Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #19

Sorry I've been a bit MIA, been swamped with edits and such like stuff. But I always have time for the weekly flash fiction, never fear! And Happy Wednesday to one and all!

This week's prompts were: "Get on your bike and ride!" or "Try peddling your papers somewhere else" or "the ties that bind" or have your character find out that someone they know is pregnant or "ship of fools" or use broken condom or use voyeurism or exhibitionism or use a flogger or paddle or have a character wear a pair of gloves and then explain why or have a character with a banana fetish or use: motorcycle, wings, tilt

Last week, we with Wyatt and Lukas, as Lukas explained a little bit about BDSM. This week, we move on to Shy and Randy and the club. Nuff said. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. And guess what? We have another FLASH VIRGIN!  *pulls out the bells and whistles*

No Way Out #19

Shy shivered, although the night was far from cold. Cloyingly humid even after the sun had gone down, a thick heat that made breathing difficult. Still, Shy shivered, clutching his coat tighter about him as he climbed into Randy’s sedan.

The first time Randy had taken Shy to Sweet Majesty, Shy had been deep in the throes of what he thought was love. Excited to be going out, and proud to be seen with Randy. He’d been too young and too na├»ve to know enough to be scared of what might happen. This was before he’d learned that love did not exist, not for guys like him. Now he knew better, and he numbed himself to everything around him.

At least that’s what he told himself, in order to get through another night at the club.

The cock ring was painful, but it was endurable. The plug was uncomfortable, but he’d live. What Shy hated most was leaving the house in a long black coat, wearing nothing underneath. He felt entirely exposed, although he realized no one knew his shame. Randy dressed to the nines for each occasion; he’d undress once they arrived. Shy didn’t have the same luxury.

At least Randy waited until they were inside the club to add his final touch, in the form of a black studded collar, attached to a long black leather leash.

The club sat in isolated splendor on top of a large hill. Apparently the owner possessed a lot of acreage; there were no near neighbors. Probably just as well. Cut down on complaints to the police department. Although from what Shy had observed, some of the club’s clientele belonged to the legal profession and would probably quash any trouble, should it arise.

Large fluted columns supported the two story building. Shy had heard Randy refer to it as being antebellum, once belonging to a man who owned slaves. Fitting. It still held slaves, just a different kind.

An impenetrable perimeter of trees ringed the grounds nearest the house, making unwanted observation impossible. Sometimes, in the right weather, scenes were played outside. There was an intricately maintained maze that saw its share of action. And small secluded cabins for the use of privileged guests.

Apparently, Randy did not rate as one of these, for to his knowledge, Randy had never stayed in one of them. He was sure Randy would have bragged about the experience, if he’d had it.

Randy had not gone back to work after his celebratory fuck, but neither had he spent the time idly. He’d stayed in his home office, conducting business—at least that was Shy’s assumption—freeing Shy to attend to his daily chores in peace. He’d even taken his dinner there, saving Shy the trouble of shielding his thoughts from him across the dinner table.

Shy barely ate, his appetite having deserted him. After Randy finished his meal, Shy attended him in the shower and then laid out his clothes for him: a pearl grey pinstripe suit, white button-down shirt with silver threads running through it, a grey-green textured tie.

They were met at the door by the most discreet of men. His name was Mel; he was the butler, the valet, the soul of discretion, and so much more. Garbed in black tails, he was tall and thin and balding, and wore his own innate arrogance, which was reflected in his manner in which he distinguished between his treatment of the guests and that of their companions. When Randy removed Shy’s sheltering coat, Mel took it and wished Randy a good evening, leaving them to wander through the house as they would.

Shy stood perfectly still as Randy attached the collar and leash. Randy was in unusually high spirits, his face flush with excitement. Shy couldn’t help but notice the very visible outline of Randy’s cock in his tightly cut trousers. He wondered if Randy planned to use that tonight. Perhaps it would serve to keep himself from the limelight, which he hated.

Whenever Randy chose to bring Shy here, they seemed to draw a small crowd of admirers. Most of them were relegated to the category of do-not-touch-the-merchandise. But there were a favored few who were allowed small favors, beneath Randy’s watchful eye. They fondled Shy’s cock and pinched his nipples and congratulated Randy on having such a fine specimen, as if Shy were a horse they were interested in purchasing for breeding purposes. In this case, though, Shy played the part of the dam, and not the sire. It was a twisted comparison at best.

First came the obligatory parade through the various rooms of the club. The public ones, that was. The private ones were not to be troubled by anyone, and remained closed to view. But there was more than enough activity in the rooms that were accessible to make up for that. It seemed that most of Sweet Majesty’s members were very willing to been seen, as well as to see.

