Thursday, September 19, 2013

Guest Blogger: M.A. Church and Faded Love

You remember M.A. Church, right? You should, she comes here all the time! Well, she's graced us with her presence again, so everybody put your hands together and give her a big old welcome!


A year ago, M.A. had a story released in an anthology, Carved in Flesh, from Storm Moon. Now her story has been released as a single, Faded Love, and she's going to talk about it. Hang on, I have a drink for  you, M.A.


Faded Love

A drive home in the wee hours in the morning after a modeling job… then a moment’s distraction and a twist of Fate puts an end to one way of life for Ashley and opens the door to another.

Hey everyone! My name is M.A. Church, and I was part of the Carved in Flesh anthology from Storm Moon Press that came out a year ago. Now my story, Faded Love, has been released as a single title. This anthology caught my eye because of the subject matter. In a society that worships beauty and is filled with everyday images of what’s ideal, I had to wonder what would happen to an internationally well-known model who ends up scarred.
Then throw in his lover, Will—who is a sports model. To make matters even more interesting, Will just happens to have given Ashley an ultimatum before the car accident: he wants an exclusive relationship with Ashley. The mere thought of a commitment sends Ashley into a tailspin. And there you go, lol, a swirling brew of pain, anger, fear, regret, and… one man’s determination not to give up on the man he loves. In other words, Will has a hot mess on his hands, lol. Can he prove to Ashley that scars fade, but love doesn’t?
This anthology, in a lot of ways, strikes very close to home for me. Twelve years ago I had back surgery, and I have a pretty big scar on my back. Granted, over the years it’s faded, but when I tan in the summer, it’s noticeable. In my late teens and early twenties I also modeled regionally. *Laugh* It wasn’t anything to write home about, but modeling did teach me one thing. The old saying that models are nothing more than ‘coat hangers’ is so very true.
So imagine how a world-famous model would react to a scar on his face—the very face that made him a living, that he was known by. Yeah, Ashley’s emotions run the gamut from disbelief, anger, and self-loathing to fear—fear that without his looks, he’s worth nothing. Thank goodness for Will and his stubborn nature. Not long after the accident, Ashley learns Will has been offered an opportunity that’s the chance of a lifetime… on the opposite coast. Ashley, my spoilt little diva, has a hard choice to make.
My favorite scene in the story is where Will and Ashley kiss on a beach near the end. The message that comes through by the end of the story is Scars fade, but love does not. There's so much truth to that. The harder times of life might stick with us, but the ache of them usually fades over time; true love doesn't fade away. I wholeheartedly believe that, and it's where the title of my short story came from too.
~M

Blurb:
One moment in time can change your life, especially a life that revolves around your face. A near-fatal car accident leaves a world famous model's face scarred and his career in a tailspin. The life Ashley knew is over and he wants to do nothing but fade away into nothingness. Only his lover, Will, can pull him out of his dark depression and make Ashley see even scars can be beautiful.

