Author Archives: Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez

About Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez

My Niece and Nephew joke that I could open a used book store with all the books that I own. I love to read, that is my addiction. I can't go a week without going to a book store. I love crocheting. I love to write stories and poetry. I also love my family, even though they make me crazy at times. I am a huge Donald Duck Fan.

Women Therapists on Healing Virtual Book Tour

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Women Therapists on Healing cover

 

11 Personal Essays about Overcoming Trauma

Psychology Nonfiction

 

Date Published: February 3rd, 2026

 

Publisher:
Acorn Publishing

 


Women Therapists on Healing
is a powerful anthology of personal essays from
women therapists who know trauma from the inside out. This three-part
collection braids lived experience with clinical wisdom, offering a
compassionate lens on healing that crosses cultural, generational, and
systemic boundaries.

Far beyond a typical guide to PTSD, this book
challenges outdated narratives and sheds light on the effects of marginalized
topics, such as chronic invisible illness, intergenerational trauma, racism,
ritual abuse, and human trafficking.
This book will especially resonate
with
●    women recovering from trauma

healers and advocates seeking growth and guidance
●    health
professionals committed to trauma-informed and anti-racist practices

friends and family who love and support survivors
The diverse
voices in these essays honor the arduous path of healing as a reckoning, a
reclamation, and a sacred reminder that we do not walk alone.
 


Women Therapists on Healing tablet

EXCERPT

The cicadas were noisy where my grandmother’s white, metal Maytag wringer washer stood in the grassy backyard next to the kitchen’s screen door beside the thriving vegetable garden. On the front porch, I watched with my child eyes, the moment a slim, young blond woman wearing a yellow cotton dress rumbled toward us in a shiny and substantial car. She parked it on the red dirt driveway next to my grandparents’ wooden house on Peach Street, which was on the other side of the railroad tracks, near the big tobacco barn up the paved road. The young lady stood in front of the house and my grandmother, in her blue housedress, seemed much older as she approached from the backyard where the wringer washer was. She was carrying a wicker laundry basket filled with pressed and neatly stacked linens. The young woman handed my grandmother a dollar with an audible, “Thank you, Sarah,” addressing her by her first name as she took the ample basket from outstretched arms. She didn’t look my way. My grandmother’s honey-brown fingers folded the worn dollar bill handed to her from the lady’s freckled hands in half, with a look on her face that appeared to disapprove of the moment and the woman. I hadn’t seen that interaction or look before.

The following chapter explores the intersections of belonging, othering, its connection to trauma, and my own narrative of the internal struggle of identifying self-worth as a woman of color—and, more specifically, as a Black identifying woman in the world and in the creative art therapy profession of drama therapy. These thematic intersections are all aligned to self-esteem and how others perceive us as women in our social and professional spheres. The intersections affect how we stride on the planet and our overall health. The following exploration bade me to act as a bricoleur, collecting and implementing the odds and ends—fragments of the historical narratives that visit me; creating a collage of images, implementing snippets of stories in order to form a larger landscape of understanding—both for the reader and myself; a free-form approach inviting me to scribe the lived stories that function as examples of our collective vulnerability. Only when I pause, noting and re-collecting the useful threads and seeds, like an invested mama bird building her secure nest through writing, does the story I want to share come through. It is in the collecting, forming, and then sharing of stories from which deep understanding for self and others can occur. 

As a parallel process, I share how a creative arts therapeutic action of creating a narrative-based assemblage construction called the Poetic Home exercise can offer personal insight about such things related to self-identity and trauma. Insight exists in the social constructionism approach, in the courageous encounter where the process of making meaning with others leads to self-actualization. 

When I ponder the very pregnant and universal topic of self-worth, there are two distinct landscapes embedded in bygone eras that come to mind. This chapter began with the first, a scribed memory of my eight-year-old self experiencing an interaction that illustrates the tone of time, place, and relationship where much of my initial conscious awareness about the circumstances of belonging, self-worth, and othering started. This narrative inquiry praxis looks forward, backward, and considers chronology, place, and the relational through an emic perspective—an auto-ethnographic unpacking that situates lived data in story form for an empathic as well as intellectual understanding.