Shy hated the eyes that devoured him whole; hungry eyes and lewd lips that licked and promised and laughed and leered. They didn’t see him, they saw his body... and they wanted him. Some were familiar faces, regulars who spent too much of their lives in this club. Others were simply there for business purposes. They all seemed to be connected, in one way or another. Shylor didn’t care and he didn’t bother to memorize their names or their occupations. It was their faces he wished to forget. The touch of their hands on his cock. Tonight, his painfully hard cock.

He’d had no relief, unlike Randy.

But he had no choice in the matter. He was forced to endure. So he absented himself, hid as deeply inside as he could go, ignoring them all, as he usually did.

Tonight, though, there was a difference, something that made this almost palatable.

Tonight, visions of Wyatt danced in his head, and kept him sane.

to be continued

Now, go have fun with the rest of the Briefers!

Shelly Shultz      ***FLASH VIRGIN****

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #18

Hard to believe it's Wednesday already!The week is flying by! I took a new character at the rp game I play in and I'm having tons of fun with him. His name is Jaqen H'ghar, and he's from Game of Thrones. Very easy on the eyes lol

This week, the prompts were: "Are you hung enough?" or "crazy in love" or use a pickle or have a character dye his or her hair, or "I'll roast you over an open flame if you..." or make a Queen reference or use a lap dance or "desperately seeking..." or use: parsley, sage, rosemary and them (without singing Scarborough Fair lol) or use: "Two's company, but three's ..."

Last week, in No Way Out, Lukas began to talk to Wyatt of things he has no idea of. This week, there's more of the same. The question is, can he handle knowing it? Enjoy! And don't forget to check out my fellow Briefers and their tales! Their links follow my story!

No Way Out #18

 “Okay, so he has a club.” Wyatt was still confused, but at a look from Lukas, he stilled his tongue.

“This has nothing to do with art, and everything to do with obedience. With pleasure and pain. With domination and submission.”

Wyatt couldn’t seem to help himself, the words just rolled off his tongue. “What are you telling me? You’re a disciple of the Marquis de Sade?” He snorted his amusement, even if the joke was ill-timed, and in questionable taste. But when Lukas didn’t laugh, Wyatt quieted immediately. “Oh fuck...”

“Very eloquent, even if oversimplified. Just rid yourself of any lurid images that are flashing through your mind. And forget about all those B movies with whips and chains and torture chambers...”

Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. “So none of that exists?”

“Oh yes, it does. Very much so. But the reality isn’t what you think it is. And you’d be surprised at who all practices it.”

A pulse point at Wyatt’s temple began to pound.

“Keep sipping,” Lukas advised. He raised the glass to his lips, allowing the amber liquid to burn its way down his throat.

“B. D. S. M.” Lukas checked each letter off on a finger. “B is for bondage, d is for discipline. It’s also for dominance. S is for submission, and m masochism. But there’s variations. Bondage and discipline. Dominance and submission. Sadism and masochism. BDSM has become sort of a catch-all phrase for a lot of activities under this one umbrella. But however you spell it, or whatever letters or words you use, what it comes down to is a way of life. One that many people take very seriously.”

Wyatt’s head was spinning with the overabundance of information.  “How do you know so much about this...” His words trailed off as his brain caught up with the conversation. “So you... you’re into this? And this club you’re talking about...?”

“Yes, I am, and Sweet Majesty is where I go to meet with likeminded individuals. People with the same sorts of... interests.”

That was a whole lot to take in at one time. “What goes on there?” He was almost afraid to know. “People walking around in leather? Or nude? Orgies? Spankings, beatings... what? And what do you do? I mean, what do you call yourself? I mean...” The words trailed off as he noticed a slight tinge of red color Lukas’ cheeks.

“I call myself your friend is what I call myself.” He took a deep breath, and Wyatt watched as he regained his normal coloring. “I know this is a lot,” he agreed, “but you wanted to know. I’m what you would refer to as a Dom. A Dominant. But it’s a lot more than just telling someone what to do. It’s developing a level of trust with your submissive, and it’s learning about his needs, and understanding them, and taking care of them and him.”

A terrible suspicion began to grow in Wyatt’s breast, one he was afraid to put voice to. And yet, how could he do otherwise?

He took a long sip of the bourbon, desperately seeking answers in its warmth. But none was forthcoming from that source; Lukas was the only one that had those. “What has this got to do with... I mean, all this stuff about that club. And about BDSM. Where does Shy come into this? Shy and Randy, I guess? I don’t understand.”  If he understood correctly, these things happened years ago, long before Shy was even born.
Did he really want to know the truth?

Wyatt shuddered a deep breath, tightened his grip on the glass, and forced himself to listen.

“I knew Randy before he moved into the neighborhood,” Lukas confessed. “I was the one who told him the house was for sale. Even though he was young, he was already a successful businessman. Plus his family had some money. Enough for him to buy the house.”

