Second Collection of Short Stories Book 2 of The Soul Series
Fictional Humor Short Stories
Date Published: 01-25-2023
Publisher: Magic Zoe Publishing
One Soul’s Journey is an eclectic and extraordinary collection of short
The ingredients: imagination, a dash of real life, inspiration, and lots of
love. If you’ve read and loved her first collection, “For the
Soul,” this book will delight you.
Praise for The Soul Series
5.0 out of 5 stars
“Delightfully charming short stories”
“Excellent book. A must-read”
About the Author
Barbara Daniels Dena is an American best-selling author and influential
writer of her eclectic short stories in ‘The Soul Series.’
The author’s stories are almost a memoir and are a unique collection of
inspiring short stories of ‘good ole fashioned living,’ along with many past
and present memories and life experiences that tug on the heart, warming
stories, and fictional tall tales and doggie tails delighting readers
worldwide. The books are available on Amazon Books, Kindle, and many fine
online book sites.
Barbara began writing at an early age as a lover of
“Make-Believe.” Today, her writing has developed from memories of
family experiences, various compilations of events in her life, and her love
of animals. She is willing to admit that her vivid imagination plays a role
in her stories. The author is an Illinois native who has lived in many
places; as Barb says, like a free-spirited “Gypsy,” she has lived
and worked in Illinois, Washington, Idaho, and Georgia, but Ultimately,
comes home settling back in the Quad Cities area of Illinois.
She is a proud mother of two grown children. She was a business owner, ran
a Temp Agency, transitioned into her passion for floral design, and opened,
owned, and ran several floral shops. Her favorite flower is the
“Casablanca Lily.” Her favorite color is Red, and when she isn’t
writing, Barbara spends her free time oil painting and enjoys quilting,
knitting, and reading.
Her favorite book is “Death Be Not Proud” by John J. Gunther. Her
first love will always be playing with her fur baby; a little Yorkie named
Zoe. She continues to write from her cozy nook as she gazes over a pond full
of geese and ducks. On many days it is more gazing than writing.
Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Demon Erotica Story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!
Killed in a dirty back alley by a street whore. Such an ugly way to die. But my lessons in death have only just begun.
Hell is filthy. And cold. And as soon as I fell, I found a demon waiting for me. My new Master. From spanking to whipping to painful abuse, each new lesson gives me hope — the hope of oblivion. Surely I can’t survive this long.
But the longer I’m here, the more I learn about myself and the life I wasted. And the more I crave Master’s touch. Each lesson strips away another layer of my mortal flesh. I am everyman. I am no one. I am what my Master wishes me to be. A Demon’s whore for all eternity… Who said going to Hell didn’t have its rewards?
Extreme BDSM Warning: The actions portrayed in this story are well outside the accepted BDSM norm of “Safe, Sane, and Consensual” or even “Risk Aware Consensual Kink” and should not be reenacted by mere mortals. Unless you’re a demon, you will end up featured on “1000 Ways to Die.”
I fell into a rocky hole, so small I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t even crawl down the steep slope. Rolling from side to side got me inching down, but also got dirt up my ass. And whether exertion or something else caused the temperature to rise, I was getting much, much warmer.
Ingenuity kicked in, and I figured out by laying on my back, head first, I could use my feet on the craggy sides to push my way down the tunnel. The bottom had sides equally rough. No doubt I’d have bruises all over.
No biggie. Pain I could handle.
A deep voice rose up from the darkness. “You think so, eh? We’ll find out.”
Without warning, I fell head first onto a dirt floor as lumpy as the tunnel. Even as I watched, rubbing my head, the hole closed. I tapped on the spot where the opening had been to see if it was solid. Yeah, they didn’t miss a trick, this bunch.
“Welcome to my home,” the deep voice said with obvious amusement.
I turned to find a well dressed man in a suit not unlike one I’d wear to the office, when I bothered to go in. His hair had been neatly styled, his shoes shined, and his body looked like he could give me a challenge on the handball court. In fact, as I gazed longer, he looked a lot like me.
“This is what you were. Now, I will show you the real me.”
First, his eyes turned red. That was enough to make me tremble. Something awful radiated from them, the promise of no sympathy, no compromise.
As covertly as I could, I looked for routes of escape. I should have kept my eyes on him, or better yet on the floor. Cages and torture devices and things I’d only seen on the Internet filled my vision. I wasn’t skilled at using them, as my extra marital lovers told me, and I doubted I’d be any better at having them used on me.
“See me, and know that I am your Lord and Master,” the deep voice ordered.