Excerpt:
The first thing Ashley noticed when he woke was a feeling of disconnection. He was floating, drifting. His eyes weighed a ton, as did his body, and his faced itched. Trying to lift his hand to scratch at the insistent itch, he struggled to get the limb to function. Nothing seemed to work right. Was he home in bed? He didn’t remember getting home. A soft beep caught his attention. What was that annoying sound? His mind was fuzzy and his mouth was as dry as cotton. Seriously freaked out, he fought to open his eyes, and his body jerked as he twisted. Pain exploded, greeting him unmercifully, biting at him.
“Ashley? Can you hear me?”
That voice. He knew that voice. With a herculean effort he opened his eyes. Or tried to. One side of his vision was pitch black, and the other side was blurry. Sickly fear coated his body. He flung his hands up, searching. What the hell was covering the left side of his face? Clawing at the covering, he whimpered as an out of focus face bent over him.
“Hey, hey now, ease up there. It’s okay.”
“Will?” Ashley’s hand was gently held and pulled down. Why did Will’s voice sound so funny, like he was hoarse? “Will? What’s going on? Where am I? What’s on my face?”
“Listen to me. You’re in the hospital.”
“Hospital? Why the hell am I in the hospital?” Straining, he was finally able to make out the pale walls, and smell a scent he had always associated with hospitals: cleaners and sickness.
“You don’t remember… anything?” Will bent over Ashley, still holding his hands. God, Will’s skin was so warm, and his was so cold. “Tell me what you remember.”
“Was on my way home from that shoot. You called. I was going to call you back… Will?” Ashley’s voice rose and cracked. “Then, nothing until now. What—what… Will?”
One of Will’s strong hands managed to loosen itself from Ashley’s death grip and brushed Ashley’s hair back from his face. “You’re in the hospital. There was an accident, a bad accident. You were hit on the way home two days ago.”
“Fuck me! Two days ago?” Ashley bit his lip as pain spiked in his ribs. “How bad? Who hit me?”
“It was pretty bad. You have bruised ribs from the impact with the steering wheel, your arm is bruised—not broken—and more bruises over your body. I forgot the driver’s name. They hit you on the passenger side, slammed you into a street light. Two people in the other car died.”
“Died? Jesus.” Every time Ashley tried to lift his hand to his face, Will stopped him. “What’s wrong with my vision? Why can I only see out of one side?”
Gripping his hand, Will hesitated. “You were struck so hard your head hit the driver side window.”
Ashley gripped Will’s hand. There was more, he just knew it. What little he could make out of Will’s concerned face told him that. “And? Tell me, dammit!”
 “The window busted. There was glass everywhere. Oh God, Ashley, I’m so sorry. You were cut. On your face… and—and… there’s going to be a scar.”
“A scar?” Ashley whispered, and then his voice gained in strength as horror stabbed at him. “A scar, on my face? My face? No! Oh my God, no! How bad, Will? How fucking bad?”
Tears soaked Will’s voice. “From the hair line to under your chin. Jesus, Ashley. I’m so sorry.”
The screams from Ashley’s room brought most of the nursing staff at a dead run.


                                      

My links:
Twitter @nomoretears00



Thanks for coming by, M.A.! Care for more Coke?



Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #22

Happy Wednesday/Hump Day one and all! If it's Wednesday, that must mean it's time for the Wednesday Briefers to send some great flash fiction your way!

As you'll recall from last week, Shy is in a perilous predicament, as Randy has offered to have him blow a room full of men! Is there anything that can be done about this? Find out in No Way Out #22. And don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. Enjoy!

No Way Out #22

Shy squirmed uncomfortably, unable to prevent the shudders that rippled through his body. Stand still, he admonished himself. He didn’t have permission to move. The last thing he needed was to draw Randy’s ire down on him. He was already receiving enough unwanted attention from the rest of the room.

Randy’s words had been greeted with a moment of silence, as if the other occupants of the room were digesting what he’d said. The moment was broken when someone whistled, then someone else catcalled,” He’s got some purty lips, hmm mmmm.” That broke the tension as the other men laughed.

This wasn’t the first time Randy had offered Shy’s services to other members of Sweet Majesty. So why did this time bother him? Was it because the other occasions had been more low key and private, not this wholesale orgy of lip service he was supposed to pay to virtual strangers?

He looked up without thinking, scanning the faces of the men in the room, who all seemed to be staring at him, finally landing on a man who seemed somewhere about Randy’s age. The man seemed distinctly uncomfortable.

“Grant, you’re asking an awful lot from him.” The man took a step toward Shy. Randy tugged at the leash, jerking Shy, who stumbled to his knees and stayed there.

“He’s mine to do with as I please.” Randy’s voice was smooth on the surface, but Shy felt the undertones of his displeasure; he involuntarily flinched.

Ignoring Randy, the man knelt before Shy, searching his eyes with compassion. “Is this what you want?” he softly asked.

Shy’s mouth went dry. Terror flew along every synapse at the thought of what Randy would do should he answer with anything other than yes. Yet he seemed unable to get the simple word past his lips. He felt tension on the leash increase. Knew without looking that Randy was staring at him, waiting, anticipating the only response he wanted to hear. The only response Shy dared to give.

And yet he couldn’t give it.

Why not? What was wrong with him? Did he want to be hurt? Or worse?