“Did you meet him at—Is he a member of... your club?”

Lukas nodded. “He is.”

“And... is he a Dom, did you say? Like you?”

There was a long pause. So long that Wyatt began to think Lukas didn’t intend to answer. But finally, Lukas shifted his position on the couch again and replied. “He considers himself a Dom, but from what I’ve seen of them, I think it’s more of a master/slave relationship. He... he has no idea of what it really means to be a Dom. It’s men like him that give the lifestyle a bad name. All he wants is control, that’s all. He gives no real thought to Shy’s well-being.”

“Oh dear God.” Wyatt was appalled. His hand shook so badly, he had to set the glass onto the coffee table. “Does he... does he take Shy... there?”

Lukas nodded. “Sometimes. Sometimes he comes alone. Wyatt, are you sure you want to hear more?”

A tight band had formed about Wyatt’s heart, squeezing mercilessly. “Yes,” he replied, his voice almost a growl. “I need to know, Lukas. Tell me.”

Lukas swallowed hard, his eyes meeting Wyatt’s. “He parades Shy in front of the others as his possession. Sometimes naked. Often naked. Often at the end of a chain. He does it to show off his virility, it’s an ego thing.” Lukas’ voice held a measure of disgust that he couldn’t hide. “He... he tells him what to do, and Shy does it. No matter what.”

“Such as?” Wyatt clenched his fists, a rage such as he’d never felt before growing inside his chest, threatening to tear him apart if he heard any more.

“Such as servicing anyone that Randy tells him to. Oral only,” Lukas hastily added. “No one is allowed... that is, he doesn’t have to...”

“So the great Randy doesn’t allow anyone to fuck Shy? How kind of him.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it, I’m afraid,” Lukas said. “No one touches what’s Randy’s without his permission. No one.”

to be continued

And now go visit my compadres and enter their worlds of flash fiction!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Monday, August 19, 2013

Virtual Book Tour: Secret Sister

Please welcome author Emelle Gamble. She's going to talk to us about her new release, Secret Sister, and she's going to answer a few familiar questions.  Emelle will be awarding a $100 Amazon GC to a random commenter during the tour. The more you enter, the better your chances of winning. To find out where the other stops on her tour are, go here. And look for the rafflecopter at the end of this post.

The Questions  
1)      You’re marooned on a small island with one person and one item of your choice—who is that person and what item do you have?
My husband, affectionately known as ‘Phil the fist’. (He’s a Brooklyn boy).  My one item is a bowie knife. With it he’d feed us, whittle a raft and or a house,  protect us, and cut my bangs. He is that good.

2)      Which musical would you say best exemplifies your life – and which character in that musical are you?  The
Wizard of Oz. I’m Dorothy, always trying to find my way home.

3)      Take these three words and give me a 100 word or less scenario using them:  night, union,  minute.

First of all, let me say this was a difficult request for me.  It’s night, I’m tired and it took me a minute to actually understand what you were asking me for. Then I had to look up how scenario is defined (an outline or synopsis of a play; especially : a plot outline used by actors of the commedia dell'arte). And the word ‘union’ to me either means the AFL-CIO or something vaguely civil war related.

But here goes…The Union was crumbling, the night sky was darkening, time was ticking down to the last minute. Who you gonna call? Ryan Gosling.

This exercise proved something to me I’d forgotten. I have never, ever been able to write to someone else’s idea. I once had a three-book deal  offered to me if I could only write a big saga kind of story about a piece of Egyptian jewelry, horse racing, and 1890 London.  I couldn’t do it.

You’ve just been let loose in the world of fiction, with permission to make love to anyone you want. Who do you Heathcliff. I’d change his mind about that dame, Cathy!
choose and why?

   5)    What is your idea of how to spend romantic time with your significant other? Quiet. Nothing hurried. Away from home. Three magic components which have always worked magically for me.

   6)    When you start a new story, do you begin with a character, or a plot? I begin with plot, specifically, the ending and the title. I then build the book  backwards to explain the ending. I am afraid to admit this in print as my family will read it and understand something is wrong with me. For real.

7)      If they were to make the story of your life into a movie, who should play you? Julia Roberts. I want her to
have that look on her face she has in Notting Hill, when the people who don’t realize she’s a famous actress asks her what she made last year. She tells them she made 6 million dollars and has a contract barring them from requiring her to show her naked ass. Of course, she looks nothing like me, and that scene has nothing to do with anything in my life, but she has the right spirit!

8)      Who’s your favorite horror villain and why? I do not like horror at all, and I have no favorites. I can’t read it or watch it. I still have nightmares about those old black and white movies about Giant radioactive ants and UFO’s that land and the Martians put things in your neck and control you. I couldn’t read the Hannibal Lecter books or The Shining or The Other or The Excorcist or anything Stephen King ever wrote, except for Dolores Claiborne, which I feel is a masterpiece.