The upcoming narrative landscapes feature my grandfathers within those bygone eras; both men were worlds apart from each other and yet so precise in the way they strode the planet upon which they thrived—at least when I met them. Afuape (2011) mentions the importance of reclaiming memory, arguing that as a result of the attack on memory that comes with abuse, violence, and oppression, people who experience emotional distress and psychosocial difficulties often experience life as single-storied, predominantly featuring hopelessness and despair. Therefore, reclaiming memory, as I do in the following pages, is a liberatory act and an important part of resisting these felt abuses of power—that may be recent to me or may have occurred generations ago to my ancestors. I am not absolute in knowing how the fragments of my sharing will affect the reader or myself. Nor do I claim the ensuing storied pieces complete the materials for a whole narrative of an entire lifetime. Reclaiming storied and variegated fragments through a bricolage practice (Denzin and Lincoln 2008) of story making and writing here serves as the healing process of tending, mending, and witnessing in the role of the griot, defined as the respected West African narrator of oral traditions, poetry, history, and genealogy, which I hold from my ancestors—a significant interactional aspect of the drama therapist and social constructionist position I embody.

About the Author
Susan Pease Banitt
Award-winning author Susan Pease Banitt is
a Harvard-trained psychotherapist and licensed clinical social worker with
over thirty years of experience in the field. In her work, she integrates
western therapy with holistic practices like yoga, Reiki, and Celtic
shamanism.
Her acclaimed books, The Trauma Tool Kit and Wisdom,
Attachment, and Love in Trauma Therapy
, are essential reading for anyone
seeking a compassionate path to healing complex trauma.
Based in
Portland, Oregon, she continues her coaching and consulting work through Lotus
Heart Counseling, and she shares bite-size wisdom on TikTok as “The
Lightworker Whisperer.” In her downtime, she enjoys RVing, gardening,
performing improvisational comedy, and spending time with family and
friends.

 

Contact Links

 

Instagram: @susanpeasebanitt
Purchase Links

 


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Bedtime Stories Teaser

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Bedtime Stories (#1)

 

Romance Box Set — brought to you by Bedtime Stories Publishing

 

 

 

Date Published: February 27, 2026

 

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

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This story’s about how Sam saved Troll’s Blog by coming up
with one of the coolest ideas ever. Bedtime Stories Publishing…


Shelby Morgen — Troll’s Blog:
Perfect skin, dusted a light powder blue.
Bright burgundy Mohawk. 6’4”. Dark blue uniform. Big shiny gun.
Yeah. I’m the Troll under the bridge. But if you’re reading my
blog, you know that. That’s why I call it Troll’s Blog. Duh. But I
digress. This story isn’t about me. Not exactly. It’s about my
blog. And Sam. And another one of Sam’s great ideas. You’re gonna
love it. Really.


Lena Austin — Ugly Duckling:
Jean-Paul, incubus editor for Bedtime Stories
Press has been assigned a new author. Dominick may be a fantastic author, but
when he gets aroused, the situation gets ugly. Literally. Jean-Paul is sure he
can handle Dom. Maybe…


Anne Kane — Pixie’s Playmates:
“While the story had an engaging
quality, I feel that the flavor of the sex was too vanilla for Bedtime Stories
Press.” When Bedtime Stories Press review coordinator Pixie calls the
reviewer into the office she finds out “B.J. Smith” is really two
very drool-worthy males who want to demonstrate their toys. What’s a
pixie to do?


Marteeka Karland — Shut Up!
As official kitty of the Bar and Grille for the
Bedtime Stories readers and authors, Callie has the last say in everything she
does and with everyone in her vicinity. Then Troll makes a proclamation that
could very well get someone killed. Anyone who can get the last word in on
Callie gets to have his way with her in bed. It’s a proposition Eli
can’t refuse. Callie’s about to get all the loving from Eli she
can stand. If she can just shut up.