He couldn’t say, couldn’t do it. So he did the next best thing and nodded, hoping his performance was an Oscar winner, since everything was riding on it.

The man looked unconvinced.

“You heard him,” Randy said smoothly. “Would you like to be first, Blankenship?”

An expression of disgust crossed the man’s face. He placed his fingers beneath Shy’s chin, tilted his face up. “You don’t have to do this,” he pled with him.

Before he had a chance to respond, assuming he had any such intention, Randy yanked Shy’s leash and he fell to the floor. When the man would help him, Randy snarled, “Do. Not. Touch.”

Shy scrambled back onto his knees, his face impassive. Blankenship murmured, “God help you, son,” and rose to his feet, facing Randy. “I intend to report you, Grant. You give those of us who are honestly living the life a bad name. You have no idea what being a Dom entails. You’re a clueless piece of shit.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Randy’s usually cultured voice had an edge to it now.

Shy felt the leash tremble; he glanced up in surprise. Randy was rubbing his arm, probably to keep himself from punching the other man.

“I have every right to be here, same as you. Now just mind your own business.” He turned away, toward a younger man with gelled blue hair and an Armani suit; he’d been one who’d seemed excited at Randy’s offer. “Harry, you want to be first? Let Shy show you what he can do with those lips.”

“Yeah, sure, Randy.” The young man eagerly stepped forward, already unzipping himself. Shy heard more whistles, mixed with angry murmurs. He could barely breathe, barely focus.

Just do what needs to be done, get it over with.

He sniffled once, forced himself to breathe and willed his body not to shake. If this was Randy’s wish, what could he do but obey. What choice did he have?

He sensed bodies in motion around him. A few of the men must have left, but others were queuing up behind Mr. Blue Hair, laughing and joking about who would come the most, who would last the longest. Shy felt sickened at their words.

“Grant, for the love of all that’s right, stop this.” That was Blankenship again. Even as he watched the young man before him pull his cock from his pants, Shy was able to observe Randy. He couldn’t help but watch as the leash jerked almost erratically in Randy’s hand; he rubbed at his neck. Shy could fairly see the veins stand out, while Randy’s face was flushed with displeasure.

Shy tried to absent himself, move into a far corner of his mind where none of this existed. Let his body obey, do what it had to, but he wouldn’t be there. He’d be far away, in another place entirely. And in this far away place, Shy was not alone, for Wyatt was there before him.

Wyatt...

Shy reached for him, mentally, felt the warmth of Wyatt’s embrace, as he imagined it to be, even as he felt the young man’s cock touch his lips. “Open wide for chunky,” the other man joked.

Shy jerked back without warning. What was he doing? Panic-stricken, he raised fearful eyes to Randy. He wasn’t sure what Randy would do; he hated disobedience and didn’t tolerate it. Shy had as much as told him no. For that he’d have to pay.

Randy turned furious eyes to Shy. He took a step toward him. Shy saw Blankenship move toward Randy, as if to intercede. But then something odd happened. Randy’s eyes widened, his mouth gaped open, and his hands released the leash, clawing at his chest instead.

As Shy watched, Randy crumpled before his very eyes and the room exploded into chaos.

Call 9-1-1!”

to be continued

Now see what the other Briefers are up to!




Virtual Book Tour: The Last Straw

Please welcome author Nia Simone and her debut release, The Last Straw. Nia will be giving away a $25 Amazon GC to one lucky commenter drawn at random during her tour. The more often you comment, the better your chances of winning. To find the rest of her tour stops, go here



NOTE:  THIS IS NIA'S DEBUT WORK.  ALSO, THE BOOK IS AVAILABLE FOR FREE ON AMAZON THE WEEK OF THE TOUR ONLY.

THE LAST STRAW
By
Nia Simone


BLURB:  
Ally Tobin left New York after one too many bad dates, determined to rebuild a stable life and career as a private investigator in Silicon Valley. But when the man she knew as one name walks into her office with another, will her curiosity once again lead her to risk her heart?