Do you have an historical crush and if so, who is it? Recent history, Cary Grant. Enough said. Further back? I’d love to spend a week with Michaelangelo. I know, I know, he might have been gay. I don’t want to swoon over him, I’d just love to talk to him, watch him work, and be in the presence of genius.  

   10)  Is there a story that you’d like to tell but you think the world isn’t ready to receive it? Yes. And I’ve written it, so get ready world. HA! It’s set in 1950 Los Angeles and it’s about a gorgeous blonde, a WWII hero turned journalist, and a monster

Secret Sister
by Emelle Gamble



To their friends, Nick and Cathy Chance have the perfect marriage. High school sweethearts who’ve been together for ten years, they’ve weathered challenges and are as committed as they were when they first fell in love. Cathy trusts Nick, Nick’s world revolves around his wife, and the future looks golden.

To everyone who knows them, Cathy Chance and Roxanne Ruiz have a perfect friendship. They connected in grade school and since then have been each other’s confident and trusted adviser. Cathy loves the gorgeous Roxanne like a sister, Roxanne has fun-loving Cathy’s back in every situation, though lately there’s been tension between these two best friends…

And then, on a sunny summer morning, the unthinkable occurs, throwing into doubt the truth of what each of these people really know about themselves and one another.

Will Roxanne’s sacrifice be too little, and too late? Should Nick’s love for his wife be strong enough to risk trusting his heart more than logic? Can Cathy’s devotion to Nick give her enough strength to convince him to see her for who she really is?

Secret Sister proves how strong, how stubborn, and how trustworthy love can be as Nick and Cathy and Roxanne are challenged to overcome the secrets, the lies … and one extraordinary twist of fate that turns their lives upside down.



When I ‘woke up,’ strange words to use after being unconscious for what was surely days, not hours, I felt remarkably lucid. Which is to say, I opened my eyes and saw and understood that I was in a hospital bed, there were nurses working in the area outside my glassed-in room, and I was hooked to an I.V. and some other kind of machine.

I didn’t know the story of how I got here, but assumed it was bad. I remembered hearing, somewhere, that I had been in a terrible car accident, but I was blank to any other details.

For instance, I didn’t know my name.

I examined the contents of my brain and started a list of unknown things. Where was I? No clue. What day was it? I looked outside and saw blue sky. Zero. I was blank to the most basic of information.

My chest tightened and a roar began in my head. Don’t panic. I gulped air, blinked; fought to stay awake.

 “Roxanne. Roxanne Ruiz. Do you know where you are?”

I didn’t recognize that name. In my brain I saw a face. A kind face, smiling. A great looking guy with strong arms and blue eyes.

But I had no idea who he was either …


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Emelle Gamble was a writer at an early age, bursting with the requisite childhood stories of introspection which evolved into bad teen poetry and took her first stab at full length fiction in an adult education writing class when her kids were in bed. As M.L. Gamble, she published several romantic suspense novels with Harlequin. She has contracted with Soul Mate Publishing for Secret Sister, summer of 2013, and Dating Cary Grant, an early 2014 release.

Always intrigued by the words ‘what if’, Emelle’s books feature an ordinary woman confronted with an extraordinary situation.  She most enjoys reading stories that surprise and amaze her, and hopes her readers will enjoy the challenging and exciting journeys her characters take. 

Emelle lives in suburban Washington D.C.  with her husband, Phil, her hero of thirty years,  and two orange cats, Lucy and Bella. These girls, like all good villains, have their reasons for misbehaving. Her daughter, Olivia, and son, Allen, are happily launched on their own and contributing great things to society, their mother’s fondest wish.


FaceBook:  Author Emelle Gamble

Twitter: @EmelleGamble

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Joyland Review


Author: Stephen King
Publisher: Hard Case Crime
American release date: June 4, 2013
Format/Genre/Length: Novel/crime/288 pages
Publisher/Industry Age Rating: not rated/mature readers
Overall Personal Rating: ★★★★★

It’s the summer of ’73, and school’s out, but college student Devin Jones finds himself at loose ends when his girlfriend takes a job in Boston, along with a friend of hers, leaving him behind.  Not sure what to do with himself, Fate intervenes when he finds an ad in the back of a magazine. Help wanted at Joyland.

And thus begins the summer that will change his life forever.

Joyland is an independent amusement park in North Carolina whose mascot is Howie the Hound. All the kids love Howie; he’s an institution. After a quick interview with Fred Dean, Devin is told to look around the place, see if he likes it, and that’s when he meets Lane Hardy and Madame Fortuna. The fortune teller tells him about a little girl with a red hat, carrying a doll, in his future. Also a boy with a dog. Not that Devin believes in such things, but he listens politely. And he decides to take the job. While he’s there, he reserves a room at Mrs. Shoplaw’s and returns home to get ready to come back for the summer.