Despite emptying myself earlier, I again felt the need to pee when I looked upon the creature who spoke to me. With skin as red as his eyes, hair only a few shades darker that hung to his waist, and claws on both fingers and toes, just seeing him induced panic.
“You know, I’m not really into the D/s thing. Can we skip this part?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories.
The who and what of Kira in this more mundane world is not what turns you on, but the words sure do – so go discover the passion that awaits you between the covers of every Kira Stone book…
I do not know what They are. I don’t know where They came from.
All I know for certain is They appeared in the house about six weeks after Amy and I moved in.
They may have always been in the house, but I don’t believe that’s true. I believe they found something compelling about the old building that drew them to it. My wife and I were merely the unfortunate souls who resided there when They arrived.
Lock your doors, close the drapes, turn on all the lights…Supernatural horror from G. Allen Wilbanks at its best.
They is a spine-tingling, hair-raising, chilling tale that will have you on the edge of your seat.
Do you love things that go bump in the night? Enjoy tales of spooky things stalking you in the dark? If you answered yes to both of those questions, They is a must-rest you won’t be able to put down! Mr. Willbands packs quite a punch in so few pages that will leave you wanting more. Be prepared for a dark tale with an even darker ending… buckle up because it will be quite the ride!
I received a free copy of this book via Booksprout and am voluntarily leaving a review.
A collection of queer fairy tale retellings for the discerning reader. Dive into a world both familiar and strange and meet a colorful cast of characters from all different backgrounds and upbringings, from princes and paupers to aliens and dwarves, from merchant sons to sign language interpreters. And fairies, of course. But it’s important to remember… most fairies aren’t fairy godmothers.
The White Cat follows the intrepid young prince Yufitri from across the Sea, who meets a mystical talking cat who offers to grant all his desires—even the call for a wife.
The Fairy’s Gift tells the tale of a young princess Wynn who was cursed by an evil fairy to… have the body of her dreams? Oh no, whatever shall she do? Save a neighboring kingdom it seems!
In From Stars They Fell, when a strange metal ship falls from the sky, an angel with dragonfly wings is left stranded in a strange land, and meets a young man who speaks with his hands.
When the angel takes the job of the young man’s interpreter, Oswin, he sets out to find new work. The Echoes of the Dead finds him stumbling across mysterious black ruins in the woods, inhabited by a scarred and quiet elf whose kindness hides a depth of despair.
In A Step Apart and a World Away, Naomhan, a duke’s son, who has always felt apart from the world, rescues a beautiful snake, who turns into a beautiful man promising rewards for Naomhan’s kindness. But Naomhan wants only to disappear.
And In the Shade of the Tree of Life ends the collection with a tale of anxiety and heartbreak, when a tailor’s apprentice of maligned background falls in love with a hermit of a prince.
The next day, Yufitri woke to gentle hands shaking his shoulder and pointing toward a set of unfamiliar clothing folded atop the chest at the foot of the bed. Two pairs of hands helped him undress, then put on the foreign clothes. A short shirt with tight sleeves and short pants came first, and then a longer shirt that ended at his knees and buckled at the waist. It had tight sleeves only to the elbow and then fell open, dangling strangely around the long sleeves of the first shirt. And to finish, soft deerskin shoes.
He felt like his top half had been overstuffed, leaving legs oddly bare, but he found, as he acclimated to the unfamiliar clothing, he was much warmer. A long cloak was draped over his shoulders and fastened with a pin.
Now that he was fully dressed, the hands gave him a gentle push toward the door and led him down to the dining hall. The white cat sat at the head of the long table, sitting primly on a velvet cushion so it could look over the empty dishes. The rest of the table, save for one seat, was filled with other cats of varying size and color. Their eyes, jewel-bright and glittering, watched him as he entered. He was a bit intimidated but took the empty chair beside the white cat and sat to its right.
Green eyes gleamed at him, and the cat inclined its head politely. “I am glad the clothes suit you, king’s son. Don’t worry; you can have yours back when you leave. I am having them washed.”
“Did they offend?” Yufitri couldn’t help a smirk.
The cat seemed to smile, its eyes narrowing softly. “A little. Cats have delicate noses.” The rest of the table started to purr, presumably in amusement. The food emerged from the kitchen, carried by the floating hands. He was surprised how quickly he was getting used to them.
However, he was not excited to see the plates contained an opening course of roasted mouse. The cat saw his face and called a pair of hands over with a paw. “Make sure our guest gets his proper meal,” it said. “I will not be the sort of host who serves food unfit for human consumption.”
The hands came together and dipped forward as if bowing and returned to the kitchen.
In a moment, there was a bowl of warm soup in front of Yufitri, white and steaming. “Milk and potato are the main ingredients,” the cat said comfortingly. “No mouse or rat has touched it.” A purr snuck into its voice. “Though I can do nothing about the cat hair. A hazard of a cat-ruled kitchen, you see.”
“I…also do not consume swine or cow, dear cat. Though I’ve no such objection to accidental fur.” He smiled.
“I shall have a note made.” Sure enough, it told the nearest set of hands to inform the kitchen. Yufitri watched, marveling, as two hands came together and reshaped into quill and parchment. Another hand wrote the note and, when finished, rolled it up, and flew off into the kitchen.
The potato stew was excellent. Two large birds served as main course, each carried by two sets of hands. Well-mannered cats cut slices off with their claws and took only small bites. The white cat, the politest of them all, patted delicately at its face and whiskers with the napkin from beside the plate.
After the meal, the rest of the cats leapt from their chairs and returned to whatever their business they had, leaving Yufitri and the white cat.
“Would you care to join me in the drawing room?” asked the cat.
“I would be glad to,” he said.
It jumped off the cushion and landed primly on its feet, looking back at Yufitri. “I am curious about whatever quest brought you to this strange land, and I’m sure you have questions for me, though there is little I can answer.”
H.R. Harrison is the penname of an unfortunate soul whose ancestors opted to Americanize pronunciation… but not spelling.
She has worn a lot of hats in her day jobs, but always spends a lot of time thinking about communication, language, and how words… word.
She has a love for fantasy, mythos, and genre subversion, and that is what drew her toward writing LGBTQ fantasy. She also tends to fall into research pits while trying to write. Therefore, she knows a lot of random trivia about a lot of random topics.
Her shift had only just begun at the Shaved Pussy and already her feet hurt, so did her ass. She was only a waitress there, but the men seemed to think that because she worked at a strip club, they could smack her ass and pinch it as much as they wanted. The bouncers always appeared to look the other way as well, fuckers. As long as the talent wasn’t being harassed, the men didn’t really give two figs, as long as she wasn’t hurt badly enough to cause her to have to leave her shift. That was all that was important to them, and she knew it. She was barely a commodity to them because she didn’t dance to earn money for the bar.
Another hand landed on her ass while she tried to sidestep a drunk that was sitting there and continuously attempting to get her to give him just twenty minutes in the VIP room. She had to snort at that. If the man could only muster twenty minutes, there was no way in hell she was going to break her own personal rule and go anywhere with him. She didn’t sleep with clients, she didn’t sleep with co-workers, and she didn’t do anything that could possibly cause her to get pregnant. She had enough of a fucked-up life and refused to add to it. Plus, she also refused to hurt a child born to her, and with how she lived, it would be harmful.
No, she was a waitress, and that was it, period. She spent her nights waiting tables here, her mornings at the diner that was halfway between the Shaved Pussy and her little hole in the wall apartment. She hoped and prayed that one day she would be able to do more than that but, in the meantime, she was not going to make the same mistakes her mother made. She refused to do anything that would cause her any more issues in her life, let alone add a complete innocent to it.
Taking a deep breath, Brynn plastered the smile on her face and dropped off more drinks before moving back to the bar so that she could put in drink orders for another table. While she was waiting for those, she looked over the crowd and took in where everyone was. Brynn was moving her head to the sound of the music, she loved the song playing, so of course, she was going to give a little move to it. She might not have a radio, but she heard lots of music through the walls of her apartment and here at the Shaved Pussy, as well.
She narrowed her gaze on one of the heavy-handed men and wasn’t surprised when he reached out and grabbed the dancer, tugging her ankle to pull her to her ass on the dance floor and toward him. Well, sucked to be him because she was one of the talent and no one let those ladies be man-handled like that!
She snickered when she saw the large bulks of the bouncers melt from the shadows and quickly take him in hand and hustled him out of the club. Well, crap, that meant that she lost a table when his friends followed him out. She sighed and waved to the bartender. “Jack, hey, cancel that last order please?”
“No can do, Brynn. Already made.” He replied with a cocky smirk on his face that said he enjoyed making her pay for the drinks. “That means you get to pay, sugar. I suggest you take a drink and let yourself go a little. You know, they do let us drink on the job.”
“Yeah but I have to make it to the diner, and they don’t like drinking,” Brynn replied and pulled the fifty bucks out of her tips, which left her with thirty dollars in tips for the night. Great. So that meant she would need to go to the food pantry again. She had to make sure that her rent was paid, so groceries were off the table for her this week.