Note: Bedtime Stories in no way represents any actual publishing company. Any
resemblance to the staff and authors of Changeling Press is purely
coincidental.

That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.

Bedtime Stories paperback

 

Excerpt from Troll’s Blog

 

All rights reserved.

 

Copyright ©2026

 

I was so wrapped up watching the ’50s vintage Harley coming toward me I didn’t
even notice he wasn’t registering on my screen. As in 1950s. Well over a
hundred years old, and still on the road. That machine was really flying.
Well, no. Not really flying. That’s an old euphemism for moving. Speeding.

God knows what he’d put in the tank. Probably running on moonshine.
Nothing legal’d have it cranking like that. The sound of that motor purring
down the road toward me had my blood heating up. I closed my eyes for a
moment, ready to breathe in the scent of ancient exhaust.

Then it hit me. Sigh. No. Not literally hit me. My brain engaged —
enough to see the century-old motorcycle was not registering on my vid panel.
Nothing. Flying completely under the radar. And he wasn’t slowing down. In
fact, the closer he got, the farther he laid himself out along that tank.
Rider and cycle shot past me in one long black blur that had my mouth watering
— and my hand on my gun. He might be sexy as hell, all black leather
stretched out long and lean over that tank, but nobody — and I mean nobody —
runs the gate on my watch.

Alarms and sirens went off, and lights flashed down the next mile of
bi-way, warning the felon that he’d best slow down and pull over before the
Toll Collector caught up with him.

Not that he slowed in the least. In fact, I’d have bet a month’s salary
he gunned it about then.

Fine. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, the chase was on.

Damn, but that view looked even better from behind.

I shook my head as I jumped into my patrol pod, a three-wheeled Flitter
that was airborne at a safe hover of a half-meter or so by the time I got my
Mohawk crammed into the cockpit and the door slammed shut. What the fuck was
he thinking, trying to outrun a Toll Collector?

The bridge itself is a long, straight shot of highway with equally long
approaches, spanning just under two kilometers of unquiet waters. This isn’t
just any bridge they’ve entrusted to me. No. It’s the Golden Gate, linking Old
San Francisco to Marin Co., California. One of the longest bridges in the
world. One of the few still in constant operation. Sure, a lot of people use
Flitters these days, rather than ground vehicles, but Flitters aren’t exactly
safe hovering over rough water, and the bay’s never calm. So unless you’ve got
a full pilot’s license, and something jet propelled, if you’re going south,
you’ve got to pass over my bridge.

And pay my toll. Which this asshole had elected not to do.

I’m not exactly an inexperienced pilot. I know my bridge like she was my
baby. She’s 2.7 kilometers, from abutment to abutment, laid out straight and
true as an arrow shot from a master’s bow. We crossed her in just under one
minute, and if I hadn’t been so pissed off, I’d have been scared shitless.

Yeah, even a Troll can experience fear. Doesn’t happen often, I’ll
admit, but chasing that leather-clad backside across that bridge through
sheering winds high above some of the roughest, coldest water this side of
hell at 200 KPH is more of a thrill than even a Troll is used to.

I could tell, too, from the way he hugged that tank, that he was really
getting off on the chase. Every time the wind hit him he’d roll his shoulders,
leaning back into it like he was riding a lover. He glanced back at me once,
facemask lifted enough for me to see him grin. I’d bet my pension he had a
boner the size of his ego. When I caught this idiot of a Human he was going to
get a piece of a little more than my mind. I might even resort to police
brutality — before I friggin’ killed him.

No Human scares a Troll and gets away with it.

 

 

About the Authors


Anne Kane:
Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy
little rescue dog whose breed defies description and an Aussie Shepherd
who’s too smart for her own good. Anne likes to write spicy stories with
sassy heroines and protective, sexy male heroes who love those women. Her
stories all have one thing in common: a happily ever after ending.