Devin quickly learns the ropes and the talk, and before he knows it, he feels like a real carnie. Part of his job, it turns out, is playing the part of Howie the Hound, a hot job at best in that big old fur suit. But thanks to that suit, Devin changes lives. And things begin to come true.

He finds himself becoming more and more invested in his life there. Which is good, because what he thought he had was nothing more than an illusion. But can he be sure that what he thinks he knows is real? Especially after he saves a life... and then he meets the boy with the dog... and his mother. And then there is the girl who was found murdered in the house of horrors...

If you’re looking for a typical Stephen King horror story, stop right here. This isn’t that. This is not horror at all, so forget your preconceived notions. This is good old-fashioned thriller in the noir tradition. With a twist only Stephen King can give.

Devin is the narrator, so we see everything through his eyes, as this becomes a pivotal summer in his life. The story is told years later, as he looks back on what was. It’s both a coming of age story and a whodunit, mixed in with a touch of the supernatural.
The writing is pure Stephen King. It flows smoothly. I found myself finishing the book in record time. The characters are well-drawn and memorable. I would recommend this not only to Stephen King’s fans, but to those who love a good murder mystery.

This is a return to an earlier Stephen King. I confess to having not read him in a long time, but I think I shall have to pick up the habit again. I hear he has something out called Dr. Sleep – have to check that out next.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

August Alfresco

When my friend Victoria Blisse asked would I like to participate in a blog to celebrate sex in the great outdoors, naturally I said yes! Here it is summer, and isn't everyone thinking about being outside, making love to that special someone? And it just so happens I have a scene from one of my books that is about just that!

But wait, there's more!

I am not the only author participating in this blog hop. And there will be prizes!

Comment on this post to be in to win one of these fabulous prizes:
A Kindle
£50 worth of Total-E-Bound ebooks
£50 worth of Xcite ebooks
And be sure to check out all the August Alfresco posts at  and comment on each one to have more chances to win.
   All terms and conditions are available at and the winners will be announced on the 1st September at the website.

So, let's talk about sex in the great outdoors. Back to nature. Doing what comes naturally. Yes, I confess to having had sex outside, a long time ago, granted. One time in a swimming pool. My neighbor's pool, actually, but that's another story. Gosh, some of my stories are as X rated as my books!   lol
So here's my excerpt. It's from To the Max. Max and Richard are longtime lovers. Max is under a lot of pressure, so one day, Richard surprises him by taking him on a trip to their piece of land on the Big River... and you'll see what happens. Enjoy!

I doze off a little bit, and when I waken he has lunch already laid out, merely waiting for me. And he insists on feeding me everything with his own fingers, pampering me and spoiling me outrageously. The cheeses and the bread. The fruit. And the chocolate. And wine. I eat it up, naturally. The attention, I mean, along with the food. And while he feeds me, he reads to me. And compares me to a summer day. How beautiful. How sublime.

But still I want more.

“When do I get my dessert?” I want to know.

“You want more chocolate?” he asks, giving me his innocent look.

“No, dammit, you know what I want.”

He reclines beside me, so much like a Greek god, one hand behind his head, the other holding a cigarette, one leg crossed lazily over the other. I have given him special dispensation to smoke around me today. Normally I don’t tolerate it, at least not in enclosed spaces. Not that he listens all of the time, but he tries, I’ll give him that much. And I try not to be quite so anal retentive, but it’s a matter of my heightened olfactory senses, the smoke is just very hard on my nose.

I never get tired of looking at him; he is just so incredibly gorgeous. Is it any wonder that I am also jealous? He can get anyone he wants, and I know it. They all— male and female—flock to him like
moths to a flame. And yet he is with me. Go figure.

He takes a last drag from his cancerstick and stuffs it down the neck of the empty wine bottle, where it sizzles and drowns in the dregs of the wine we have left behind before opening the second bottle. I won’t allow him to toss it in the river or on the beach, and I made my feelings known years ago about not tossing butts out the car window onto the street, so now he doesn’t do it, at least not when we’re together. I can’t be sure what he does when I am not there.

I kiss each of his lovely knees tenderly, maneuvering in between them in one lithe motion, on my own knees. And then I bend my head and nuzzle his beautiful cock, running my tongue over his balls. He shivers. “Is that all you want?”

“It’s a start,” I reply before taking those lovely creamy balls, so firm, so nicely packed, into my mouth and lave them most lovingly.

“Yes, it’s a good start,” he concurs, his fingers lightly caressing my hair as I work on him.

This is what I have been waiting for. There is something about making love outdoors, and especially with the added element of possibly being caught at it, that serves to heighten the sensations that even now run rampant through me. Being with Richard makes me forget everything else. And everyone else. They all recede into that nebulous region of some other time, deal-with-it-later land. My mother, her bigoted boyfriend, Amy, her coquettish nephew—not here, not now. Now there is only Richard and me.

I move my attention now to his big lovely cock, and my tongue makes patterns on the shaft, swirls and loops and numbers and such. He tightens his grip on my hair, so I know that he is pleased. “If you get that wet enough, we won’t need lube,” he murmurs softly. My own erection grows even bigger at that, knowing exactly what he means, what he intends to do. I reach up and twist his nipples, not too gently, not too hard. He groans his appreciation.

I make sure now that my tonguing is getting his cock nice and juicy, so it will slide smoothly inside of me—not that it doesn’t always do that, it does; my Richard is a master cocksman, after all. And I go no further with that thought, determined not to let anything spoil this day. I make sure to tongue his slit, ’cause I know he likesthat. I know everything my baby likes. After more than twenty years together, I should, after all.

 “Yes, oh yes, Max,” he moans, “suck on me, my little wolf, suck harder,” he encourages, and I oblige, more than willing to do that for the man I love so much. I tickle all his favorite spots and even graze my teeth along his length, just the way he likes. But just as I feel that he is on the brink of his orgasm, he pushes my head off. “No, Max, stop, not like that, I have other plans.”

He pulls me up toward him and rolls me over on the blanket, his hardness pressing wetly against my stomach, where I have juiced it up. He leans down; his breath is warm in my ear, and his voice alone is making me tingle.

He brushes his fingers over my lips, exploring their contour, maneuvering around each and every curve, even though he knows them so very well. “Suck on these, baby. Do your thing to me,” he moans, and I take his fingers inside my mouth and moisten them for him. Suck on them like they are mini-cocks. When they are wet enough he pulls them out, kisses me sweetly, and then moves his hand between my legs. “Spread your legs, honey-child,” he murmurs, “daddy’s got somethin’ for you….”

I would tell him to forego the stretching, but I know he won’t listen, so I save my breath. Richard is always a considerate lover, not wanting to harm me in any way, not physically anyway. He insists on making sure that I am prepared to take him. Today is no exception. He pushes his fingers inside of me carefully, one at a time, pausing to let me adjust to the feel of each one, to relax that ring of muscles that stands guard against unwelcome intrusion at my entrance, which he is not and never could be. And at the same time, he moves his finger around inside of me, trying to ring my bell.

Which he almost always manages to do.

“Richard!” I gasp, jumping when he finds my prostate. Again. And again. I am arching my back now, pushing against his three fingers, which fill me so completely, although I know there is more to follow. My hand goes to my painfully hard cock, but he pushes it away with a small growl. “No, mine!”

I whimper, but I don’t argue. I never do; I allow him to do as he will. It is the nature of our relationship. It is and ever has been our way.

He pulls his fingers out now, and now he is positioning himself between my legs. He takes my legs and moves my hips up so that he can gain better access. I shiver in delicious anticipation as he pushes his cock just to my opening and pauses. “Richard,” I whimper.

“What, my little studmuffin?” he teases me, running his fingers over my chest, across my hardened nipples, squeezing them briefly.

“In me, please,” I moan rather needily, not caring at the moment how I sound, only knowing that I want to be filled with him—now.

As if this is the sign he has been waiting for, he pushes completely into me with one swift move, skewering me with his cock. I gasp as I receive him. No matter how often we might do this—and I assure you, that we do this often—the first feel of his cock inside of me produces the same reaction. The same sensations wash over me as they did the first time that my Richard made love to me, if anything, heightened over the years, with practice. “Is this what you need? What you want? What you crave?” He punctuates each sentence with his cock, thrusting into me again, and again, and again….

“Yes,” I manage to get out, “yes, what I want… unhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” I simply lose my words and give myself over to the pleasure of him inside of me.

Sometimes making love is tender and sweet and drawn out, while at other times it is fast and hard-hitting and almost pleasurably brutal. It doesn’t matter which it is, as long as we both agree on it. We always seem to be of one accord, one mind, when it comes to most things, and sometimes no words need to be spoken to communicate what and how we feel. We are truly one soul with two bodies; this I do sincerely believe.

Sometimes it is both ways in a single day.

He pulls himself nearly completely out, only the very tip of his cock remaining inside of me, then suddenly slams back inside in a move that is calculated to take my breath away. And it does! “Like that, baby?” he coos as he feels me jump.

“You know I do,” I moan. “More, Richard, more!”

He slams back into me again, so hard that his balls slap against my ass with a wet sound. God, how good that feels.

“Want that, baby?” he croons throatily.

“Yes, yes!” I beg and plead for more. Again he pistons inside of my tight channel, setting a frantic pace, a driving rhythm. His hand wraps itself about my cock, and he strokes my hard-on in time to that same driving rhythm. His blond hair falls in a veil across his face, his eyes closed in concentration now, as he works at pleasing me, and a light sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. That motive alone would be enough to please me, much less what he is doing, the wonder that is him inside of me. It’s a feeling that never grows old, never grows stale, and at moments like these, I know we will last forever.

“Max, your finger!” he moans, and I know what he wants. I touchmy fingers to my cock, where the pre-cum is already oozing, and I spread it over my digits, lubricating them, before moving my hand behind him. He leans closer over me to make it possible. I slide between his asscheeks, feeling for his pucker, thrust my finger in, without warning, all the way to the knuckle. Which is what he wants.

“Max!” he screams my name, and I am gratified by the deep lust in that voice, the pleasure that is derived from me and me alone. “Harder!” And I push in more, until one whole finger is engulfed in his tightness.

He grabs my mouth, pulling my lower lip almost brutally into his mouth, biting it so hard he draws blood. I move my hips in an effort to match his pace, twisting my finger, touching his pleasure zone. He arches against me, in me, around me. We are so firmly enmeshed that we are one. I am oblivious to all around me, and I’m glad that none of our friends ever come down here unannounced, for they know they do so at their own peril.

He sucks at the blood as it spills from my lip, a little harder than usual, and when he throws back his head, it trickles down his chin. He locks eyes with me, and they blaze with the heat of the moment, and with love, yes, I know that’s what he feels for me, true love. This is something that cannot be faked, something that is truly hard to find.

“Tell me who you love, Max?” he whispers in my ear warmly.

“Richard,” I moan, pushing in again with my finger.


“Richard!” I raise my voice.

“Again!” he commands.

 “Richard!” I howl his name to the skies as my orgasm strikes, my pulsating cock shooting all over his hand in great sticky ropes.

Max!” he echoes as he releases his own passions within me, flooding me with his ejaculate deep inside. If I were a woman, the way we go at it, I’d have been pregnant a long time ago. I guess it’s lucky for me I’m not, or we’d have a lot of children by now. Or not.

And when he is done, he collapses upon me, and we are a tangled sweaty heap of limbs, tired but sated as we kiss now, softly, gently, tenderly, the way it could not be done during our wild coupling.
He whispers terms of endearment to me, croons love’s tunes, and his hands are soft and tender as they push back the hair from my brow, while I in turn caress his face and gaze lovingly into his eyes.

“Pretty baby.” He nuzzles my face, rolling me over, reversing our positions so that he is on bottom, and I am cradled on top of him.

“Close your eyes, take a nap,” he encourages me, wrapping the comforter over us, just in case someone should float by while we’re unable to hear anything.

And there we lie, taking a siesta ’neath the drowsy afternoon sun. Only Richard and me, in love to the max, and no one else to disturb this idyllic interlude. 

Thursday, August 15, 2013

More winners, and guest blogging with M.A. Church!

I recently participated in Ella's Turning What Blog Hop, and it's now time to announce the winners of my  giveaway.

And the winners are H.B. and LhasaLuma! I'll be getting in touch with you both!

And today I am guest blogging with my friend M.A. Church, and talking about my latest release, my m/m historical novel, My Fair Vampire, which is now with eXtasy Books.

Check out the new cover!

Have a great Thursday!

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #17

Hello, hello, hello, and Happy Wednesday! Hope everyone is having a great day. I know I am! Ready for some flash fiction? This week's prompts are: "Nothing else matters" or have a scene set in an art gallery or use: fish, knife, ice or use a bucket in an interesting way or have one of your characters explain what FIFO means or have someone watch an arrest or be arrested or use: sun, mimosa, swing or "One is the loneliest number."

As you'l recall from last week's episode, Wyatt called his mentor, Lukas, upset over what he heard between Shy and Randy. Will what Lukas has to say ease Wyatt's mind, or make matters worse? Don't forget to check out the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my tale! Enjoy!

No Way Out #17

Lukas didn’t speak immediately. He poured himself more wine and drained the glass, then replaced it on the coffee table. He repositioned himself in the corner of the sofa, one leg crooked across the cushions, the other holding a position on the floor.

Wyatt held his tongue, half dreading the words he might hear. A sour anticipation held sway in the pit of his stomach. He was afraid to add to it with any more wine. He watched Lukas’ left hand carefully. That was the tell to what he was thinking or feeling. He was rubbing his thumb against each of the digits in turn in a constant motion.