She tossed the money his way and then turned so that she could check on her other tables, in hopes that she would be able to pump some more money out of the few tables she had left.
About the Author
April Zyon is an author of erotic and paranormal romance. The hotter the sizzle, the better. Lover of Alpha heroes, bad boys, and the women they love. Insta-love believer, and true romantic at heart. April has written over 100 books in a variety of genres. Paranormal, Contemporary, Sci-fi, Ménage; and they all feature sexy heroines and the hot heroes that love them!!
“She has something to tell you. Do you no’, lass?” Maddock said, prodding her closer to Brochan.
Fenella looked miserable as she twisted the skirt of her dress in her hands. “Iona isnae comin’.”
Brochan’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “What do you mean she isnae comin’? We were to be wed a half hour past.”
Fenella cast a glance around before moving closer. She leaned in until her lips brushed his ear, making him grow even warmer. Her voice was soft as she whispered in his ear, the soft puff of her breath wreaking havoc on him.
“She isnae comin’,” Fenella whispered. “She’s run off with a businessman from Glasgow.”
Brochan leaned back and looked down at her, thinking the lass surely must be jesting. Where in the hell would Iona have met a man from Glasgow? It wasn’t like she travelled any further than the neighboring town. And if she’d run off with him, did that mean she’d been seeing him secretly this entire time?
“I know she didnae want to hurt you, Brochan, but she said she fell in love and didnae know how to break things off with you. She’s held it all in until this morning. She left an hour ago.”
“If you’ve known for an hour, lass, why didnae you come and tell me before I stood down here waiting like a bampot? I’ve been made a fool by the entire town, and it could have been avoided if you’d spoken up sooner. People will be laughing about this for ages.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I didnae mean any harm, Brochan. I was scared to tell you, truth be told. I didnae want to be the bearer of bad tidings on your wedding day, or what was supposed to be your wedding day. I know Iona didnae mean any harm, but she had to follow her heart. You can understand that, right? I mean, you’d do the same if your roles were reversed?”
Not hardly. If he were to claim the woman he’d always wanted, he’d have to take Fenella as his wife, and that was never going to happen. Just because taking a younger bride had worked out well for Alasdair, his alpha, it didn’t mean it would work out well for Brochan too. But Christ! He loved the lass more than his next breath and always had. He’d run off more of her boyfriends than he could count, always threatening to rip them to shreds if they darkened her door again. He might not be able to claim her for himself, but that didn’t mean he wanted someone else to have her.
His gaze took in the hungry onlookers, each of them hanging on their every word. Bunch of vultures. They would gossip over this moment for days. Weeks. Hell, possibly months or longer. If Iona were present, he’d wring her neck for putting him in his position. Blowing out a breath, he calmed himself before his beast could rise to the surface. The last thing he needed was to shift in the middle of the church, especially after Fergus’ lapse in judgment not too long ago.
“It’s no’ your fault, Fenella. This is between Iona and me, and she was just too chicken shit to come forward and talk to me herself. You donae need to fret over it. What’s done is done. It’s no’ like you can bring her back, and even if you could, I wouldnae marry her now for all the money in the world. She’s made her bed, let her lie in it.”
Fenella nodded and reached for him, but he held himself stiff and refused to succumb to her charms. If he took her in his arms, it would all be over. With his current state of mind, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back. He wouldn’t mean to do it, but he’d claim her for certain. There were worse things, he supposed, than living the rest of his life with the woman he loved, but he didn’t want to condemn her to a life of secrecy. She deserved a man who didn’t have to hide his true nature, and children who wouldn’t turn into tigers. If she married him, her life would be one big lie.
That had been fine for Iona, except that she hadn’t known what he was. He’d thought to tell her after the ceremony but before he claimed her. Not that it was a sound plan because so much could have gone wrong, but it was a moot point now. Iona would never learn his secret; he’d never claim her; and now that she was gone, he no longer had a reason to be around Fenella. That was both a blessing and a curse. He’d no longer have to hide how he felt about the young lass, but at the same time, being around her was like feeling the sun on your face. He’d miss that.
“You should go home, lass,” he told her. “I’ll let everyone know there willnae be a wedding today, or any day.”
“Are you sure you donae want me to stay?” she asked uncertainly. “Most of these people are my friends and family. They might take the news better from me.”
“I’ll be fine, lass.”
She nodded and hesitantly walked back up the aisle. When she was out of sight, Brochan heaved a sigh and faced the gathered men, women, and children who were waiting for a wedding that would never take place. God give him strength, because all he wanted to do right now was go get shit faced somewhere until the humiliation was over. No one left Brochan Kinley! Well, until now. He felt the sting of Iona’s rejection, even if he had been doubting their suitability just moments before she’d stood him up. It was the way she’d done it that rankled. If she’d come to him before now, let him know she was having doubts, that she’d met someone else, then he’d have happily walked away and left her to her life. But no, she had to jilt him at the altar. Bitch.
“You’re probably wonderin’ about the delay in the wedding,” Brochan said in a loud voice. “Well, there isnae going to be a wedding. It seems the bride has found herself another groom. Unfortunately, she forgot to tell the rest of us.”
First of all, thank you so much for having me here today! “Venus In Fur Coat” is a bit of a rarity of me – it’s a contemporary romance and I’m more of a sci-fi/fantasy type of gal. But when inspiration strikes, you don’t ask questions. The idea for this story came to me fully formed, which was kind of cool. I also love the art aspect in it – I’ve painted and drawn my whole life, and more recently (well, like the past 10 years at this point), have done a lot of scrapbooking. So I’m a bit of an artist at heart, and I really identify with Derek. And I also identify with Cara, who has a very practical streak to her. After all, I did set all my artsy stuff aside to pursue school and a more traditional career. So I guess one could say that they both have different aspects of my personality… and it was kind of cool watching them come together 🙂
“Venus In Fur Coat” is a Rubenesque/BBW, New Adult, Contemporary, Erotic Romance short story (8,900) words.
Cara is an accounting major in college, and she is practical, a little cynical, and focused on her studies. When she allows her roommate to drag her to a frat party, the last thing she expects is running into the artsy-bad-boy type who tempts her to throw all her typical reservations out the window.
Derek tends to go with his feelings—intense and passionate, with a strong alpha streak. It will be up to him to bring Cara out of her shell and help her experience life to its fullest. Both of them feel that special spark, and one passionate night could change the course of their lives forever.
Derek followed her through the hallway. She was already walking down the street, away from the house by the time he made it outside. He watched her walking away, debating whether he should approach her now. It was dark out, and he didn’t want to freak her out by seeming stalker-ish. But then again, if she was going to be walking around alone at night, she’d probably be better off with a friendly stalker keeping her company.
Having decided, he set off at a light jog to catch up with her. She wasn’t too far ahead, likely slowed down by her high-heeled boots. His cock had responded as soon as he first laid eyes on her, standing there all timid and uncertain, and now that he could see her ass wiggling as she walked, he grew painfully hard. His jeans were not designed to accommodate a huge hard-on. He adjusted himself just before catching up to her.
She was everything that turned him on in a woman. Curves in all the right places, so voluptuous that he could just imagine himself sinking into her, her soft cushioning against his own hard planes. Her hair had an adorable bit of frizz to it, and she wore it pulled back from an angelic face. The face of a goddess. A face right out of ancient paintings by the great masters.
His boots crunched on the gravel and she stopped and turned around. His heart picked up speed when their gazes met again, and he was glad he followed his gut. No way was he giving up until he got to know her better. Dating just for the hell of it was starting to lose its appeal. If he was honest with himself, he’d had his fill of it for a long time, but until now, no one had come along that made him want anything more serious.
“Hey.” Maybe not the most eloquent way to start the conversation, but she stood staring at him with wide eyes and a startled expression, waiting for him to say something.
“Hi.” Her voice was a whisper. The wind picked up speed and rustled through the leaves in the trees around them, as though echoing her.
“It’s not safe to be walking around alone at night.” Criticizing her choices, right off the bat, probably wasn’t the greatest way to make an impression, but it had been a pretty bad move on her part. Even if she wanted nothing to do with him, he didn’t like the idea of her walking around alone at night. There were too many assholes out there, and it just wasn’t safe.
She raised a brow in response and crossed her arms across her chest. He guessed that was her pissed-off look, but it was somewhat spoiled by how hot her tits looked pushed up that way.
“Oh, really? I guess it’s safer to be out here at night with a total stranger?”
About Ela Stein:
Reading was my entertainment and salvation as a child, and it transferred into a passion for writing. I am still very much a reader, and love many different genres, from erotic romance, to fantasy (and dark fantasy… Game of Thrones, anyone?), to historical fiction, and that love is reflected in my own writing as well. If you’d like to learn more about me, or chat about books and life, you can find me all over the web. I’d love hearing from my readers. You can find me here: