Erotic Stories from Wylde in Bed - 134: Lamb to the Slaughter Premiere

Episode Date: February 25, 2022

For the fist time ever, anywhere, you can listen to the premiere of Lamb to the Slaughter, a paranormal dark romance and Devlin Wylde's debut novel.  Get behind the mic info and exclusive snippets of this erotic story audiobook which you can purchase from wyldeinbed.com at a discounted rate until it appears on Audible. 

While wandering through my basement, my sanctuary, I'm thankful that the maddening sound of bleating sheep never reaches down here. This is my space, a place where I can be alone with my thoughts, my memories, my scars. I can talk to the dark here, and it will answer every time. The dark and I always understand each other. My fingertips trace the cold stone surfaces with a passion, a sensuality. One like others may touch a lover. I know these stones so intimately. Every vein, every mark, every chink.

I caress the cold surfaces, teasing them, taunting them. So much pain. So much heartbreak. so much pleasure after a long moment spent pondering how most people miss the key to true satisfaction I ultimately shed the thought and give my head a firm shake

they simply accept the pedestrian and the superficial pleasures of life just as many of the sheep do the words all sheep drop from my lips spontaneously, unbidden, unplanned, docile, compliant, though so compliant, easily influenced.

All pathetic sheep, a short line of broken bottles. My medals adorn a raised-topped shelf. They're a dark reminder of what made me, a bittersweet memory of the pain and suffering they caused me. I love every single one of them. them with all that I am, for the freedom they've given me, for the opportunity, the privilege, and for the simple device that removed my sheep's clothing before it was too late. I'd brush off a fine layer of dust while taking a long moment to survey a large jar.

When I had bought it, the supplier thought I might be a botanist, collecting rare and exquisite samples of life, and, in a way, I suppose he was right. Floating motionless in a sea of brine has been darkened by the brown glass, is a five-inch long piece of muscle. The torn ends as if severed by a savage dog and bring memories flooding back. Hi, it's Devlin and welcome to the exclusive premiere of the Lamb to the Slot of the Slot. audio book. Now, if you've been listening to the podcast avidly, which I know you have, then you will have heard some of the earlier chapters. But tonight, for the first time, the complete audiobook is available to buy. It isn't even on Audible yet. It's just that

damn exclusive. Now, it's a special treat. You can all. You can all. You can all. It's just on Audible yet. It's just that damn exclusive. Now, as a special treat, you can also order a signed ebook version just for you. Now, I'd like you to stay with me for the rest of the show. But if you just can't wait, then it's all available over on wildembed.com. Just follow the signs. Now, in tonight's show, I will give you a little insight into the characters where they came from, and a bit of bit about their backstory, I will also reveal the origin of the name of C&E, something I've been asked about repeatedly. I will also give you the background to the teapot chapter. If you've listened to that chapter, you'll know exactly what I mean. That one chapter prompted more

emails than any other reading I have ever done. It might just surprise you to find out exactly where the idea originated, and I might even give you a glimpse into the later chapters, which I know you haven't heard yet. So without further ado, let's meet our hero, whatever you want to call him. There was absolutely no way this could fail now.

He just knew it. Elation exploded as his bull hit the target, a bull's eye, the ball leaving its muddy finger, print, marking the spot. Aasterly painted white mark that adorn the old brewery wall was now nothing more but a smear of brown and black. Jamie danced in a circle, ignoring the rubble on the ground, while the crackle of broken bottles under its feet celebrated his victory. He could almost hear the roar of the crowd. But there were no cheers. There was no one celebrating his victory.

Just an eerie, ominous silence. He looked around, noticing that none of the other boys were even looking in his direction. They were all staring over the back of the wall they were sat on. What's happened? Jamie shouted impatiently, irritation flying through his chest at the distraction from his world champion level win. It's Dominic. The ball bounced and hit him in the face.

knocked him into the bottle-pit. Rob called back. Distress strangling his voice, Jamie had to concede that this might be slightly more important than his latest triumph. The brewery had been decimated by fire five years ago when no one had shown an interest in it.

The group of boys, along with one girl, acclaimed it as their own. It had become their headquarters, and they made it exactly as they wanted, including creating the bottle pit, which was every broken bottle they could find thrown into the open storage fat, creating a moat of broken glass,

just in case any vampires came. According to Rob, and his older brother had a book about vampires, so he would definitely know. The bloodsuckers were unable to travel across broken glass. On the afternoon they'd created the bottle note. The sun had been warm, and interest in the project had waned very quickly.

So the bottlemote was only two feet deep, but being at the foot of a 25-foot wall, they figured it was safe enough from all but the most determined of vampires. Unfortunately, the bottle pit was also where Dominic DeLur was now laying, face down and motionless. From the moment we meet Dominic, we can see this is a man who has been through the gates of hell, only to rise stronger.

He has literally died and been reborn. Something that is reflected on in the later chapters, he is a man that life has not given the best start to. Let's face it, you think after that accident, things just couldn't get worse, but they do, as I'm sure you know. This creates the man we meet later, a man who prefers the shadows to light, who prefers a company of wolves and children to that of adults, a man with a burning anger toward the state,

one that he can only vent through inflicting cold punishment on others, which is why he turns to be DSM for his pleasures. You might say he's a little troubled. He might say he's just passionately aggressive. When I first sent this out to publishers, the teapot scene was the one that drew many comments. So let's have a listen to an excerpt from that. Be warned, this is not for the faint-hearted.

I flick the kettle switch then removed my clothes, folding them neatly, while listening to the gentle bubbling of water. as it slowly comes to the boil. I pour the boiling water into a teapot full of fruits of the forest tea leaves and immediately the warm fragrance fills the room with the seductive embrace of the aroma.

I immerse myself into the sense of tart and tangy hibiscus and allow the pot to cool to the perfect temperature to inflict the maximum pain but not hot enough to shock the body into numbness. Are you ready? I ask, taking the prepared ice bucket from the freezer. Again, this will hurt.

I move back across the room, teapot in one hand, ice bucket in the other. Yes. Good, lift your face up. You'll need to keep your back level. Otherwise it will sting a damn side more. She lifts her head, her back levelling muscles tensing in anticipation. I leave the bucket on the floor and place a teapot on her back,

holding it for a moment while she adapts to the pain. When a restrained cry escapes her lips, I release the handle, letting the full weight of the pot press firmly onto her back. Hold it. I order sternly. It takes five minutes for the tea to brew. I step in front of her and sit back on the sofa. Open your, on perfect command, her mouth falls open, the tension of pain in her body,

beautifully tightening her mouth around my erection as I slide my heart cock into her mouth. Slowly, I say with a groan rising on my throat, suck me too fast, and you end up in hospital. I'm so okay, it's different. Not exactly your normal date night. Honestly, that really did happen. Not with me, let's be clear.

But the Marquis de Sade, who we happened to derive the word sadism from, came up with the idea first, and actually implemented it, along with many other, very weird ideas. It might explain why he spent most of his life in prison, or on the run for his chosen lifestyle and the books he wrote. Writing erotica in the 18th century was something that may well earn you a stretch inside. Okay, history lesson over.

For Dominic, the BDSM lifestyle is an expression of the frustration and anger he fills inside. For him it's an outlet. Otherwise he would have to explore other ways of dealing with it. Generally, a lot more bloody. As we can see from further on in that chapter. With her body heaped on the sofa, I watch her for a moment. The open wounds on her pelvis so inviting, so tempting, so fucking mouth-watering. We need to feed.

We need satisfaction. It is our turn, Dominic. I lift her in my arms and carry her to the bed, and lay her down gently onto the firm mattress. pausing for a moment to see if she'll come back round. Without touching her, I can sense her pulse. It's slow, but it's there. Secure that she's okay.

I push her thighs apart. My tongue lapping at the blood, still weeping from her wounds. Just for a moment, I let the beast rise to the surface. My tongue proves deeply than as humanly possible, tasting her juices. feeding on her, voraciously eating I'll come from her pussy, sucking the blood from her thighs. With her returning desire, her body convulses, her pussy shuddering with every lick of my tongue. With a long track of my teeth along her flesh, her thighs clench in the first throes of another orgasm, and almost growls when I suck at her clit, a deep sound resonating through her body,

her lips, her pussy, and right down onto that most sensitive nub. Muscles tightening and constricting, when I bite down sharply on her clit. Another climax floods her body and her eyes spring open as a scream, echoes from her mouth. Like most people, Dominic is multidimensional. He has a strong protective urge, particularly for the children, under his care at C&E, when I was a child growing up in the wilds of rural Southern England.

Many of the children's homes and indeed hospitals were actually repurposed old country homes. Large mansion-like buildings, with ivy growing up the walls and extensive grounds. And that's how I saw Cianney in my mind when I was writing the book. Something a little aspirational for children. So where does the name C&E come from? Well, let me read you something. and maybe that will give you a hint. It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the C&E Hills.

When Father Wolf woke up from his day's rest, he yawned and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with a big grey nose, dropped across her four tumbling, squealing cups, and the moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived. Ah, said Father Wolf, it is time to hunt again. He was going to spring downhill, when a little shadow with a bushy tail crossed the threshold and whined.

Good luck go with you, oh chief of the wolves, and good luck and strong white teeth go with noble children, that they may never forget the hungry in this world. Recognise it? Or maybe not. It's actually an excerpt from Mowgli's brothers, which is the first book of the jungle book. C&E is the name of the wolf pack that takes Mowgli in.

See, that'll teach you to pay attention to Disney movies. And how could we talk about lamb to the slaughter without talking about Diane? When I created Diane, I wanted to have an understory with her. She is very much the central character through the story, as Lama Ther the slaughter could really be subtitled, perverting the innocence.

Now, I don't just mean on a sexual level, but an ethical level. When we first meet Diane, she is dispensing justice in the school ground, and this really was intended as a reflection of her innocent attitude toward justice and the legal system. as an attorney once said to me, justice and the law are often poles apart. And really, Lamb is about Diane's exploration, not just of her own sexual desires, but a realisation that sometimes the twisted nature of the law and the bureaucracy that enforces it can put it in a juxtaposition with justice. Now, I'm not going to give anything away, as I know you haven't listened to the end yet.

But Diane's transformation is dramatic. The Lamb in the title is really Diane's naive view of the justice system and Diane's ethics, which are brought into question by the people within the legal system who should be policing justice. When I first started writing Lamb, it was only meant as a short story. It just got carried away with itself,

which I am told stories can do. So I just kept writing, letting the story take me to where it wanted to go. And believe me, at the end, it goes to some very dark places. Will there be a sequel? Well, I do have ideas for one. If I do write it, it will be serialized on the podcast, and I would invite your feedback and suggestions. Now the if I write it is down to you.

If you like the story so far, then grab the audiobook version now and give me some feedback. Devlin at wildembed.com You've been around me for long enough to know. I take positive criticism very well. In a moment I will leave you with a final excerpt. From a part I know you haven't heard but I look forward to seeing you on Monday

when we can get wild in bed all over again. So until then, and always with your pleasure and mind, I will leave you with that final excerpt from Lamb to the Slaughter. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And don't forget to visit wildembed.com to pick up your copy. Dominic takes my hand and helps me out of bed. Another bout of wooziness filling my head from my heavy slumber. He gently rubs my cheek with the part of his thumb,

his eyes filled with care and concern. Are you ready? I nod, my pulse quickening more than a notch. Face down or on my back. Face down is best. He helps me down, and with my face pressed into the rug, I wonder just how bad the pain will be. I stretch my legs out as far as I can manage, followed by my arms, hoping that for some reason this might help ease the pain.

It only takes a minute, maybe less, before I feel the warm tingling in my scars beginning to grow slowly, spreading, while little shocks of electricity move across my skin. Every pore erupting as the spread of fur begins flooding over my body. The sudden shock of heat causes me to gasp. The gas quickly transforming into a low growl as the tingling in my legs and arms becomes a piercing, sharp pain. As if all my limbs are suddenly being broken at once, my legs start swelling. The sensation of something pushing through my broken bones agonizing,

forcing my fur-covered ass into the air, causing my legs to expand and stretch. while I tried desperately to balance on my arms as that same agony is shared with them. My forearms swell, extend, hoisting my shoulders up. My muscle mass in my shoulders and hips expand, pushing a horrendous torrent of pain up my human spine, forcing it upwards, bending it, stretching it. The muscles along every inch of my spine began broadening, growing,

followed by tendons pulling my spine wide open to bear the heavy weight of the new muscle. Like a baby walking for the very first time, I struggled to my feet, whimpering, moaning, pain shooting through every newly developed joint, every sinew, every muscle, I waver and wobble, stumbling with the unfamiliar body. As a wolf pushes further down into my feet, stretching them, strengthening. them. The ripple of pushing through comes through my nails, claws extending, scraping across the floor. My balance is easier now, with wider feet. I push up confidently, with conviction. Standing at my full height on all fours, as another ripple of pushing through, slides up my legs.

Pushing the agony into my spine. My neck arches in response to the pain. The wave of agony pushing through my skull, entering my brain, while the front of my face begins burning. The pushing through becomes a how, echoing deep throughout my body. As it moves up my throat, it grows deeper, louder, entering my mouth and causing my senses to ignite with all the activity around me. My nostrils flare angrily, stretching, my mouth expanding, teeth growing longer. The flood of smells fills my head as my house subsides into more of a low growl. My tongue licking the sides of my muzzle, tasting my new fur for the first time. A sensation that somehow feels like something I've always known.

A strangely familiar sensation begins to relax me as I scan the room. My colour vision different, but still vibrant, even in the monochrome palette of my eyesight. Dominic is a faint red hue to him.