That was an indicator of unsurety on his part. The feeling grew stronger. Wyatt rose and paced across the room, pulling back the blinds to gaze across the street. The sedan was there now. He dropped the curtains into place, returned to the sofa and fell heavily onto it, his attention riveted on Lukas.

“I’m just not sure where to begin,” Lukas confessed. “This isn’t a conversation I ever thought we’d need to have, to be honest.”

“How about starting with Randy and Shy? What’s their relationship?” Wyatt leaned toward his mentor, as if proximity would ease the severity of whatever needed to be said. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he’d read something into them that didn’t exist. “Is Randy his father?” That would explain the sir, but not the kiss.

At the look in Lukas’ eyes, Wyatt’s heart sank. No, he didn’t think so.


Another long pause.  Wyatt reached for the wine bottle, upended the remains into his glass, then chugged them. Damn his stomach anyway.

“Shylor and Doreen moved in when Shy was just a little kid. Maybe fifteen years ago. Something like that. She was Randy’s housekeeper.”

Wyatt tapped an impatient foot into the carpet. There had to be more than that.

“About five years ago, Doreen left and Shy stayed.”

“Why did she leave? Why did Shy stay? That doesn’t answer my question, Lukas. What’s their relationship?”

“I think you already have some idea about that.” Lukas looked him square in the eyes. Wyatt found he couldn’t pretend any more.

“They’re a couple?”

“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use,” Lukas cautiously replied.

“But they’re together, right? That old goat is fucking a kid young enough to be his son?” Wyatt felt incensed on Shy’s behalf. And frustrated. And thoroughly disgusted.

Lukas held up one hand.  “Just putting this out there, but that ‘old goat’ is my age, Wyatt. You want to rephrase that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything, you know that...” Wyatt forced himself to take a deep calming breath. “But he’s still a hell of a lot older than Shy. And five years ago? What was Shy then? Fifteen? Sixteen? That has to be illegal.”

“Probably, but who’s going to press charges? Shy’s mother’s not here. Shy? Hardly.”

“But... but... but...” Wyatt sputtered ineffectually, trying to grasp the concept that Randy Grant had taken a young boy into his bed... an undoubtedly innocent young boy... and was holding him hostage there to this very day.

He replayed the scene in the grocery store for the millionth time in his head.

“He called him Sir.” Wyatt’s voice was barely audible.


“When we were together, he called him Sir. On the phone.”

“Shit, Wyatt.”

“I know, that’s creepy, right?”

“No, not shit for that. Shit because you and him... you were together? Where? How?”

“He met me at Shop For Less. Today. Then the Keeper called and he said he had to go. Called him Sir.”

“The what?”

“The Keeper. That’s what I call Randy.”

Lukas rolled his eyes. “Can’t say I’m surprised, though.  Did he know about you?”

“Randy? No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Nothing else matters.” Lukas breathed a sigh of obvious relief. “Tell you what, Wy, go into the liquor cabinet and bring out a bottle of something stronger. We’re going to need it, I think. I’ll square it with John later. That won’t be a problem.”

“Like what?”

“Some of his expensive bourbon. The black label.”

Wyatt wasted no time in doing as Lukas asked, going into the private stock of liquor in the study. He brought back the nearly full bottle of Masterson’s finest bourbon and two clean glasses. He pushed the empty wine bottle and fluted glasses to the side; he’d pick them up later.

“Here, let me.” Lukas took the bottle from him. Wyatt hadn’t realized until that moment that his hands were shaking. Lukas poured three good fingers in each glass, handed one to Wyatt.

“Sip it,” he advised.  “Slowly.”

Though Wyatt wanted to bolt it as fast as he could, he obeyed.

“Okay, now listen to me, Wyatt. Are you listening?”

Wyatt nodded, not trusting his voice.

“There’s a whole lot more to this than just them sleeping together.”

“Do you think... Randy loves him?”

Lukas groaned. “Damn, Wyatt, that’s such a tough call to make.”

“Is it? You said you know them. You’ve seen them together. What do you think?”

“I think it’s complicated. But between us, no, not in any normal sense of the word. Keep sipping.” He indicated the smoky liquid in Wyatt’s glass. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

I can do this. I can. If Shy can live through this... whatever this is... surely I can just listen to whatever it is...

“When I was very young, I met a man named Bobby Demaris. He took a liking to me, and he became my mentor.”

Wyatt wrinkled his brow in perplexity. “I don’t know any artist by that name.”

“No, he’s not an artist. At least not in the sense that you mean.”

“Then how did he mentor you?”

“Bobby has a club, a very special club. It’s a private club, in West County. Bobby D’s Sweet Majesty is the full name, but most of the members just call it Sweet Majesty for short.”

to be continued

Now, don't forget to visit the rest of the Briefers, see what they've been doing!

Lily Sawyer      
Cia Nordwell