The last thing Special Agent Jared Green needs is "security risk" stamped on the resume of his latest undercover identity. Especially by the woman his job forced him to leave in New York without any explanation. She may threaten his cover, but it's his heart on the line. 

He's good at playing a part. She's good at catching a fake. Can they trust enough to give love another chance?



EXCERPT:  

He sauntered through the door, a white, button- down shirt tucked into belted khakis. When his dark gaze found her, he stopped. Stared. Her throat dried and a rustling motion stirred in her abdomen.

“Hi. I’m Darren Ray.”

Keep your cool, she commanded herself, standing and reaching across the desk. His hand was rough.

She yanked her hand back and waved at the chair. “Please, have a seat.” He waited for her to sit before settling in the visitor’s chair. “So, Darren, according to this, you’re being considered for a programmer position in the IT department. Tell me about your background.”

A professional mask settled over his features. “As you can see on my résumé, I have several years of consulting experience.”

“Tell me something about your experience as a mechanic.” Working on his prized old Mustang had been a favorite hobby.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “What do you mean? That’s not in my résumé.”

“You don’t have the hands of a programmer. More of a mechanic.” Oh, his hands.

“Okay, you got me.” He was going to confess. This should be good. “When I’m not programming computers I’m working on my car.”

“And what were you doing in New York City?”

He reached across her desk for a piece of paper, plucked a pen from its stand and scrawled something.  When she took the note their fingers brushed. Meet me for dinner at Pico’s at 7. I’ll explain everything. Can’t talk here.



AUTHOR INFORMATION:
Nia Simone grew up on the side of a ski slope in Squaw Valley, USA. Later, while learning the craft of story writing, she worked in nonprofit and then high-tech.

The best part of working in the computer field was meeting her husband. He took up skiing and she helped him document his computer inventions! They live in "Silicon Valley" in California where their favorite thing to do is cook together for friends. Nia’s specialties are dessert and veggies while her husband’s are entrees and sourdough bread.

Their only pet at the moment is the sourdough starter, which lives in the fridge and requires bi-weekly feeding.
Nia blogs every day about travel, food, writing, books, skiing and photography at niasimoneauthor.com (where she won the Versatile Blogger Award and Inspiring Blogger Award).​

Twitter: @niasimone4












 .

Monday, September 16, 2013

Name Before the Masses Tour: Mythical Ireland

Please welcome author Christy Nicholas, who is here today to both answer my infamous Rick Reed questions and to talk about her newest release,  Ireland: Mythical, Magical, Mystical.  Christy will be awarding a $20 Amazon GC to one random commenter on the tour. The more you comment, the better your chances of winning. If you want to know where her other tour dates are, go here.

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?
Doctor Who and the TARDIS – endless possibilities!  Given my druthers, I’d choose either the 4th Doctor (Tom Baker), or the 11th Doctor (David Tennant).








  2)    Which musical would you say best exemplifies your life – and which character in that musical are you?
Oddly enough, I’d have to say Tevya from Fiddler on the Roof.  He has worked hard all his life, and wishes
he was rich – but realizes he has happiness in his community and family. 

3)      Take these three words and give me a 100 word or less scenario using them:  insurance, owed, talk
She knew she owed him a stern talk, but she avoided it like the plague.  She couldn’t get past the fact that she had discovered the insurance policy he had bought – was there something sinister behind it?  Or was he just being cautious?  She just couldn’t read him.

4)      What is your idea of how to spend romantic time with your significant other?
Usually a night out for sushi, and cuddling on the couch with a good movie.  Of course, a good movie is likely something fantasy or science fiction, as we are both incurable geeks!

5)      When you start a new story, do you begin with a character, or a plot?
Since I write non-fiction travel, I start with the myth and history of a place.  My research always reveals interesting things I didn’t know, and it fuels my inspiration for the rest of the book.

6)      If they were to make the story of your life into a movie, who should play you?
I would love Betty White – a sweet, innocent exterior with a wicked, dirty-mind center!















   7)    Who’s your favorite horror villain and why?
I think Hannibal Lechter is my favorite – he is a genius who orchestrates everything in his life like a
symphony.  He’s in control even when he’s being controlled in a prison.  Perhaps it appeals to the control freak in me!








8)      Do you have an historical crush and if so, who is it?
Definitely – Brian Boruma, the last true High King of Ireland, 1000 years ago.  What a man!  He evicted the Vikings from Ireland, brought the whole island under one rule, and died in battle – at age 84, according to most accounts!  How could this man be anything less than vital, compelling, and full of charisma?  I am looking forward to the movie they are producing on him, for 2014 – 1000 years after the Battle of Clontarf, which took his life.




9)      Is there a story that you’d like to tell but you think the world isn’t ready to receive it?
I am starting to write the story of my parents’ love and eventual marriage, 30 years after I was born – we shall see if people want it or not!

Twitter:  greendragon9




IRELAND: MYTHICAL, MAGICAL, MYSTICAL
By
Christy Nicholas

BLURB:  

Do you find yourself drawn to the magic of the Emerald Isle? Would you like to see places beyond the typical tourist traps? Come, join me on a journey through the mists of legend, into the hidden places of mystery. Immerse yourself in the legends and myths, the history that has made this island precious in the hearts and minds of millions. Along with the tales and history, there is practical information on planning your trip, budgeting your costs, and finding the best places to while away the magical hours of your holiday.


EXCERPT:  


The Magical Facet The Fair Folk

Everyone has heard of fairies, of creatures with supernatural powers to curse, to bless, to find gold, or to cause mischief. Literature and art is full of them from Shakespeare to contemporary artists Amy Brown or Jasmine Beckett-Griffith. Western culture, especially in the US, is bred on Disney’s Tinker Bell, children’s books of flower fairies from Victorian artists, and grim tales of the darker side of these Fae folk.

In Ireland, fairies, known as the Sídhe (pronounced shee) or the Good Folk, originate from the Tuatha Dé Danann, the people who immigrated to the island before the Sons of Míl. Supposedly full of powers, the Tuatha Dé Danann could not bear to be near iron, and therefore their superior skills were for naught. Rather than leave the land they loved, they agreed to reside below the earth. For this reason, caves are said to be entrances into their underworld homes. Traces of this legend can be seen in the classic film, Darby O’Gill and the Little People, where Darby is led under a mountain to the Fairy King’s palace. 
Ireland has countless portals, be they hills, hawthorn trees, caves, wells, or other sacred places.

A more Christianized origin of these creatures claim they are angels which fell to Earth before humans resided there. They live beneath the waves or gardens, and while some are evil, others can be helpful as long as they are treated with respect.

While many modern legends show the fairies to be sweet, kind, magical creatures, this is really a Victorian creation. The traditional views in Ireland and Scotland show the Sídhe to be mischievous to the point of cruelty a force to be reckoned with. They are not sought out by the wise. In fact, most of the herb and spell lore of an almost forgotten era is meant to instruct how to keep you from coming to the Folks’ attention.




AUTHOR INFORMATION:


My name is Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon. I do many things, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life I'm a CPA, but having grown up with art around me (my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected me, as it were.  I love to draw and to create things. It's more of an obsession than a hobby. I like looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or a fragrant blossom, a dramatic seaside. I then wish to take a picture or create a piece of jewelry to share this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others.  Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus I write.  Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. I do local art and craft shows, as well as sending my art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.

Find Christy here:
www.GreenDragonArtist.com

Find Christy’s book here, and at other eBook stores:



Sunday, September 15, 2013

Sexy Snippets #13: No Way Out

Good morning and Happy Sunday!

 Yesterday, I teased y'all with a little bit of my current WIP, my first BDSM story, No Way Out. Today, I'm going to show you a little more.

 Shylor is a young man who lives with Randy, who's forty and very domineering. Not just dom/sub, but worse. Meeting Wyatt could either be the best thing that ever happened to Shy - or the worst. In this peek, Randy isn't home, and Wyatt's crossed the street with a sweet offering in the form of two ice cream cones.

 He forced himself to calm down, digging his nails into the palms to distract himself, so hard that small red crescents formed. He had to do this. He had to discourage Wyatt from ever coming over here, even if it turned out to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. And he’d done a lot of hard things in his short life.