Lena Austin:
Someone cursed Lena Austin with “may you have a life so full
you’ll have many tales to tell your grandchildren.” Lena’s a “fallen” society
wench with a checkered past. She’s been a licensed minister, hairdresser,
Realtor, radio DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel
medievalist swordswoman, BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not
necessarily in that order. She never finished that degree in marine
archaeology, but did learn to scuba — she’s got a lifetime of “Research
material!”


Marteeka Karland:
International bestselling author Marteeka Karland leads a
double life as an action romance writer by evening and a semi-domesticated
housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes
pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending.


Shelby Morgen:
Shelby Morgen loves writing offbeat tales that defy as many
rules as possible.

She likes chocolate with her peanut butter, suspense with her romance, and
kink with her sex, and she’s always had a hard time keeping murder,
motorcycles, science fiction, fantasy and paranormal from mixing with her
kink.

Find Anne on Facebook

Find Marteeka on Facebook

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Pre-Order Today

 

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Unexpected Altars Teaser

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Christian Devotional, Inspirational Personal Testimonies

Date Published: 11-15-2025

Publisher: Acorn Book Services

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Everyday moments become sacred altars where God meets you.

 

Do you sometimes wish you could hear from God? Do you feel like you are
too insignificant for Him to care about your daily battles with loneliness,
grief, change, and doubts?

 

God talks to each of us – from the young husband and father who
accidentally torched his home, to the claustrophobic pastor making her way
through a historic tunnel in Israel, to the mystery author having a close call
with a stink bug.

 

 

God can speak to us through that soft voice inside your head; or the
perfect words for your circumstance uttered on Sunday morning; or He can come
to you in a powerful revelation.

 

 

Turn your doubts into divine encounters. Discover how God is speaking to
you today through these 101 inspirational faith stories. These stories will
transform your doubts into powerful encounters with God’s grace, guiding
you to find Him in unexpected places.

 

 

UNEXPECTED ALTARS is a collection of stories of faith from real people,
just like you, who have experienced God’s grace and presence in their
lives. Their authors pray that this Christian devotional will inspire your
daily spiritual life. Each story is a powerful reminder that God meets us
right where we are—building altars of worship in the ordinary and the
extraordinary. Perfect for daily devotion, small group discussion, or personal
encouragement.

 

Start your journey to find God in the unexpected! Order UNEXPECTED
ALTARS today!
 
Excerpt
Achieving Success
“The Lord is always with me. I will not be shaken.”
Psalms 16:8
I will probably never forget that evening over fourteen years ago. I sat on the edge of the bed in our bedroom having been released from my job of over twenty years. I was hurt and dejected for sure. But my wife entered the room and sat next to me. I figured she would be filled with anxiety and question how we were going to move forward as far as finances and family. She simply sat next to me, looked at me, and said the most unlikely thing. She said, “I’m glad this happened. I’m so happy and relieved.” I was shocked. I now was the one wanting to ask questions. First, “Are you crazy? Did you hear what I said? I’m no longer employed.” But she did hear me clearly and was genuine in her words to me.
I was both blindsided and blind. My family had been longing for me to make them a greater priority in my life. I thought that the dedication to my career and long hours away from them was my proof to them that they were just such a priority. But I was very wrong.
My wife said something to me that evening that I truly had to pause and reflect upon in order to believe. She said, “I’m glad this happened. Now we can make career decisions that allow you to spend more time with us as a family”. I explained to her that while that was a very kind and gracious thing to say, it did not provide the financial security or means to provide for our family.
She disagreed. She stated that I had spoken often about beginning a small business at some point. To her, it was no question; that time was now. We talked hours that evening about our family, our goals, and…..our faith in God. My wife reminded me that God is with us every step of our journey.
As I write this today, our small business turns thirteen years old, as our daughters turn eighteen and sixteen respectively. In addition, God added more blessings. My brother in law and best friend are both owners of this business as well. A crossroads decision based on faith, hope, love, and trust in God was made that night, thirteen years ago.
The world measures “success” in dollar signs and material wealth. I believe that God’s measure for us is far from that. We are called to serve, not be served. We are called to fellowship, worship, and spend time with those we love. God promises to provide what we “need” in our lives, not what we “want”. The irony in all of this is that when He opens our eyes to His guidance, we find that what we needed is truly what we wanted all along… Him…. Immanuel, God with us.
Father, your provision for us is amazing. It doesn’t always come in the form we expect, but it is enough. We thank you in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Brian Greenfield

UNEXPECTED ALTARS: MEETING GOD IN EVERYDAY MOMENTS is an anthology
written by multiple authors, edited by JoAnne Alexander, and published by
Lauren Carr for Oakland Community Church, a non-denominational church located
in Charles Town, West Virginia.

