Saturday, November 13, 2010
Look What We Came Up With! Thanks!
Friday, November 5, 2010
Be the First on Your Block…!
The Cowboy Poet is out and ready at last! Please pop over to the fancy new 1PlaceforRomance site and check out The Cowboy Poet! There’s a great contest there too, the details of which will be announced in the 1PFR newsletter later this morning! So if you aren’t signed up for that newsletter, hurry and do so at the 1PFR site, so you can get in on the $30, $20 and $10 gift code giveaways! (I’m also going to be featured in The Author’s Spotlight in their Friday newsletter, and revealing a few secrets, so don’t miss it!)
Here are the links to two great reviews as well!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
EPIC EBOOK AWARD FINALIST TIMES THREE!
Click on the titles to check them out. I'm pretty excited! Fingers crossed, and we'll find out in March, 2011!
Wicked Hearts
Texas Surrender
Heart of Submission
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Cowboy Poet is Done!
Greetings,
I am delighted to report I penned the last word (okay, typed it) last night! Well, of the rough draft, that is. I'm sure it will go through a few more iterations before it's finally done, but I'm still on schedule for an early November release, and quite excited! I am going to post a few snippets here to give you a taste of the novel. It's about a guy named Tyler Sutton whose standard MO has been to run from things that scare him, like his deeply held masochistic and submissive yearnings, and the bully who twisted his trust for his own gain... Enter Clint Darrow, a confident but laid back cowboy with a dominant mindset and a heart of pure gold...
Here are a few excerpts for you!
from chapter one...
I am delighted to report I penned the last word (okay, typed it) last night! Well, of the rough draft, that is. I'm sure it will go through a few more iterations before it's finally done, but I'm still on schedule for an early November release, and quite excited! I am going to post a few snippets here to give you a taste of the novel. It's about a guy named Tyler Sutton whose standard MO has been to run from things that scare him, like his deeply held masochistic and submissive yearnings, and the bully who twisted his trust for his own gain... Enter Clint Darrow, a confident but laid back cowboy with a dominant mindset and a heart of pure gold...
Here are a few excerpts for you!
from chapter one...
He shot a glance at Clint, whose direct gaze made Tyler’s heart skitter around like a loose pinball. “That’s one of the great things about poetry,” Clint said. “Each person gets something different out of it, maybe something the poet never intended, but it’s no less valid because of that. If anything, those added layers give the poetry more life and meaning. What was it, exactly, that you heard behind the words?” Clint’s voice was low and raspy, as if it were laced with whiskey, smoke and hard living. There was a kind of power to it that drew Tyler and distracted him, despite his best effort to wear his reporter’s hat.
Tyler licked his lips, unable to look away from Clint’s dark gaze, even if he had wanted to. “The reference to an exchange of power,” he finally breathed, his words coming out in a whisper. Clint knew he was gay too. He was sure of it now. The small tape player whirred on, but Tyler knew he wasn’t going to complete the interview just then. He could barely remember his own name, much less the questions he’d had planned.
His eyes on Tyler’s face, Clint dropped his hand to Tyler’s thigh, his touch radiating like heat directly to Tyler’s aching cock and balls. “Go on,” Clint said softly. “Tell me more about what you heard in the poem.” Tyler was aware suddenly of the silence in the courtyard. Other than a few stragglers smoking cigarettes along the fence, the place had emptied, folks going inside to hear the music, Tyler supposed, or going home now that the readings were over.
He closed his eyes, distracted by the rhythm of Clint’s breath, the pitch of his voice, the feel of his hand still pressing against Tyler’s denim-clad thigh, the fingers brushing carelessly close to his groin.
He opened his eyes and their gazes collided. When Tyler spoke, his voice came out gruff. He cleared his throat and tried again. “The image of submission, of the horse giving over its power to its master. I felt like maybe you were saying something more…” Tyler swallowed, unwilling to go on, afraid he’d already exposed too much of his closely held feelings.
“You’re very perceptive.” Clint tilted his head as he tightened his grip on Tyler’s thigh. “I could be wrong. Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time. But I sense by your reaction that you identify with the wild stallion, the one who longs to be tamed by a real master.”
“Oh,” Tyler said, the word pulled from him. The night air was almost cool but Tyler felt a sweat break out on his upper lip and beneath his arms, as a shudder moved through his body in a snake of pure, raw lust.
“I take it that’s a yes?” Clint’s covered Tyler’s throbbing crotch with his large, strong hand.
Grateful for the semi-darkness that blanketed the courtyard, he thought about pulling away from Clint’s forward touch, but found himself rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came.
~*~
They stood in the parking lot, their mutual decision to leave the bar together tacit but clear. Tyler followed Clint to a pickup truck, unable to deny the magnetic, almost overpowering pull of his attraction to this man who had somehow honed right in on his most secret thoughts and desires.
Not since the mess with Wayne Hurley that had sent Tyler running had he even allowed himself to think along these lines. …tamed by a real master…Those fantasies, fueled by the quiet desperation of a lifetime of vague longing, had flared into a brief but powerful reality with Wayne. What they’d shared had been forbidden and, for Tyler, filled with shame, but charged with power just the same.
“I’m stayin’ at the Motel Six, just down the road,” Clint said. “I could use some company.”
Tyler didn’t reply. He felt like he was burning up, desires he thought he’d left behind at the ranch six months before fanned into flame by Clint’s compelling presence. Though he wasn’t sick, he could feel the flush moving over his skin like a fever. Clint stood loose and easy, as if he had all the time in the world. He waited a long beat before adding, “I knew it, before you even said a word. You’ve got that wild stallion inside you. But I can see it gives you no peace. You’ve been mishandled, I’d wager. You need gentlin’ by a firm, sure hand.”
Tyler tried to laugh but it came out hollow. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He’d meant to add a sneer to his voice, but heard instead the defensive protest in his tone, which even to his own ears lacked conviction.
“Sure you do. No cause to deny it. Not with me.” Clint opened the passenger door to his truck and nodded an invitation toward the empty cabin. He walked around the front of the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Tyler stood a moment, trying to tell himself he should bid this stranger who assumed way too much a good night, or at the very least tell him that he’d take his own car, thank you very much.
Clint started the engine, the barest hint of a smile moving over his face.
Tyler climbed in.
Snippet #2:
He fell back against the mattress, their sweat-slick bodies separating. Tyler at once curled into him, resting his head falling against Clint’s chest. Clint drifted a moment or was it longer…? When his heart had slowed enough to where he could catch his breath and regain the use of his muscles, Clint reached down, stroking the wet, matted hair from Tyler’s damp forehead.