 But it was a matter of self-preservation. Even more, he didn’t want Wyatt to be hurt, and there was no doubt in Shy’s mind that Randy would hurt him.

 He slowly opened the door, catching Wyatt in mid-knock, startling the other man.

 “You can’t be here,” he whispered in as fierce a voice as he could muster. “He can’t see you.”



For more Sexy Snippets, go here!

Edit: For those who want to know more of the story, I've added No Way Out to my lables on the right side of my blog, and if you go there, it'll show you all of them, unfortunately not in chronological order, but they are numbered. Here's the link http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com/search/label/No%20Way%20Out

Enjoy!

Saturday, September 14, 2013

My Sexy Saturday #10: No Way Out

Happy Saturday and welcome to another My Sexy Saturday! Today's snippet comes from my flash story, No Way Out.


Have you ever witnessed a situation where you thought you would intervene, if  you only dared? But maybe you kept silent, because you weren't sure it would be the right thing to do. Or any of your business. That's the position Wyatt Findley finds himself in. The young art student is house sitting in a fairly affluent neighborhood on a private street in St. Louis when he spies the young man across the street. He's washing an expensive automobile under the watchful aegis of an older man. After several hours pass, and Wyatt notices he is still at the task, something makes him decide to speak up... and so it begins.

If you like this snippet, the chapters are here on the blog. Enjoy!



Suddenly there was a hand touching Shy’s shoulder, and then that same hand appeared in front of his face, as if it was being offered to him, and he couldn’t help but see it as a lifeline. He started to reach for it, but thought better of his action at the last moment and knocked an imaginary bit of dirt from the car’s pristine panel.

“And you are?” Wyatt prompted.

Shy felt his face being tilted upward and his heart pounded madly in his chest. Oh there would be hell to pay for this, no question. “Sh-Shylor,” he managed to stammer out. He could feel Randy’s annoyance behind him, but he couldn’t make himself look away.

“Is there something we can help you with?” Randy broke into the moment and Wyatt released Shy’s chin. He was quivering, which made the butt plug quiver too, and fresh waves broke through him. He fought against them, stifling a moan. Not the time or place. And if he dared to come, without permission...

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I noticed Shylor’s been working on the car for a long time, thought he might like a hand.”

“Shylor has everything under control. He’s simply very thorough, that’s all. Mr... Finley, did you say?”


“No, Findley. With a d. Shylor, what do you say? I don’t mind using a little elbow grease. Between us, I’m sure we can knock this out in no time?”

And now go see what the other authors are doing on this sexy Saturday - you can find them here.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #21

Here it is, another Hump Day, and time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! Hope you're having a good day, I know I am!

As you'll recall from last week's episode of No Way Out, Shy and Randy are at the BDSM club, Sweet Majesty, and Shy has had a narrow escape when Randy's attention turns to an acquaintance. The action continues in this week's installment. Just to remind you, I'll be pulling No Way Out soon and finishing it so I can sub it. The last public chapter will be October 16th, which is when I'll be at GRL, in Atlanta. I'll remind everyone and those who want to follow it privately can let me know. Don't forget to see what the rest of the Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale. Enjoy!

No Way Out #21

“Hello yourself, Randy. Didn’t expect to find you here tonight.”

“I could say the same for you, Ken.” Randy’s voice was clearly laced with pride. Shy knew without being told that this was the man he’d beaten to win his new account, the reason for today’s celebration. Shy kept his eyes cast down. It wouldn’t do to seem to be listening, even though he was standing right there. “Glad to see you can bounce back from disappointment so well.”

“Disappointment?” The confusion in Ken’s voice was apparent. Shy instinctively knew that Randy was about to tell the other man the sad bad news, and was taking great delight in doing so.

“At losing such a prestigious account. But cheer up, there’ll be others. Maybe I’ll be nice and let you have the next one.”

Shy darted a quick glance up, then back to his feet. He’d seen enough. Ken’s face was purpling. Shy watched the feet of both men as Ken took a step toward Randy, who never moved.

Let me?” The querulous voice was rising in pitch and volume, drawing the attention of others. Shy almost shifted his weight, uncomfortably, but thought better of it. “Just who do you think you are, Grant? God’s gift to marketing?”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Randy modestly replied.