All royalties from this devotional book will be donated to the building fund
for Oakland Community Church’s new building. Oakland’s goal is to design a
biophilic building that takes advantage of the beauty of our Jefferson County
location.

 

Contact Links

 

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

 

Purchase Link

 

https://mybook.to/UnexpectedAltars

Amazon

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Ivy Leigh Ever After Blitz

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Ivy Leigh Ever After cover

 

Middle Grade Fiction

Date Published: Feb 24, 2026

Publisher: Small Circles Press

Ivy’s life is a swirl of turbulence and change. It’s been
almost a year since her sweet momma has died. Bottled up feelings tear her
apart inside. Grandma wants to take her little dog away. Her BFFs pressure her
to change. The cutest boy in school has a crush on her.

“It’s the universe, Ivy Leigh, welcoming in a little
change.” Mr. Winters, her neighbor, a wannabe cowboy, tells her one day.
But change is so confusing. When a pair of bullies taunt her on the bus and
tease her at school, Ivy makes a giant mistake.

With a mix of humor and poignant moments and a quirky cast of neighbors and
friends, Ivy finds a way to understand herself and make up for that mistake
she’s made. Best of all, Ivy remembers Momma: Feelings are like
fireflies caught in a jar, Ivy Leigh. They belong in the open, where a warm
breeze can carry them away!

 

About the Author

 

Gael Lynch

 Gael Lynch is a writer and storyteller, a teacher whose love of kids and furry
creatures has followed her throughout her life. She now lives in coastal
Carolina, a place of sunny beaches and warm breezes with her husband Tom and
her rambunctious golden retriever, Wrigley. However, Newtown, Connecticut,
with its pastoral beauty and kind-hearted people will always be a place she
calls home.

 

Contact Links

 

Website

Facebook

Twitter @gaellynch

Goodreads

Instagram: @lynchgael

 

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Enemies with Benefits Teaser

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Sanctum Black (#1)

A Razor’s Edge Enemies to Lovers BDSM Erotica Short

 

BDSM Erotica

 

Date Published: February 27, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

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Power made them enemies. Desire makes them reckless. One surrender
changes everything.

Mira: En Every meeting is a battle. Every look feels like a challenge
I shouldn’t want to accept. Then I receive an invitation to Sanctum
Black. A private sex club where power, and desire collide. When Elias appears,
I should leave. Instead, I let him show me exactly how thin the line is
between control and surrender. Outside, we’re enemies fighting for the
upper hand. Inside, I give him everything I pretend I don’t crave.

Elias: Mira Calder doesn’t bend. She dismantles. Brilliant, relentless,
and impossible to ignore. I wanted her from the first meeting. Not romance.
Not dates. I wanted to break her composure and earn her surrender. Sanctum
Black gives us rules, boundaries, and privacy with no consequences. Just heat,
power, and obsession in a safe, anonymous environment. She’s my equal in
the boardroom. In the dark, she’s mine to challenge and claim. Enemies
to lovers. High-stakes power play. One mistake neither of us can afford to
walk away from untouched.

 

Enemies with Benefits tablet
 

 

Excerpt

 

 

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Wanda Violet O.

 

Mira

The moment I crossed the threshold of my apartment, I kicked off my heels, not
caring where they landed. My feet throbbed with the special kind of pain
reserved for women who spent twelve hours in Italian leather torture devices,
all for the sake of standing eye-to-eye with men who confused height with
authority. The negotiation with Elias Hartmann had dragged on until sunset,
both of us refusing to yield on key points until our respective teams were
practically falling asleep at the table. I’d won this round, but victory
felt hollow when measured against the ache behind my eyes.

“Fuck it,” I muttered to no one, dropping my briefcase on the
entryway bench. My apartment greeted me with familiar silence, the kind I
usually found comforting after days filled with strategic verbal combat.
Tonight, though, it felt like just another empty space.

I shrugged off my blazer and hung it with more care than I’d shown my
shoes. Six hundred dollars of tailored wool deserved better, even if I
couldn’t muster the energy to pick up my heels, which were now scattered
across my polished hardwood floor. My blouse came next, the top three buttons
already undone during the elevator ride up. Freedom, in small increments.

The wine rack in my kitchen called to me like a beacon. I selected a Cabernet
I’d been saving, though I couldn’t remember why. Some mythical
special occasion that never materialized. The cork came free with a satisfying
pop that echoed in my silent kitchen.

I didn’t bother with a glass at first, taking a generous swig straight
from the bottle. Only after that initial hit did I pour properly, the dark
liquid swirling as I carried it to my living room. The tension in my neck had
transformed into something solid, a concrete weight pressing down on my spine.
I rolled my head, feeling vertebrae pop in protest.

Elias fucking Hartmann. The man was infuriating. Brilliant, undoubtedly, but
maddening in a way that made me want to either slap him or…

I cut that thought off, unwilling to follow where it led. Six months of
negotiations over this acquisition, and the progress we’d made could be
measured in millimeters. Every concession was a battle, every clause
scrutinized with microscopic closeness.

I raised my wine glass to take a healthy pull. I couldn’t deny the
grudging respect I’d developed for my opponent. He had a mind like a
steel trap and eyes that missed nothing. Including, I suspected, the way my
breath sometimes caught when he leaned too close across the conference table.

I massaged my temples, pressing hard enough to make little starbursts appear
behind my closed eyelids. Professional attraction was a complication I
didn’t need. Especially not with someone whose corporate ambitions
directly opposed my client’s interests.

Something caught my eye as I passed entryway table. A black envelope, sleek
and heavy, with a minimalist gold emblem stamped in the corner. I froze, wine
glass halfway to my lips. It definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

Setting down my glass, I approached the envelope cautiously, as though it
might bite. My building had excellent security, a key consideration when
I’d purchased the apartment. Someone placing this here meant either my
security had been compromised, or…

I picked it up, feeling the substantial weight of the cardstock. Expensive.
The gold emblem caught the light, an ornate “SB” intertwined in a
design that managed to suggest both elegance and something darker. No postage,
no address. Just my name in metallic ink that gleamed under my fingertips.

I slid my finger under the flap, breaking the wax seal that I hadn’t
initially noticed. Inside was a single card of the same heavyweight black
stock, text printed in the same gold ink.

To: Ms. Mira Calder


You are cordially invited to Sanctum Black, where discretion meets pleasure
without judgment. Your reputation for excellence has been noted by our
selection committee. Should you choose to accept, present this invitation at
1158 Blackwood Avenue at 10 PM this evening.

Boundaries respected. Desires fulfilled.

Sanctum Black

Your privacy is our sacred covenant

HW George

Concierge

I turned the card over, looking for more information, but found only the same
emblem from the envelope. Sanctum Black. I’d heard whispers about it in
certain circles. Sanctum Black was an exclusive club where the elite could
shed their public personas. Not exactly a sex club, but definitely not a
simple social club either. The kind of place where people went when they
wanted experiences they couldn’t get elsewhere, with the absolute
certainty that what happened there would never leave its walls.

My analytical mind immediately began dissecting how my name had reached their
“selection committee.” Who had recommended me? What did they know
about me that made them think I’d be interested? And more importantly,
who else might I encounter there?

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.’s world of bedtime fantasy, where you’ll find a
variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in
extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play… she’s got it all. Come take a look
for yourself!

Wanda on Facebook

Wanda on Goodreads

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Pre-Order Today

 

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