Tyler opened his eyes, staring up at Clint with such naked adoration that, had Clint been the blushing kind, he would have colored to the tips of his ears. Leaning up slightly, Tyler kissed Clint’s chin and smiled the smile of a baby drunk on mother’s milk. A feeling of overwhelming tenderness swept through Clint, leaving him, for that brief moment, utterly defenseless.
“Thank you,” Tyler whispered, so softly Clint wondered if he’d only imagined it. He experienced a sudden sense of loss. It had been far too long since he’d felt that eager puppy spark, either in himself or from another. When had he traded in the promise of that kind of wild, powerful love for a life of satisfied, placid contentment?
Clint realized with a jolt that, if things had gone according to plan, he would be in the arms of his familiar, tried and true old friend and sometimes lover, as comfortable as an old quilt, and about as exciting. These poetry festivals and readings, away from the ranch and his usual life, were a good opportunity for a little stolen sweetness, but in the end, that’s all it was.
Was this time different? He knew it was crazy even to speculate. And yet the aching tenderness for the young man cradled in his arms still lingered. Something in Tyler called to him like a lone coyote’s howl, plaintive and filled with longing.
Would he be able to break through the walls Tyler had erected between himself and his desires?
Friday, July 30, 2010
(Cane + Rope) x Erotic Pain = Peace? Really??
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO 1ROMANCEEBOOKS.COM!
Thank you for visiting my stop on the 1RomanceEbooks.com one year anniversary blog tour! This is stop # 31. Your last stop should have been Delle Jacobs http://dellejacobs.blogspot.com/
Remember, to participate in the drawing for the 1RE Blog Tour, you have to register. Simply leaving comments on the blogs will not make you eligible to win! So make sure you register at http://1romanceebooks.com to you can get a participant number, which you should include with every comment.
My prize to be given away by 1RE: signed paperback of your choice from Romance Unbound catalog (http://romanceunbound.com) (continental U.S. only) or ebook download of their choice fromhttp://clairethompson.net . And remember! The more comments you leave on the tour, the better your chances of winning the grand prize-a Sony E-reader!
What is it about erotic pain that can so dramatically shift one's focus to a place of profound peace? How can it be that the cut of the cane against tender flesh can somehow segue into pure, white hot pleasure? Can a thorough body flogging really send a person to that height of ecstatic experience sometimes referred to as flying?
To those who have never felt the yearning for the rope that binds, or the tingle of skin longing for the kiss of leather, it must be hard to comprehend this lust for erotic pain. Stubbing a toe is not at all sexually satisfying or desirable, yet the pinch of clamps against erect nipples can send a sexual masochist into spasm of pleasure.
Clearly there are different types of pain. How and why can submitting to erotic pain bring such utter serenity?
Is it the intensity of experience that is the draw? And what of this concept of flying? What is it, exactly? How do you get there?
For me personally, getting there isn't always easy. In fact it's never easy. That's part of its power. It's sort of like the religious concept of Purgatory - you have to go down into the fires in order to ascend to that place of perfect peace. Each stroke of leather tresses, each biting kiss of the cane, takes me one step closer to that state of grace. It isn’t that the altered state into which one enters puts out the fire out, but rather softens its flame. Instead of enduring the pain, one encompasses it.
I’ve tried to capture it over and over in my writing, but I don’t think, alas, it is truly possible to put it into words. Not that that’s stopped me from trying. Here are a few examples below from my novels.
From Accidental Slave:
"It hurts, oh, Cole, it hurts. It’s too much. I can’t do it." Elizabeth danced on her toes, twisting in a frantic, futile effort to escape the stinging lash.
"You can. You are. I can sense you’re almost there. Breathe. Go with it. Stop fighting the pain. Become the pain. Become the whip. You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re almost there."
Almost where? Where am I going? Ah... Elizabeth let her head fall back. She didn’t have the strength to lift it again. The sting was still there, but somehow more bearable. Her skin, a moment ago on fire, began to cool.
Her head still hung back, eyes closed. Her lips parted and she drew a slow, shuddery breath.
Something shifted. He continued to whip her, if anything harder than before. She felt the sting but no longer defined it as pain, no longer processed it as suffering. Her fingers, which she hadn't realized had been clutching the chains, relaxed. Her hands went limp and she sagged against the thick cuffs at her wrists.
She was aware of Cole behind her, aware the whip was still biting into her flesh but she no longer felt it. She no longer heard the whistling warning of its trajectory. Her mind emptied, her breathing slowed...
Silence.
Serenity.
Euphoric peace.
Elizabeth opened her eyes, blinking against the bright light. On one level she’d been aware of Cole dropping the whip, Cole releasing her from the cuffs and lowering her to the ground, taking her head into his lap. But she had been too deeply nestled in the cocoon of a trance to respond or speak.
She had no idea how long she’d been lying there. She hadn't been sleeping-it was more like drifting, or flying. Flying over a vast expanse of clear sky, weightless. She looked now into Cole’s handsome face. He was smiling at her.
"You did it."
"What did I do?"
"You got there. You got to that place of utter peace, didn’t you? I could feel it happening. It was the most incredible thing to watch."
"It was like flying," she offered, trying to find the right words. "Like soaring. I could still feel the whip but I didn’t feel the pain, if that makes sense."
"Perfect sense. You gave of yourself, Elizabeth. You worked past the pain, you trusted me, you trusted yourself."
From Texas Surrender:
Avery was paying attention, and clearly made an effort to obey, staying still all the while under the barrage of stinging leather. JD was impressed with his ability and willingness to take the whipping, but he wanted more. He wanted to take Avery beyond mere endurance, to that place where pleasure and pain lost their meaning as separate concepts.
He kept up a steady, methodical cropping over Avery’s ass and thighs, watching Avery’s face and reading his body language all the while. After several minutes, he no longer needed to remind Avery to breathe or relax.
Avery was breathing deeply, his hands open and limp on the bale, his eyes closed. The muscles in his face had relaxed, almost as if he were sleeping, and a small half-smile played over his lips.
Avery, this newbie to erotic pain, was entering subspace. He was flying. Though JD had never flown himself, not being one of those Dom who felt it necessary to experience every sensation they provided for their subs, he’d seen it often enough to know it when he saw it. It never failed to thrill and astound him-the knowledge that he was the one responsible for the euphoric trancelike state induced by intense physical play.