Shy braced himself for a punch that never came, knowing that if this Ken managed to knock Randy from his feet, Shy would go down too, connected as they were. A silky voice, instead, inserted itself, and a quick peek ascertained that it belonged to Mel. He held one gloved hand to his lips, as if shushing two rowdy children.

“Gentlemen, there will be no fighting. No exception. Mr. Demaris’ rules will be followed at all times, is that understood?”

“Of course, of course.” Randy’s voice never faltered, never lost its air of equanimity. His words were echoed a moment later by a more disgruntled Ken.

“Perfectly understood.”

A snap of the fingers, and another server appeared on command, bearing liquid refreshment. Shy heard the glasses clink as they were taken in hand.

“Ken, I do apologize for my thoughtless words. Tonight is not a night for quarreling, but for celebration. Is there some way in which we can bury the hatchet between us?”

Did no one else hear the insincerity that laced Randy’s words? Probably not. No one knew him as well as Shy did. Although Shy wasn’t sure how well he knew Randy Grant himself.

“They say that to the victor belongs the spoils, don’t they? Maybe in this case, the victor should share the spoils?”

Shy pondered this question, waiting for Randy’s next scathing remark. It didn’t come.

“What did you have in mind, my dear Ken?”

Startled, Shy glanced up again. Mel and the server had gone, leaving them to face one another down, having given them their only warnings. Shy had seen other men removed for such offenses; violence was not tolerated at Sweet Majesty. At least not that kind. Only the sort inflicted by designated instruments of... delight.

“You have quite the asset there, Randy, old boy...”

Shy felt Randy’s flinch through the leash. He hated to have anyone refer to his age; he was very sensitive about it, despite the fact that there were men here that were easily forty years his senior.

Suddenly he understood Ken’s allusion, and his cheeks flamed as he quickly stared at his feet, desperately controlled his breathing, his long-time training standing him in good stead.

What was Ken asking for? And would Randy allow it, whatever it was? Not that Shy had any choice in the matter. He’d do what he was told to do, no more, no less.

“I do.” Shy couldn’t decipher Randy’s tone, couldn’t tell his mood from those two words alone.

“Maybe you could... share your good fortune with those of us who are... less fortunate?”

Surely he wasn’t suggesting... Shy knew without looking that Randy would never go for that. He had a cardinal rule, and it was never to be broken. No one, but no one, other than himself, was to touch Shylor’s ass. Shy had long ago rid himself of the idea that the compulsion was romantic; it was actually very selfish and very self-serving on Randy’s part.

Randy would not go where someone else had been. And Randy was scared to death of AIDS.

But if Randy blatantly rejected Ken’s suggestion, would the already volatile Ken fly off the handle and get them all bounced out of the club? Perhaps for good?

And would that be such a bad thing?

“Pick a room,” Randy said silkily. The next thing Shy knew, Randy jerked the leash, so he knew that meant he should walk behind him, eyes on the ground; he prayed that they were not going into one of the private rooms. He feared that if they did, then all would be lost, all bets would be off, and things would get decidedly ugly. Uglier than usual.

Randy flicked the leash again and Shy stopped, taking in his surroundings. To his great relief, it was one of the public rooms, already populated by about six to eight men, and four subs. They glanced up as Randy cleared his throat for attention.

“Gentlemen,” he began. “Good evening.”

Greetings were returned, acknowledgements made. A few seemed interested, some curious, but no one ignored the man who oozed charm and schmooze with every breath. Shy noticed Ken, at Randy’s side, seemed equally as captivated as the others.

“I would like,” Randy continued, “to share my good fortune with you this evening. Today I made a very profitable business deal with a very special client.”

Shy glanced at Ken, who never spoke.

“Therefore, I am giving you all a gift.” Curious glances, more interest now.

Randy indicated Shy with a wave of one well-manicured hand. “Each and every one of you in this room shall receive a blow job from those pretty lips.”

Oh fuck...

to be continued


Now be sure to visit the other Briefers and see what they're up to!



Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie