Fulani's limited attention span

And blogging with his partner Velvet Tripp at:





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