Sexation By Alice Gaines

Sexation
by Alice Gaines


cover art by Sahara Kelly
ISBN (13): 978-1-60521-089-6
Genre(s): Humor and Satire, Sci-Fi, BDSM
Theme(s): Ménage, Bisexual and More, Shapeshifters
Length: Novella





http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1005

Blurb:

What do you do when you find a little, green man in the backyard arguing with the garden gnome? If you’re Carly Osborn, you invite him inside. Only, this little green man -- It the Twenty-third -- has come to Earth for a sex vacation. Carly and her husband, Randall, haven’t been doing so well in the bedroom lately, and It is just what their marriage needs. When It’s sexation comes to an end, will the three friends have to part forever? Or, will they find a way to continue their threesome?

Excerpt:

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
What were you supposed to do when you found a little, green man in your backyard yelling at the lawn gnome? Carly Osborn did the only logical thing. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and slapped herself a couple of times. That ought to dislodge the cobwebs. Imagination or no, when she opened her eyes again, the small creature hadn’t disappeared. If anything, he’d puffed himself up in what looked like outrage and shouted at the porcelain ornament in a high-pitched language she’d never heard before. Lordy.
She took a few steps toward whatever he was, but not too close, and cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”
The man turned. If indeed she could call him a man. He seemed to have green and silver scales rather than skin and not much more than nostrils where his nose should be. One of his feathered brows rose over close-set eyes with crimson irises.
“Are you the proprietor?” he asked in perfect English. Accented, but easily understood.
“My husband and I own this house.”
“You should discipline this servant.” He pointed toward the gnome. “He’s very rude.”
“It dissed you?”
“I’ve been talking to it for five of your time units,” he said.
“Minutes.”
“Yes, minutes. And he hasn’t given me the courtesy of a reply.”
“It can’t. It’s not alive.”
The creature put its not-nose into the gnome’s face. “It looks human.”
“Really. It’s porcelain. Touch it.”
“I can do better than that.” The man raised a green fist and let it fly into the gnome’s chin. Immediately, he pulled his hand back and yelped in pain. The gnome teetered and then fell over onto the grass where it rolled for a second before settling.
“I told you,” Carly said.
He humphed with human-like disgust and reached under the silver scales. They were clothing, not skin. After a bit, he pulled out some glossy paper and held it out toward her. He tapped the front. “I want to find this address.”
She peered at it and finally recognized the paper as a magazine. “Hey, how did you get my copy of Femme Kink?”
His red eyes got wide with excitement. “This is you?”
“Carly Osborn. Yes.”
He did a little jig, hopping from one foot to the other in what looked like joy. “My navigation was better than I could have dreamed.”
“You didn’t answer my question. How did you get that?”
“The probe sampled the contents of your message receptacle.”
“The mailbox,” she said.
“Mailbox,” he repeated, as if storing the word for future use.
“You stole our mail,” she said. “That’s a federal offense.”
He cocked his head and stared at her as if the words got in but the meaning didn’t register.
Oh, hell, she wasn’t going to call the FBI and report an extraterrestrial mail thief. But she owed the customer service woman at the power company an apology for screaming at her about the missing bill. Not to mention the mail order outfit.
Hey, wait a minute. “You got my bras, you little pervert.”
The man ogled her breasts and gave her a grin full of tiny, sharp teeth. “And your textbook, Professor Osborn.”
“I’m not a professor. What textbook?”
He held up Femme Kink and leered at her.
“I didn’t write that,” she said.
He tapped the front with a scaly finger. “It has your name on the cover.”
“It’s a mailing label.”
“Don’t be modest, professor. I’m here to learn.” The grin got wider and more evil. In a minute, he’d be slobbering.
“Hey, now. Hang on. You don’t think…” She pointed at the magazine. “That I wrote… and that I’m going to… with you.”
“Take me to your vibrator.”

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