Because Avery was so new to the sensation, JD had to be especially vigilant. He would ease Avery into the experience, keeping a careful watch on his reactions. The intense sensations of both pain and pleasure triggered a dumping of endorphins and other chemicals into the bloodstream that acted much like morphine-increasing the pain tolerance of the sub as the scene became more intense. Because of that, Avery might not be aware or even capable of telling JD to stop.
By the same token, if he stopped too soon, he’d jerk Avery from the trance, denying him the complete experience of flying-a sort of subspace interruptus that he’d learned from lovers in the past was the most frustrating of experiences.
"Avery," he whispered, his mouth close to Avery’s ear. "You okay? You don’t have to speak. Just nod." He ran his hand lightly over Avery’s ass. The skin was hot to the touch and flushed a dark red from the cropping.
If Avery didn’t respond, he would stop. But after a few seconds, Avery slowly nodded his head, his eyes still closed.
"Want me to keep going?"
Again Avery nodded. JD dropped the crop and stroked Avery’s heated flesh with his fingertips. Cupping his palm, he caught the bottom half of one round globe, hitting him hard enough to elicit a faint groan. He hit the other cheek just as hard, leaving a handprint on the darkened skin. Again Avery groaned, his eyebrows furrowing just slightly. Gauging Avery had had enough, JD eased off, finishing with a series of light smacks that he slowly changed to more of a massaging stroke.
He sat down on the bale beside Avery, lifting Avery’s head gently into his lap. The smile still hovered on Avery’s lips, and he gave a long, low sigh of contentment. JD smoothed back the hair from Avery’s soot-smudged cheek and tucked it behind his ear.
Avery opened his eyes and twisted his head to look up at JD. "Wow," he offered.
JD grinned. "Feeling better?"
"I feel..." Avery paused, seeming to ponder this. He lay his head back down on JD’s knee. "Amazin’. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like, better than sex. No, that’s not it. It’s like bein’ drunk, only without the sick woozy feel after. No, no, that’s wrong. It’s like..." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "It’s like this one time when I was a kid and my mom took me down to Galveston. I went swimmin’ in the water, and I got kind of far out. I was tired, so I just lay back and let the water buoy me. I was floatin’ beneath this clear blue sky and it seemed like everythin’ was right with the world."
And, you might ask, what does the Dom get out of all this? (S)he becomes an intrinsic part of the equation.
The love, concern and total connection necessary between the two is essential to create the right environment for a sub to fly. It’s one of the few acts of erotic lover that can’t be mimicked in any masturbatory or auto-erotic fashion. It takes two, which makes it that much more special, and more powerful.
From Heart of Submission:
She sat at the bottom of the bed, perched on the edge, a look of dreamy contentment on her face. "Gosh, Chase. That was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I guess that’s what they call flying, huh?"
Chase knelt on the rug in front of Kate and put his hands on her bare thighs. "Yeah. It’s really something to watch, to be a part of. There’s no greater high for a Dom than taking his sub there. It’s..." He paused, trying to come up with the right words to capture what was, essentially, indescribable. "...it’s a moment of intense connection. There is no other time, or place, or past or future. Everything is completely concentrated in that moment. It’s like a beam of light as focused as a laser, and as powerful." He laughed at himself. "I know I’m making absolutely no sense."
"No, no, you are. I mean, I experienced that too-the connectedness. Like the flogger was an extension of your arm, like you were," she paused and ducked her head, finishing shyly, "making love to me with it." She laughed. "Now who’s making no sense?"
"It makes perfect sense," Chase murmured, stroking her impossibly soft skin. "It’s about trust. I could feel your trust and that freed me to take you further on the journey. You give me the power, you see, when you give me that trust. That’s what I mean about an erotic exchange of power. When it happens, there’s nothing like it. I take that gift very seriously, Kate. And I would never abuse it."
"Thank you," Kate whispered.
"Thank you," he responded, "for your gift."
And thank you for reading this far! Remember, nothing presented in this article is written in stone. It’s just my own personal take on the experience, and my feeble efforts to give words to the feelings. I’d love your comments on this post, on flying, and on your personal experiences and ideas.
Respectfully submitted, Claire
The next stop on the anniversary tour is #32 Keta Diablo URL: http://thestuffofmythandmen.blogspot.com/
Have fun!
Thank you for visiting my stop on the 1RomanceEbooks.com one year anniversary blog tour! This is stop # 31. Your last stop should have been Delle Jacobs http://dellejacobs.blogspot.com/
Remember, to participate in the drawing for the 1RE Blog Tour, you have to register. Simply leaving comments on the blogs will not make you eligible to win! So make sure you register at http://1romanceebooks.com to you can get a participant number, which you should include with every comment.
My prize to be given away by 1RE: signed paperback of your choice from Romance Unbound catalog (http://romanceunbound.com) (continental U.S. only) or ebook download of their choice fromhttp://clairethompson.net . And remember! The more comments you leave on the tour, the better your chances of winning the grand prize-a Sony E-reader!
What is it about erotic pain that can so dramatically shift one's focus to a place of profound peace? How can it be that the cut of the cane against tender flesh can somehow segue into pure, white hot pleasure? Can a thorough body flogging really send a person to that height of ecstatic experience sometimes referred to as flying?
To those who have never felt the yearning for the rope that binds, or the tingle of skin longing for the kiss of leather, it must be hard to comprehend this lust for erotic pain. Stubbing a toe is not at all sexually satisfying or desirable, yet the pinch of clamps against erect nipples can send a sexual masochist into spasm of pleasure.
Clearly there are different types of pain. How and why can submitting to erotic pain bring such utter serenity?
Is it the intensity of experience that is the draw? And what of this concept of flying? What is it, exactly? How do you get there?
For me personally, getting there isn't always easy. In fact it's never easy. That's part of its power. It's sort of like the religious concept of Purgatory - you have to go down into the fires in order to ascend to that place of perfect peace. Each stroke of leather tresses, each biting kiss of the cane, takes me one step closer to that state of grace. It isn’t that the altered state into which one enters puts out the fire out, but rather softens its flame. Instead of enduring the pain, one encompasses it.
I’ve tried to capture it over and over in my writing, but I don’t think, alas, it is truly possible to put it into words. Not that that’s stopped me from trying. Here are a few examples below from my novels.
From Accidental Slave:
"It hurts, oh, Cole, it hurts. It’s too much. I can’t do it." Elizabeth danced on her toes, twisting in a frantic, futile effort to escape the stinging lash.
"You can. You are. I can sense you’re almost there. Breathe. Go with it. Stop fighting the pain. Become the pain. Become the whip. You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re almost there."
Almost where? Where am I going? Ah... Elizabeth let her head fall back. She didn’t have the strength to lift it again. The sting was still there, but somehow more bearable. Her skin, a moment ago on fire, began to cool.
Her head still hung back, eyes closed. Her lips parted and she drew a slow, shuddery breath.
Something shifted. He continued to whip her, if anything harder than before. She felt the sting but no longer defined it as pain, no longer processed it as suffering. Her fingers, which she hadn't realized had been clutching the chains, relaxed. Her hands went limp and she sagged against the thick cuffs at her wrists.
She was aware of Cole behind her, aware the whip was still biting into her flesh but she no longer felt it. She no longer heard the whistling warning of its trajectory. Her mind emptied, her breathing slowed...
Silence.
Serenity.
Euphoric peace.
Elizabeth opened her eyes, blinking against the bright light. On one level she’d been aware of Cole dropping the whip, Cole releasing her from the cuffs and lowering her to the ground, taking her head into his lap. But she had been too deeply nestled in the cocoon of a trance to respond or speak.
She had no idea how long she’d been lying there. She hadn't been sleeping-it was more like drifting, or flying. Flying over a vast expanse of clear sky, weightless. She looked now into Cole’s handsome face. He was smiling at her.
"You did it."
"What did I do?"
"You got there. You got to that place of utter peace, didn’t you? I could feel it happening. It was the most incredible thing to watch."
"It was like flying," she offered, trying to find the right words. "Like soaring. I could still feel the whip but I didn’t feel the pain, if that makes sense."
"Perfect sense. You gave of yourself, Elizabeth. You worked past the pain, you trusted me, you trusted yourself."
From Texas Surrender:
Avery was paying attention, and clearly made an effort to obey, staying still all the while under the barrage of stinging leather. JD was impressed with his ability and willingness to take the whipping, but he wanted more. He wanted to take Avery beyond mere endurance, to that place where pleasure and pain lost their meaning as separate concepts.
He kept up a steady, methodical cropping over Avery’s ass and thighs, watching Avery’s face and reading his body language all the while. After several minutes, he no longer needed to remind Avery to breathe or relax.
Avery was breathing deeply, his hands open and limp on the bale, his eyes closed. The muscles in his face had relaxed, almost as if he were sleeping, and a small half-smile played over his lips.
Avery, this newbie to erotic pain, was entering subspace. He was flying. Though JD had never flown himself, not being one of those Dom who felt it necessary to experience every sensation they provided for their subs, he’d seen it often enough to know it when he saw it. It never failed to thrill and astound him-the knowledge that he was the one responsible for the euphoric trancelike state induced by intense physical play.
Because Avery was so new to the sensation, JD had to be especially vigilant. He would ease Avery into the experience, keeping a careful watch on his reactions. The intense sensations of both pain and pleasure triggered a dumping of endorphins and other chemicals into the bloodstream that acted much like morphine-increasing the pain tolerance of the sub as the scene became more intense. Because of that, Avery might not be aware or even capable of telling JD to stop.
By the same token, if he stopped too soon, he’d jerk Avery from the trance, denying him the complete experience of flying-a sort of subspace interruptus that he’d learned from lovers in the past was the most frustrating of experiences.
"Avery," he whispered, his mouth close to Avery’s ear. "You okay? You don’t have to speak. Just nod." He ran his hand lightly over Avery’s ass. The skin was hot to the touch and flushed a dark red from the cropping.
If Avery didn’t respond, he would stop. But after a few seconds, Avery slowly nodded his head, his eyes still closed.
"Want me to keep going?"
Again Avery nodded. JD dropped the crop and stroked Avery’s heated flesh with his fingertips. Cupping his palm, he caught the bottom half of one round globe, hitting him hard enough to elicit a faint groan. He hit the other cheek just as hard, leaving a handprint on the darkened skin. Again Avery groaned, his eyebrows furrowing just slightly. Gauging Avery had had enough, JD eased off, finishing with a series of light smacks that he slowly changed to more of a massaging stroke.
He sat down on the bale beside Avery, lifting Avery’s head gently into his lap. The smile still hovered on Avery’s lips, and he gave a long, low sigh of contentment. JD smoothed back the hair from Avery’s soot-smudged cheek and tucked it behind his ear.
Avery opened his eyes and twisted his head to look up at JD. "Wow," he offered.
JD grinned. "Feeling better?"
"I feel..." Avery paused, seeming to ponder this. He lay his head back down on JD’s knee. "Amazin’. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like, better than sex. No, that’s not it. It’s like bein’ drunk, only without the sick woozy feel after. No, no, that’s wrong. It’s like..." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "It’s like this one time when I was a kid and my mom took me down to Galveston. I went swimmin’ in the water, and I got kind of far out. I was tired, so I just lay back and let the water buoy me. I was floatin’ beneath this clear blue sky and it seemed like everythin’ was right with the world."
And, you might ask, what does the Dom get out of all this? (S)he becomes an intrinsic part of the equation.
The love, concern and total connection necessary between the two is essential to create the right environment for a sub to fly. It’s one of the few acts of erotic lover that can’t be mimicked in any masturbatory or auto-erotic fashion. It takes two, which makes it that much more special, and more powerful.
From Heart of Submission:
She sat at the bottom of the bed, perched on the edge, a look of dreamy contentment on her face. "Gosh, Chase. That was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I guess that’s what they call flying, huh?"
Chase knelt on the rug in front of Kate and put his hands on her bare thighs. "Yeah. It’s really something to watch, to be a part of. There’s no greater high for a Dom than taking his sub there. It’s..." He paused, trying to come up with the right words to capture what was, essentially, indescribable. "...it’s a moment of intense connection. There is no other time, or place, or past or future. Everything is completely concentrated in that moment. It’s like a beam of light as focused as a laser, and as powerful." He laughed at himself. "I know I’m making absolutely no sense."
"No, no, you are. I mean, I experienced that too-the connectedness. Like the flogger was an extension of your arm, like you were," she paused and ducked her head, finishing shyly, "making love to me with it." She laughed. "Now who’s making no sense?"
"It makes perfect sense," Chase murmured, stroking her impossibly soft skin. "It’s about trust. I could feel your trust and that freed me to take you further on the journey. You give me the power, you see, when you give me that trust. That’s what I mean about an erotic exchange of power. When it happens, there’s nothing like it. I take that gift very seriously, Kate. And I would never abuse it."
"Thank you," Kate whispered.
"Thank you," he responded, "for your gift."
And thank you for reading this far! Remember, nothing presented in this article is written in stone. It’s just my own personal take on the experience, and my feeble efforts to give words to the feelings. I’d love your comments on this post, on flying, and on your personal experiences and ideas.
Respectfully submitted, Claire
The next stop on the anniversary tour is #32 Keta Diablo URL: http://thestuffofmythandmen.blogspot.com/
Have fun!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Take the Poll - Choose the Cover!
Vote in the Poll on the right hand column. Which cover do you like better? Which one would be more like to make you NEED the buy that book?
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Safe in His Arms - Hot Off the Press!
Hank Seeley is an obnoxious guy - arrogant and entitled and definitely on the way down. A lot of readers who read Wicked Hearts asked me if there was any hope of redemption for this cocky, cruel scoundrel. I thought about this a lot - is there hope, no matter who you are, no matter what you've done, to turn things around? You'll have to read the book yourself and let me know what you think!
Click Here for the Blurb
Click Here for the Excerpt
Buy Link
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
1RE Anniversay Blog Tour - Free Sony Ebook Reader!
Amazing, but true! 1RE is 1 years old, and they are celebrating in style with an anniversary blog tour extraordinaire! I will be participating on July 30, with a blog entry about the powerful serenity achieved in letting go through erotic pain.
There are prizes all along the way, in addition to the grand prize of the ebook reader. The more comments you post, the better your odds of winning!
Here is the link to see how to get in on the action. It all starts Thursday, July 15th. So hurry over and sign up! You must register to be entered into the drawing.
Love, Claire
Freak Parade - Check it out!
From Marilyn's site: "Dare to enter: Freak Parade is a no-holds barred, deliciously sensual, erotic novel with a social conscience."
Thursday, July 8, 2010
The Author Who Made Me Love BDSM!
Please pop over to International Heat today and read the terrific blog posting about why T now loves BDSM. There's a contest over there too! Click here to check it out!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Safe in His Arms - A Most Unusual Excerpt
Nearly done with the rough draft. Some fine tuning left to do.
Here is an excerpt in which we see Russell the sex worker plying his trade. He doesn't view his work as just "turning tricks". He sees it almost as a calling - reaching out to men who are lonely and in need of affection. This is not your typical m/m erotic sex scene, but I thought you might enjoy a peek...
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Russell. From the Garden. Are you Mr. James Smith?” The man squinted at him, pulled the screen door open and stepped back. “Come in,” he said in a quavering voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Russell stepped into the small foyer and was assailed by the strong though not unpleasant scent of the man’s cologne. His sparse hair was white and neatly combed over a pink scalp. Bright blue eyes shone from a face heavily lined with wrinkles. Even so, but the fine bone structure beneath was still evident, with high cheekbones and a square jaw.
He wore a crisp white shirt with a blue tie and gray trousers with a military-sharp crease down each leg. He was smiling shyly at Russell, his hands twisting nervously at chest level. “I’ve made some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
Russell smiled. “No thanks, Mr. Smith. I’m good. But if you’d care to—”
“No, no,” the old man said. “None for me. Too late in the day. To tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous,” he added unnecessarily. “I’ve never done this before.” He produced an odd smile that looked more like a grimace.
“Never called an escort service?”
“Never been with a man.”
Russell kept his expression neutral and nodded, waiting for more of an explanation, though if none was forthcoming, he wouldn’t pry. James Smith wouldn’t be the first client he’d been with who had waited most of their life before getting up the nerve to explore homosexual feelings.
“Well, I hope the experience measures up to your expectations, Mr. Smith. I’m honored to be your first.”
Mr. Smith chuckled, though he continued to wring his hands. “Please, call me James. I feel old enough without the mister business.”
“James it is.” Russell reached for the man’s hands, covering them both briefly with his own much larger hand. “This is your hour. I want to make you comfortable and happy. There’s no written script or agenda. Whatever works for you is what we’ll do, okay?”
James’ smile was genuine this time. “Okay, that sounds good to me. I like you.” He glanced at his watch, adding, “Time’s a wasting. I guess if you don’t want coffee…” he trailed off uncertainly.
“Would you like to show me your bedroom?” Russell asked, glancing toward the stairs.
“Excellent idea,” James said with a small, nervous laugh. He led the way up narrow stairs to the first door at the top. “After you.” James waved Russell into a small but immaculate bedroom. It was clear the rug had just been vacuumed, and the scent of lemon oil hung in the air.
“I, uh, I don’t know what comes next,” James said. Anxiety was radiating off him in waves, and Russell’s heart went out to him, thinking what courage it must have taken to even make the call to the escort service.
“How about let’s get to know each other a little? Would you like a massage? It might help you relax.”
“Okay, yes. That sounds good to me,” James said, but he stood stock still, making no move to undress.
Russell waited a few beats and then suggested, “Maybe you want to take off your pants and shirt so they don’t get wrinkled?”
“Oh! I, uh, okay. Yes, okay.”
Russell knelt in front of James, who flushed slightly and said with a small laugh, “Oh, the royal treatment, huh?”
“Absolutely.” Russell untied the laces of James’ spit shiny black shoes and pulled them off, one by one, along with the black dress socks. Carefully he unbuckled his belt and opened the fly, drawing the zipper down. James shut his eyes tight as Russell drew his trousers down, but didn’t protest. He didn’t try to remove the man’s boxer shorts, not yet, but couldn’t quite suppress the smile when he noticed the price tag still affixed to the waistband.
James unbuttoned his shirt himself and removed it, revealing pale, hairless skin. “Lie down and relax,” Russell urged. “I’ll just sit here beside you.” James obeyed, draping himself face down on the bed.
Gently, Russell began to smooth and lightly knead what little muscle remained on the man’s bony back. After a few minutes, Russell could feel James begin to relax. “So,” Russell said, “tell me a little bit about yourself. Why did you wait so long to be with a man? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” James replied, settling more comfortably into the mattress. “I was married for fifty-four years to a wonderful woman. Back when I was coming up, homosexuality wasn’t an option, it was a perversion.”
He twisted toward Russell. “I remember the priest at my Sunday school, warning us that those kind of sick feelings were an aspersion against God, a crime against nature. He took us boys into a room one day, while a nun was no doubt doing a similar number on the girls, and told us that, not only was masturbation, or self abuse, as he’d called it, a sin that would send us straight to hell, but if we even thought about another boy in sexual terms, just the thought would be sufficient reason for God to cast us forever into the fires of hell.”
Russell shook his head, thinking how many lives had been ruined by the misguided censoring and condemnation of natural feelings and desires. Wasn’t life hard enough without that kind of bullshit being thrown at you?
“I bought it, the whole kit and caboodle,” James said with a deep sigh. “Married the first girl that’d have me and spent my life keeping those impure thoughts at bay. Luckily she was a good woman—my best friend. She died a year ago last May, rest her soul.” He was quiet a moment, before adding, “I got to thinking I don’t have a whole helluva lot of time left myself. I decided if I’m going to burn in the hell fires of eternity, I might as well do it right.” He barked a laugh.
“Now you,” he continued, “you’re just what the doctor ordered. I picked you out of that catalog they sent me. You remind me of Timothy Dylan, the redhead I bunked with in boot camp before being shipped off to Korea in nineteen hundred and fifty. He was big and tall like you, and built like a tank. I’ve never admitted this to a soul, and I’ll deny it if you say it outside this bedroom, but he’s the one who’s always come to mind, right in the moment of passion, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Russell replied, grinning at the man’s quaint turn of phrase. They were quiet for a while, as Russell continued the massage.
James rolled over suddenly, fixing Russell with an intense gaze. “You’re my birthday present, did you know that?” he announced with a grin. “I decided to treat myself.”
“Well then, Mr. Smith,” Russell said with an answering grin. “We must unwrap your present.”
The house was small and located in a modest neighborhood, not at all the sort of place the Garden’s usual clientele resided. Briefly Russell wondered how the frail old man who opened the door could afford to pay the escort service’s steep fees for an hour’s pleasure.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Russell. From the Garden. Are you Mr. James Smith?” The man squinted at him, pulled the screen door open and stepped back. “Come in,” he said in a quavering voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Russell stepped into the small foyer and was assailed by the strong though not unpleasant scent of the man’s cologne. His sparse hair was white and neatly combed over a pink scalp. Bright blue eyes shone from a face heavily lined with wrinkles. Even so, but the fine bone structure beneath was still evident, with high cheekbones and a square jaw.
He wore a crisp white shirt with a blue tie and gray trousers with a military-sharp crease down each leg. He was smiling shyly at Russell, his hands twisting nervously at chest level. “I’ve made some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
Russell smiled. “No thanks, Mr. Smith. I’m good. But if you’d care to—”
“No, no,” the old man said. “None for me. Too late in the day. To tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous,” he added unnecessarily. “I’ve never done this before.” He produced an odd smile that looked more like a grimace.
“Never called an escort service?”
“Never been with a man.”
Russell kept his expression neutral and nodded, waiting for more of an explanation, though if none was forthcoming, he wouldn’t pry. James Smith wouldn’t be the first client he’d been with who had waited most of their life before getting up the nerve to explore homosexual feelings.
“Well, I hope the experience measures up to your expectations, Mr. Smith. I’m honored to be your first.”
Mr. Smith chuckled, though he continued to wring his hands. “Please, call me James. I feel old enough without the mister business.”
“James it is.” Russell reached for the man’s hands, covering them both briefly with his own much larger hand. “This is your hour. I want to make you comfortable and happy. There’s no written script or agenda. Whatever works for you is what we’ll do, okay?”
James’ smile was genuine this time. “Okay, that sounds good to me. I like you.” He glanced at his watch, adding, “Time’s a wasting. I guess if you don’t want coffee…” he trailed off uncertainly.
“Would you like to show me your bedroom?” Russell asked, glancing toward the stairs.
“Excellent idea,” James said with a small, nervous laugh. He led the way up narrow stairs to the first door at the top. “After you.” James waved Russell into a small but immaculate bedroom. It was clear the rug had just been vacuumed, and the scent of lemon oil hung in the air.
“I, uh, I don’t know what comes next,” James said. Anxiety was radiating off him in waves, and Russell’s heart went out to him, thinking what courage it must have taken to even make the call to the escort service.
“How about let’s get to know each other a little? Would you like a massage? It might help you relax.”
“Okay, yes. That sounds good to me,” James said, but he stood stock still, making no move to undress.
Russell waited a few beats and then suggested, “Maybe you want to take off your pants and shirt so they don’t get wrinkled?”
“Oh! I, uh, okay. Yes, okay.”
Russell knelt in front of James, who flushed slightly and said with a small laugh, “Oh, the royal treatment, huh?”
“Absolutely.” Russell untied the laces of James’ spit shiny black shoes and pulled them off, one by one, along with the black dress socks. Carefully he unbuckled his belt and opened the fly, drawing the zipper down. James shut his eyes tight as Russell drew his trousers down, but didn’t protest. He didn’t try to remove the man’s boxer shorts, not yet, but couldn’t quite suppress the smile when he noticed the price tag still affixed to the waistband.
James unbuttoned his shirt himself and removed it, revealing pale, hairless skin. “Lie down and relax,” Russell urged. “I’ll just sit here beside you.” James obeyed, draping himself face down on the bed.
Gently, Russell began to smooth and lightly knead what little muscle remained on the man’s bony back. After a few minutes, Russell could feel James begin to relax. “So,” Russell said, “tell me a little bit about yourself. Why did you wait so long to be with a man? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” James replied, settling more comfortably into the mattress. “I was married for fifty-four years to a wonderful woman. Back when I was coming up, homosexuality wasn’t an option, it was a perversion.”
He twisted toward Russell. “I remember the priest at my Sunday school, warning us that those kind of sick feelings were an aspersion against God, a crime against nature. He took us boys into a room one day, while a nun was no doubt doing a similar number on the girls, and told us that, not only was masturbation, or self abuse, as he’d called it, a sin that would send us straight to hell, but if we even thought about another boy in sexual terms, just the thought would be sufficient reason for God to cast us forever into the fires of hell.”
Russell shook his head, thinking how many lives had been ruined by the misguided censoring and condemnation of natural feelings and desires. Wasn’t life hard enough without that kind of bullshit being thrown at you?
“I bought it, the whole kit and caboodle,” James said with a deep sigh. “Married the first girl that’d have me and spent my life keeping those impure thoughts at bay. Luckily she was a good woman—my best friend. She died a year ago last May, rest her soul.” He was quiet a moment, before adding, “I got to thinking I don’t have a whole helluva lot of time left myself. I decided if I’m going to burn in the hell fires of eternity, I might as well do it right.” He barked a laugh.
“Now you,” he continued, “you’re just what the doctor ordered. I picked you out of that catalog they sent me. You remind me of Timothy Dylan, the redhead I bunked with in boot camp before being shipped off to Korea in nineteen hundred and fifty. He was big and tall like you, and built like a tank. I’ve never admitted this to a soul, and I’ll deny it if you say it outside this bedroom, but he’s the one who’s always come to mind, right in the moment of passion, if you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Russell replied, grinning at the man’s quaint turn of phrase. They were quiet for a while, as Russell continued the massage.
James rolled over suddenly, fixing Russell with an intense gaze. “You’re my birthday present, did you know that?” he announced with a grin. “I decided to treat myself.”
“Well then, Mr. Smith,” Russell said with an answering grin. “We must unwrap your present.”
Sunday, June 20, 2010
BINGO WINNERS!!!
CONGRATULATIONS WINNERS!!
Diagonal: Jambrea Jo Jones
Down: Jamie Nare
Across: Debra Guyette
Double: Paige Purnell
Black Out: Leni Kaye
Down: Jamie Nare
Across: Debra Guyette
Double: Paige Purnell
Black Out: Leni Kaye
__._,_.___
Sunday, June 13, 2010
I wanted to give you an update on the latest novel, Safe in His Arms. I've been working very hard, and I am about to start the last chapter today! Though that is just the rough draft, meaning I will have finally got all the words on (virtual) paper, but there will still be a lot more work. I need to rework a couple of chapters that aren't quite right yet, but it's very exciting to get the whole story down, with the plot in place and the issues resolved and the characters fully fleshed out.
This is an intense novel, in terms of experience for our (anti)hero, Hank. Those of you who read Wicked Hearts know that Hank was not a likable man (to put it mildly). He could even be characterized, as the title implies, as wicked. Yet even for the wicked there is hope. It has been a wonderful challenge to move Hank through stages of anger and grief at the loss of the most important man in his life (Reese in Wicked Hearts ), to devastating loneliness, then the glimmer of a chance at love, which he blows, to rock bottom misery and despair, and then...slowly...a chance at something better, if he has the courage and the heart to seize it.
Hank is not your typical hero, and this is not your typical love story. It takes place against a BDSM backdrop, with Hank learning his submissive potential and the release and freedom he can find by letting go. His potential lover, Russell, isn't a typical hero either - he's a big 6'3" bear of a man, who happens to be a sex worker for a living, though the special brand of love for hire he provides is about a lot more than just turning tricks. He's had his share of heartbreak, and is very careful as a result.
Ok, I could go on all day about my boys. I know I'm in a good space with the novel, because I'm completely in love with them both. Time's a wasting (it's already 5:22 AM and I haven't even started yet! Behind schedule again!) so off I go to let my muse sing and my fingers fly.
Love, Claire
Monday, May 3, 2010
Submission Times Two Wins NLA-I Writing Award for Excellence!
I just got back from an amazing experience at the National Leather Alliance-International AGM Awards for Fiction. It was a huge honor to be awarded the prize for excellence in BDSM fiction for my novel, Submission Times Two. James Buchanan won honorable mention, with the novel, Hard Fall. The press release is posted as a separate blog entry.
I met a lot of really terrific people, including Dart, who writes an amazing blog chronicling his leather journey and sharing his experiences and insights. You can check out Dart’s Domain here!
Vince Andrews, president of the NLA-I, took me under his wing and made sure I had a table set up for my book signing event after the awards ceremony. I only brought about 25 books with me, which was all I could cram into my suitcase. I had no real idea what to expect, having never attended an NLA event before. The awards ceremonies came at the tail end of a weekend-long BDSM play and learning weekend called Tribal Fire, which was hosted by the Oklahoma chapter of the NLA-I.
The AGM (Annual General Meeting) was held in a small room filled with about 50 brothers and sisters in leather, who carried on a general meeting, discussed elective offices and committees and mundane matters dear to every organization’s heart (If I closed my eyes to the leather and chain, I could have been in a library foundation meeting or the local PTA—that is, until they started discussing the previous night’s play party.
Though I knew I’d been chosen as the recipient of the novel award, my heart was beating fast when the presenter and Awards Chairperson, Steve Vakesh, announced that Submission Times Two had won. I walked up to the podium and accepted the lovely plaque (which will hang above my writing desk and I know will inspire me in the days and years to come). I made a brief thank you speech, though I couldn’t really tell you now what I said. After gracious applause, I returned to sit behind my books at my little table, and once the meeting was concluded, folks came over to check out my books.
There were people from all walks of life and all orientations, including straight, bi, pansexual and gay. I have to say the most fun to sell my wares to were the young gay men, who picked up the books and handled them with awe, laughing and giggling with delight as they exclaimed, “Oh, I just love cowboys!” or “Sign it for my boy, Patrick.” As far as I know, none of the guys there had ever heard of me, so it’s possible this may be the start of something new and wonderful – a new market of gay leather men! I sold out my inventory in fifteen minutes, and I was absolutely tickled pink.
This is the third annual competition. Next year the NLA hopes to raise money so they can award cash prizes. In order to raise money, authors are encouraged to donate their work for an auction that will be held later this year. I donated a number of books and plan to donate more. They would like them signed by the author, as that increases the value. I strongly encourage other authors of gay BDSM fiction to consider donating. It’s a great marketing opportunity.
I feel so honored and delighted to have been included in their wonderful event. The writing contest is open to
all BDSM fiction and nonfiction. There are several categories. Authors are encouraged to enter their own work. It’s wonderful exposure and doesn’t cost a dime. Email Steve Vakesh, awards chairperson for details.
Here are a few pictures from the event. As you can see, I just couldn’t stop smiling! I’ll have more pictures in a few days, as a lovely woman named Caroline was busy snapping away throughout the awards ceremony.
The handsome guy without the hat is Dart (see link above) and the dashing young man with the hat is Vince Andrews, president of NLA-I and the rest are all me, grinning like a banshee!
Thanks for sharing in my excitement!
Respectfully submitted,
Claire
I met a lot of really terrific people, including Dart, who writes an amazing blog chronicling his leather journey and sharing his experiences and insights. You can check out Dart’s Domain here!
Vince Andrews, president of the NLA-I, took me under his wing and made sure I had a table set up for my book signing event after the awards ceremony. I only brought about 25 books with me, which was all I could cram into my suitcase. I had no real idea what to expect, having never attended an NLA event before. The awards ceremonies came at the tail end of a weekend-long BDSM play and learning weekend called Tribal Fire, which was hosted by the Oklahoma chapter of the NLA-I.
The AGM (Annual General Meeting) was held in a small room filled with about 50 brothers and sisters in leather, who carried on a general meeting, discussed elective offices and committees and mundane matters dear to every organization’s heart (If I closed my eyes to the leather and chain, I could have been in a library foundation meeting or the local PTA—that is, until they started discussing the previous night’s play party.
Though I knew I’d been chosen as the recipient of the novel award, my heart was beating fast when the presenter and Awards Chairperson, Steve Vakesh, announced that Submission Times Two had won. I walked up to the podium and accepted the lovely plaque (which will hang above my writing desk and I know will inspire me in the days and years to come). I made a brief thank you speech, though I couldn’t really tell you now what I said. After gracious applause, I returned to sit behind my books at my little table, and once the meeting was concluded, folks came over to check out my books.
There were people from all walks of life and all orientations, including straight, bi, pansexual and gay. I have to say the most fun to sell my wares to were the young gay men, who picked up the books and handled them with awe, laughing and giggling with delight as they exclaimed, “Oh, I just love cowboys!” or “Sign it for my boy, Patrick.” As far as I know, none of the guys there had ever heard of me, so it’s possible this may be the start of something new and wonderful – a new market of gay leather men! I sold out my inventory in fifteen minutes, and I was absolutely tickled pink.
This is the third annual competition. Next year the NLA hopes to raise money so they can award cash prizes. In order to raise money, authors are encouraged to donate their work for an auction that will be held later this year. I donated a number of books and plan to donate more. They would like them signed by the author, as that increases the value. I strongly encourage other authors of gay BDSM fiction to consider donating. It’s a great marketing opportunity.
I feel so honored and delighted to have been included in their wonderful event. The writing contest is open to
all BDSM fiction and nonfiction. There are several categories. Authors are encouraged to enter their own work. It’s wonderful exposure and doesn’t cost a dime. Email Steve Vakesh, awards chairperson for details.
Here are a few pictures from the event. As you can see, I just couldn’t stop smiling! I’ll have more pictures in a few days, as a lovely woman named Caroline was busy snapping away throughout the awards ceremony.
The handsome guy without the hat is Dart (see link above) and the dashing young man with the hat is Vince Andrews, president of NLA-I and the rest are all me, grinning like a banshee!
Thanks for sharing in my excitement!
Respectfully submitted,
Claire
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
It was a Dark and Stormy Night...
When you’re writing a novel, you want that first line to grab the reader by the balls, er, the throat, and not let go. I thought it would be fun to collect a few of folks’ favorite first lines, either of their own or by authors they admire. Below is a collection of some pretty terrific opening lines. If you have a few of your own, feel free to post them in the comments.
I’ll open with two of mine:
“I’m bored. Whose life can we destroy today?”
Wicked Hearts by Claire Thompson
Brendan stood like the perfect wet dream beneath the spray, his erect cock clutched in his hand.
Polar Reaction by Claire Thompson
From Readers:
Contributed by Lloyd Meeker
"For numberless years a myna had astounded travelers to the caravansary
with its ability to spew indecencies in ten languages, and before the
fight broke out everyone assumed the old blue-tongued devil on its perch
by the fireplace was the one who maligned the giant African with such
foulness and verve."
Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon
Contributed by Laura Flocker:
with its ability to spew indecencies in ten languages, and before the
fight broke out everyone assumed the old blue-tongued devil on its perch
by the fireplace was the one who maligned the giant African with such
foulness and verve."
Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon
Contributed by Laura Flocker:
It began, as a lot of things do, in bed.
Dark Tides by Josh Lanyon
Contributed by Jean Paquin
(Note: The speaker is a parrot)
"Oooh, baby. Luscious Lips. Wanna gimme some head, sweetcheeks?"
Outback Meltdown by Alexis Fleming
Contributed by Alan H Chin:
Ennis Del Mar wakes before five, wind rocking the trailer, hissing in around the aluminum door and window frames. The shirts hanging on a nail shudder slightly in the draft.
Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx
Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx
From Authors – Their Own Personal Favorites
In the deserted men’s restroom at the back of Middleton Community College, Sam Keller knelt on the tile, braced his hands against Keith Jameson’s thighs, and broke his mother’s heart.
Dominic Mackenzie turned into the rest area parking lot, his dick hardening in sight of the squat brick building located directly off the interstate outside of his hometown. Other than the closet, there was no gay scene in Smithville.
Tempestuous Relations by Amanda Young
Buy Link: http://bit.ly/cs6voj
Buy Link: http://bit.ly/cs6voj
No one can hear the screams, the cries for mercy, and the shrieks of agony.
In the Blood by Rick Reed
In the Blood by Rick Reed
A vampire walked into a bar.
Stefan's Salvation by NJ Walters
The night had turned cold while they were in the Brig, one of Chicago’s oldest and most infamous leather establishments.
Bashed by Rick Reed
Bashed by Rick Reed
Men suck.
Christina's Tapestry by NJ Walters
It was the screams that woke him.
Craving Candy by NJ Walters
His brother had thought Hell a fiery abyss, but Nicolas Montfaucon knew better. It was wet, smelled like a sewer, and sounded like the rush of collective hopes draining toward the sea.
Seduced by Darkness by Delilah Devlin
My cat started acting deranged, could it be cuz her diet I changed?
There is blood on my hands.
There’s no place like home. The police substation didn’t sit at the end of the rainbow or anywhere near Kansas, but for some reason that stupid phrase ran like a mantra through Sinead O’Rourke’s head as she drew a deep breath and pushed through the double-doors leading into the station house.
Sin’s Gift by Delilah Devlin
Without money for a cab or the gonads to hitchhike, what should have been a fifteen-minute drive to the countryside took Declan Mayo almost two hours by foot.
I just wanted a hot meal and hotter bathwater.
Tengo una Pistola (Cocked & Fully Loaded Anthology) by Bryl R. Tyne
Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/BrowseListing.aspx?author=59
New York City and it's pouring, which means no taxis in New Yorkese.
Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/BrowseListing.aspx?author=59
New York City and it's pouring, which means no taxis in New Yorkese.
My Life as a Concubine by Robin Glasser
I awoke one morning from uneasy dreams to find my penis had transformed itself into a vagina.
Man-Amorphosis by Rick Reed
Man-Amorphosis by Rick Reed
Death didn't have to be easy, but couldn't it be a little cheaper?
Hacking Immortality by Maura Anderson
Buy Link: http://www.realmsoftheraven.com/free-stories/flash-fiction/#HackingImmortality
What are some of your favorites? Let us know in the comments!
What are some of your favorites? Let us know in the comments!
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