Must Love Chainmail by Angela Quarles

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Come have a look inside Must Love Chainmail by Angela Quarles







Chapter 3



Katy slowly closed her eyes, let the cool ground soak into her hands and butt, let the uncomfortable pebbles make themselves known. She counted to three and opened her eyes.

Intact castle wall? Still there.

A frantic fluttering whipped through her chest and choked her throat. “No, no, no!”

Her whole body shaking, she pushed up on a nearby rock and stood. She tugged on her coat’s zipper and yanked it up to her neck. She gazed at the castle.

No freaking way. Intact castle walls soared skyward, not stumpy, crumbling stone courses pockmarked with bird’s nests and tufts of grass. She whipped around. No deck steps arching over the once-ruined entrance.

She shoved her hand into her coat pocket.

Dread curdled in her stomach.

Shit. No case.

Oh God. The case worked. The case transported her back in time. Just like it had with Isabelle. Sweat bloomed on her skin in the chilly air, overheating her in her winter coat.

But she hadn’t made a wish. Had she? Then her whispered words of a moment ago came back to her: What should I do, Isabelle? I wish I knew why I’m not as happy as I should be.

Shit. Shit. Shit. She spun around and raked her gaze along the hillside. This crazy-ass, zapped-back-in-time thing could all be fixed with a quick wish.

But…she dared not move. Getting turned around and missing it because she was searching in the wrong spot would suck. Big time.

She scrutinized the ravine, keeping her breathing steady. If she didn’t panic, everything would be okay. Just a little blip she could laugh about—to herself—later, and get a spike of adrenaline thinking of her narrow escape. Yep. Mm-hmm. The guy line securing the thin veneer of her control strained and creaked.

Okay. She’d come along that path, and had, oh God, made that wish on the stupid case. Smooth, Katy. Then the queasiness. And a gust of wind. She’d started sliding down the incline and…flung out her stupid-ass hands. With the case probably sailing away.

So, with the right hand doing the flinging… She charged up the hill and inched along its edge, on the lookout for a shiny glint of silver.

An odd, pounding noise sounded behind her, and the ground vibrated slightly. What could…? Oh God, no. She wheeled around, her pulse beating frantically, and yep, the hugest, scariest war horse she’d ever seen galloped straight for her. She assumed it was a war horse, well, because it was so…large, and it had…Jiminy Cricket, it had chainmail on it. And, of course, some guy on its back, with chainmail and some kind of tunic, as well as a clothes-iron-shaped shield and friggin’ sword.

Her muscles tightened, shivered, and she almost—swear to God—peed herself.

She scrambled down the ravine. Find the case. Find the case. And the scary man on horse would be gone. She slipped and landed on her ass, sliding the rest of the way, her hands scraping and stinging on the rocks.

The horse stopped above her, snorting loudly. She scowled over her shoulder—was she about to get skewered? Cuz she’d want to know. Not that she could do much against a muscle-bound, medieval guy bent on running her through with a sword. Or worse. Except find that case. She had maybe twelve feet of distance on him.

He lifted his helmet free with two mail-clad hands, the clang of metal against metal loud, and let it fall to suspend from a chain at his belt. Helmet removal was a good sign, wasn’t it? At least it wasn’t sword removal. The early afternoon sun shone from behind him. She couldn’t see his face.

Gibberish popped from the dark shape. Coupled with his arm pointing away from the castle.

Er, what the hell kind of language was that?

Fear and a bit of oh-shit-what’s-happening slithering through her, she rose and faced him. “What?” Peering right and left with only her eyes, she searched for the stupid case. Her only salvation.

He cocked his head and spouted more nonsense. Slower, sure, but still nonsense. She edged back and continued to search the ground, pebbles clicking against rock as her shoes scattered them downhill.

More gibberish, but it grew closer. She looked up. He’d dismounted and was stomping down the hill.

Oh, hell no.

She sprinted along the ravine, praying she’d see her case but knowing she probably wouldn’t. Blood pounded in her ears, as jarring as her frantic footfalls along the hard ground. She sucked in short gasps of air as his steps drew closer. C’mon, all those gym sessions had to count for something.

A strong arm clamped around her waist, yanked her back against a solid wall of chainmail-covered man, and lifted. She slid down his body until his forearm nudged the underside of her breasts. She instantly stilled, breathing still panicked, because she’d read enough romance novels, and damned if she’d be one of those annoying heroines who got all feisty unprovoked. Pissing off someone who hadn’t yet hurt her would be epically stupid.

He inhaled sharply. Melodic, darkly-rich words vibrated from his chest to fill her ear, his warm breath sending chills across her skin. She could hear the question in them, but not knowing what he so softly demanded, she remained frozen.

She’d need any ally she could get, because yeah, she’d gone and wished herself back in time. All because she’d second-guessed her plans.

He grunted and marched up the hill, easily carrying her against him. At the top, he whistled and…his horse came to him. Of course. Then he draped her in front of a saddle like none she’d ever seen, jumped on, and galloped across the rocky terrain. But not before she saw her case, winking in the sun as they passed.

“Hey— Wait! Shit.”

Oh, crap, this was not comfortable. She clamped her jaw tight, afraid she’d bite her tongue with all the jouncing. Brief flashes of scenery and activity stuttered by. Flash—a white flower between two rocks. Flash—a cluster of colorfully clothed people. Flash—a woman with two children, one on her hip. Flash—a man driving a donkey laden with baskets. And all, all of them, hurrying. Hurrying in the same direction, into the castle. Behind its walls.

That couldn’t be good.



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Falling Water by Blaine Coleman

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Let’s read a short preview of Falling Water by Blaine Coleman








June, 1987


Matt hadn’t wanted to go, but I didn’t like camping alone so he’d agreed as a favor to me.

“You want me to sleep in a tent?” he’d asked when I first brought it up.

“Yes, a tent,” I’d said. “It will be fun! I want to do something different this weekend, get away from doing the same old thing for a few days. And it’s beautiful in the mountains.”

I’d grown up with family camping trips in the mountains but Matt hadn’t, and I knew that sleeping in a tent wasn’t his idea of a vacation. Josh didn’t live with me yet and it wasn’t my weekend to have him. I was feeling burned out from work and wanted to go somewhere, just get out of town for a while. But I couldn’t afford the Highland Inn, so it was settled: we’d camp at least one night in the New River State Park, not far from Monterey.

We’d left home immediately after work that Friday and still didn’t find the campground until well after sunset. The last turn took us through dense woods along a narrow, unpaved road. On the right was a steep drop to a river below with a mountain ridge black against the sky on the other side. To our left rose an equally steep wooded mountainside. Watching the headlights tunnel through the moonless night reminded me just how dark it can be in narrow mountain valleys.

“I’ve never seen it so dark,” Matt said as he tried to see beyond the headlights. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“I’m sure,” I’d replied. “It shouldn’t be far now.” Actually, all I was sure of was that I’d followed the directions I’d gotten. I’d never been that park and the road was awfully dark.

The campground, like the road, wasn’t lit and it took a few minutes to find a lot not already occupied. The mountain ridges there receded on both sides and opened onto a large clearing between the river and the mountain behind us. On the other side, a steep dark ridge rose towards the sky. With no moon, it was dark enough that I could point out the Milky Way to Matt. Like drifting white smoke, it meandered through stars more numerous and brighter than ever seen near a city. It was dark enough that night to be overwhelmed by the sheer number and magnitude of the stars and Matt said he’d never seen a night sky like that. Growing up on a farm, I’d go outside on clear nights, especially in the winter, past the sycamores that towered over the farmhouse and look up and trace the winding path of the Milky Way, pick out the constellations and sometimes spot the occasional meteor. That kind of night sky might have been what I missed the most when I moved to the city for work, for only in true darkness can all the stars be seen. In cities, darkness is shunned, overwhelmed by all sorts of artificial lights that push it to the fringe. A city filled by artificial lighting is, ironically, almost the antithesis of true light. Men simply ignore the fact that without the dark there can be no light.

By the time we found an unused lot we were exhausted, so we set up the tent by flashlight and turned in for the night. But we couldn’t sleep; all night we heard voices outside, some whispered, others not, and people walked by, their flashlights visible through the tent walls. Matt started to hum the tune from Deliverance, but I told him to be quiet; I didn’t think that was funny. I didn’t recall State Park campgrounds being so busy when I was young but it had been years since I’d been camping and things change… I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake in bringing Matt here for his first experience with camping.

We woke when the sun finally cleared the ridge behind the campground and Matt stepped outside the tent.

“Well that explains last night,” he said and laughed.

I walked out into the morning sun and realized why there was so much activity late the night before: we’d pitched our tent right next to the path to the campground’s outhouse! I decided then I’d never again set up camp in the dark.

As we followed the unpaved road out of the campground, I noticed that a lot of the small rocks had fallen from the ridge on the side of the graveled road and I picked up quite a few for my son’s collection. I was surprised that many of them had fossil imprints of sea shells. Exiting the campground road, we decided that rather than going back the way we’d come in we’d take a different direction, maybe see something new. We turned left onto the paved road and crossed an iron girder bridge that had its own Historic Marker and then followed the road as it wound along the hillsides. Below us was a valley of pastures where cattle and sheep grazed, and an ever-widening creek twisted through the bottom that the map said was the Cowpasture River. I’d been told by a caving buddy that there were “wild” caves in the area that aren’t hard to find and we soon saw several on the mountainsides.

From a distance, the caves were just dark gaps in the foliage high on the mountains. I wanted see one up close but not necessarily explore it; that’s better left to spelunkers. When I saw what appeared to be three possible cave entrances clustered on a mountainside, I drove towards them. At the base of the mountain where I thought I’d spotted the caves, I pulled off the road, parked behind a car that was already there.

“What’re doing?” Matt asked.

“I want to check out the caves. There’re a couple of them just up the hillside.”

“I’m not going in a cave,” Matt said and shook his head. “You didn’t say anything about that.” But he had half a smile as he said it.

Two young people emerged from the woods, climbed down the rocks at the edge of the road, and then drove away. After they were out of sight, I convinced Matt to climb the hill with me and see what might be up there.

It wasn’t too difficult to reach the top of the boulders by the road and then an unmarked path wound its way through the woods and up the mountainside; many had traveled this way before. Most of the path was an easy climb, but near the top of the hill, it came to an abrupt stop at a granite outcropping, the cave entrance at top tantalizingly out of reach.

Matt hesitated. “Luke, we can’t climb that.”

“Sure we can, Matt,” I told him. “There’s a ledge about eight feet up. And it must be used or the path wouldn’t end here.”

I squeezed between a dead tree and the lowest boulder and then managed to reach the rock ledge and stand up. The space wasn’t wide, and narrowed where it rounded a large boulder below the cave entrance. Moss grew in shaded areas at the base of the granite outcropping and the exposed stone was mottled black with lichens. With my back against the cliff face, I moved a few steps to the left, onto narrower footing.

“Okay Matt, just come up the same way I did; it’s not too hard.”

That wasn’t entirely true of course, but I hadn’t gotten that close to just turn back. Matt made it to the flat area where I’d first stood, then followed slowly as I edged sideways along the ledge. It swung out where the rock jutted from the cliff face and the footing grew straight and narrow. We carefully circled the rock outcrop, and the ledge widened again, became a path between stone cliffs that framed the cave entrance above. We made that last short climb, stopped at the dark opening in the mountainside, and then sat on a boulder shaded by a stone overhang. From that vantage point, we could see over most of the trees to the ridge across the valley and look back on the way we’d come. A few large birds circled high above, dark against the sky.

“Are those eagles,” Matt asked.

“No. they’re turkey buzzards,” I’d replied. “I used to see them on the farm.” They were magnificent birds, though. They skillfully navigated the thermals, almost floating in the air between the mountain we were on and the ridge opposite.

The cave mouth was tall enough to enter upright, but, about ten feet in, we had to crouch over. The floor was littered with small broken stalactites, loose rock, dirt, and a little mud. Of course, Matt wouldn’t go any further than the reach of light that flooded the mouth of the cave, so he waited while I crouched lower to get deeper into the cave. I picked up a few of the stalactites as souvenirs.

“Is that allowed?” Matt asked.

“Well, if they’re still living, or even attached, then it’s definitely illegal,” I told him. “But these are just broken pieces. They’ve been on the ground a long time, so it’s more like fossil collecting… I think.”

After a few minutes, we left the cave and made our way back down the hillside to where the car was parked, then spent the afternoon exploring side roads up into the hills that surrounded the valley. Highland County, often called “Virginia’s Little Switzerland”, is a place of steep ridges and high, quiet valleys. Matt had lived in Germany for a few years and said it reminded him of the Black Forest, where his mother had been born.

Matt refused to spend another night in the tent, so we found a little roadside motel that looked as though it hadn’t seen a renovation since the 1950’s and took a room there for the night. Sunday morning, we loaded the car and left the area, hoping to find a scenic route home. We chose a road at random, followed the Cowpasture River through another valley for several miles, then the road turned up into the hills. Matt sat in the passenger seat and directed us to scenic overlooks, marked or not. Late in the afternoon, he caught a glimpse of something through the trees and turned in his seat to look back.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Why, what is it?”

“Just turn the car around, okay?”

I found a place to safely turn back, and pulled into the gravel road Matt pointed out. He climbed from the car and walked to the edge of the graveled area, then motioned for me to follow. No sign marked the short graveled road, nor was there any sort of wall to keep people away from the edge; this place wasn’t meant to be open to the public.

We looked out over a deep ravine, rock strewn and brush covered on this side, a nearly sheer cliff on the other. Above the opposite rim, a stream flowed from the dense shadow of forest. It cascaded a few feet at the top of the cliff, then sprang free from the earth, fractured in the sunlight, and crashed to the rocks below.

I was speechless at such a magnificent sight. I’d never before seen a “wild” waterfall and this one was truly impressive. To get closer, I worked my way down the brush-covered slope, trying to keep from slipping as small rocks slid under my feet and tumbled down the slope ahead of me. Matt hesitated a moment, then followed. The rocks and boulders at the bottom were mossy and slick, the footing dangerous. There was a shallow natural grotto behind the base of the falls, so we worked our way around to it. We went into the damp, dark area behind the falling water and stood beneath the strangely amorphous rock formations created by years of water splashing and dripping over the native stone. The wind driven spray was cool on my face, and muted sunlight filtered through the falling water; that spot was magical. I looked at Matt, at the smile on his face and for me it made the whole trip worthwhile.

After a few minutes, we went back out into the warm sunshine and carefully worked our way downstream far enough to see the waterfall in its entirety. I looked at Matt; he stood smiling, staring up at the cascading water.

“Thanks for making me turn around, Matt.”

“Well, I just got a glimpse of it through the trees,” he said, “and I wanted to see it up close. This is great, bud! It’s really something.”

“Worth sleeping in a tent?”

“Well, I guess so,” and he laughed. “But not a second time.”



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Oliver and Jumpy by Werner Stejskal

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Here is a quick peek inside Oliver and Jumpy by Werner Stejskal










Do you like cats? Yes? I am glad, because I am a black cat with a white top hat. I have a few white spots on my fur too. Mum is white, you see! My name is Oliver. I am a very elegant tomcat with the shiniest coat in the world. I brush my fur every morning and always keep my nails trimmed! Of course, my hat is really refined too, which is another word for elegant.

Whenever you put on your new clothes, you can announce to everybody, “I am refined!” And everybody will think you are an elegant person. Well, enough of all that talk about me, although I can never talk too much about myself. I really think I am a cool cat. I love myself! Do you think this is naughty? You are probably right, but I can’t help it.

My best friend’s name is Jumpy. You guessed it. She likes to jump a lot, because she is a kangaroo! She is a great girl and she lets me ride in her pouch! I get in and Jumpy jumps away and away! That’s a lot of fun. I bet you would like to ride in her pouch too, wouldn’t you? You are probably a bit too big. I am quite small, so it is OK. I love it, but after a while I need to rest. All that up and down makes me dizzy. It’s a bit like being on a roller coaster.




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Bound by Your Love Series by Blakely Bennett

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Now a sneak preview of Blue Persuasion by Blakely Bennett











by The Verve 


The Chart House restaurant in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, had a filled lobby and a line of waiting patrons out the door, which was typical for a Friday night. The ambience of the water and palm trees, along with a reputation for delicious seafood, brought a steady stream of customers, especially on the weekends.

As I walked through the crowd, I adjusted the collar of my long-sleeved, dark gray shirt, and noticed a guy in line staring at my covered cleavage as if he could unearth a view. Thankfully, I wasn’t in the red short-shorts and tight white T-shirt I had to wear at my previous job.

Please don’t let any sleazy men be seated at my tables tonight.

Although my tips weren’t as good at The Chart House, I felt far more comfortable looking like a professional and being modestly covered.

That night, I wore my dark auburn hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, with my bangs hanging just past my eyebrows. As always, I hoped the conservative clothes and hairstyle would discourage the steady stream of men from first leering, and then attempting to accost me as they had at my last job.

“Judy, can you pick up table eight?” Stan shouted over to me. He joined me at the side station as I changed out the coffee filter. “They’re friends of mine.” He dropped a creepy wink at the same time my stomach dropped, but I shook it off. He was my manager, after all, and I simply didn’t have the time or energy for an argument.

“Sure, Stan.” I peered around the partition through the crowd, and then filled up two water glasses. Outside on the patio, a warm, salty breeze greeted me as I approached the seating area.

Two big, burly men—my least favorite kind—occupied the brown, woven-back chairs around the circular, glass table that could seat four.

My five-foot, five-inch small stature left me feeling intimidated by most men. I had often wished I stood as statuesque as Lainie, a member of my group of friends. At least I was taller than Jacqs. Recently, they both had hooked up with members within our group, but that’s another long story, two actually, and for another time.

Steeling myself for the inevitable, I curved my shoulders inward in an effort to diminish the abundant size of my breasts. Boobs seemed a better term for them as they were much larger than necessary, which left me with no understanding or empathy for those who actually paid for boobs my size. My narrow waist didn’t help matters, as it accentuated my top-heavy frame.

My mother went on and on about how I should be grateful for my good fortune. According to her, I had inherited my large bosom and wide hips from my father’s side of the family, and from her side, a narrow waist and high-rounded butt. To her, this was a gift straight from the gods. If you ask me, it was hell-derived. What sixth grade girl would be happy with breasts already busting out of a DD-cup bra? None, I assure you. By thirty-one years of age, my voluminous mammaries hadn’t become any easier to deal with, and I would never share my current bra size with a soul, having cut all the tags out of mine.

As I slowly approached my boss’ friends, the man at the table with the thick, coarse, graying beard eyed me from head to toe.

“Well then! What do we have here?” he said, grinning to his friend.

Ignoring him, I placed the water glasses in front of them. “What can I get for you?”

“You, for starters,” the younger, clean-shaven man said as he reached out to touch the nametag situated above my left boob, “…Judy.”

I abruptly shifted to the side. “What would you like to drink?” Even though I knew alcohol would not help my current dilemma, I had to ask. Damn, I need a new line of work!

“My name is Dick, and I’ll take a Bloody Bull,” the bearded man said to my chest. “Do they make you button up your shirt all the way like that?”

Brushing off the question, I turned toward the other man and held my pen at the ready.

“A dry Manhattan … and it’s Keith.” He shook his head at Dick, appearing almost apologetic.

I had learned the hard way that the ones who seemed the nicest could be your worst nightmare. Walking away, I contemplated going back to college, for the umpteenth time, to finish my degree in creative writing. Maybe it was time to give up waiting tables and stick with just bartending. At least when I doled out drinks, I had a counter between the men I had to serve and me. Even in a nice establishment like The Chart House, I still felt vulnerable.

My phone vibrated in the pocket of my apron, prompting me to check on all my tables before placing the drink order. I scurried to the bathroom unseen and entered a stall to check my text.

Bond: I’m staying at the apartment tonight. Can you come by?

I typed back quickly.

Me: I have to be at Babes in Tattooland early tomorrow to meet Cat.

Bond: Finally biting the bullet, huh?

Me: Yes.

Bond: Bring the tattoo design to show me and spend the night.

Me: Time?

Bond: Come by after you get off from work. I’ll take a break and meet you upstairs.

Me: Okay. I have to run.

I didn’t take the time to wait on his response. After washing my hands, I rushed out to serve a few meals and deliver the drinks to Dick and Keith.

“How long have you been working here?” Dick asked.

I held back what really shot through my mind, One day too many. Instead, I put on my server-smile and said, “A few months.”

“You’d make a lot more money doing something else.” The implication was crystal clear, but he elaborated anyway. “I could hook you up with a few clubs. You’d have to show more skin though,” he accentuated with an impish grin.

“No thank you. What would you like to order for dinner?” I asked, bristling and struggling to maintain a smile.

“A woman as beautiful as you, with your stunning proportions…” Keith interjected. “You could make a fortune.”

“The Applejack Sea Bass is very good,” I announced, fighting to keep it together. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but as the saying goes, It Never Gets Old for men like these. In my case, it never got any easier, either. I tilted my head to either side and stretched my neck. “If you’d rather have steak, then I recommend the prime rib.”

“Why are you so uptight?” Dick demanded.

Somehow, his parents knew what they were doing when they named him.

“If I told you the truth, I’d get fired. How about you place your orders and let me get back to my other tables?”

“How about not? I won’t say anything to Stan.” He reached out to grab my arm.

I swiftly sidestepped his attempt. “Right, well…” I contemplated for a brief second whether losing another job was worth being honest, and I decided, yes. Getting hired had never been a problem, the only perk my body granted me. I let it all spill out, “If men would stop assuming that my appearance means I want sex 24/7, life would be a heck of a lot easier for me. I have no desire to strip or to show off my body for anyone’s enjoyment other than my boyfriend’s or husband’s, that is if I can ever locate a decent man in South Florida. And those odds are looking more dismal every day.”

“You’re neglecting the gifts god gave you, young lady,” Dick declared.

“You and my mother would get along well, Dick,” I said, making sure to enunciate his name. “It seems you need more time to order. I’ll check on my other tables and be back in a few.” I stalked away before they had the chance to respond.

By the end of the night, I desperately needed a shower to wash away the grime and the never-ceasing emotional toll extracted for looking like a walking blue-eyed, dark-haired, voluptuous blowup doll.


My shotgun one-bedroom apartment had a narrow design plan with a tiny kitchen. The hardwood floors gave it some character and since moving in, I had slowly been making it my own by collecting art pieces and paintings when I could scrape up the money. Having a female roommate hadn’t worked out well for me, and living with a male seemed like an even worse option. I didn’t much care for living alone—particularly in this neighborhood—but it definitely beat the alternative. I fanatically kept my doors and windows locked at night.

The one mirror in my tiny apartment hung over the sink in the pink bathroom surrounded by yellow Post-It notes with positive affirmations. Smile, it’s a new day. I love and approve of myself. I trust myself. I am beautiful and smart and that’s how everyone sees me. I am safe and sound. I have given up criticizing myself. I trust my inner wisdom.

Ignoring the rest of the yellow stickies and wiping the moisture off the mirror from the steamy shower, I applied blue eyeliner as I got ready to go over to Bond’s place. My long, thick eyelashes didn’t need any mascara. I threw on jeans, a bra that held me in tightly, and a blue tank. After slipping into a pair of sandals, I grabbed my overnight bag, wallet, and keys, and then headed out the door.

On my way over, I thought about Bond. Only his family called him by his real name, Mitchell. Maybe because he detested his given name, he had taken to doling out nicknames to all the people in our friendship circle. He had dubbed me “Sweet Judy Blue Eyes,” shortly after we met. He said it was because of my striking blue eyes. After a while, I became “Blue” to our group.

The guys in our friendship circle, Bond, Red, Stay, Kev, and Dawg didn’t intimidate me at all. They had taken the time to get to know me outside of my looks. Most men made horrible assumptions about me, even before learning my name.

Bond and I had been having sex on and off for years without the group’s knowledge, which had to be a feat of magic worthy of a Houdini illusion, as not much was held sacred within our group of friends. Our fuck-buddy status started shortly after Red and I briefly dated. I never could get past Red’s huge size, and he never could get past my dark needs and insecurities. With Bond and me, we had an understanding. We didn’t poke at each other’s vulnerabilities.

I can’t say I was happy when Jacqs began to date Red and continued seeing Bond, but recently, Bond and I had resumed our steamy, dark sex, so it was hard to care. Plus, unlike Red, he understood my insecurities and used them to his advantage.

After pulling into the parking lot of the CroBar Club, where Bond deejayed, I texted him, letting him know I had arrived.

I exited my aged, brown Corolla hatchback, making sure the driver’s side door closed all the way by knocking it with my hip. Bond lived in an apartment above the club, so I waited by the steps that led up to it.

“Hey,” he said as he approached.

“Hey yourself, handsome.”

He wore dark jeans, a fitted black dress shirt, and shiny black boots. The top of his long, brown hair was pulled back, highlighting his light brown eyes and making them as stunning as ever. He took my hand and led me up the steps.

My body responded, knowing what was to come as the thumping bass from CroBar’s vast stereo system followed us up the stairs.

“Don’t have much time now, but I’ll make up for it later.” He unlocked the door to his apartment.

“I’m sure you will, dude.” I smiled his way, and his face lit up in return.

Bond kept his place relatively neat, which always impressed me, considering the ‘bachelor-pad’ atmosphere. He led us over to the black leather couch sitting atop an oriental rug.

Although the space wasn’t much bigger than mine, the furnishings spoke of money that I certainly didn’t have. He received an income from a trust his grandparents had set up for him and his father controlled. Rumored amongst our group, Bond would be coming into a substantial inheritance in a few years. I never asked him about it directly, and it really didn’t matter to me. Unlike my mother who liked to use her attractive looks to garner perks from her latest conquest, I vowed to make my own way in life. Bond and I had never been in love, however, I did love him like family but with an outlandish, wild chemistry thrown in. To me, he was the most misunderstood of all of our friends. He would cut off his left arm for anyone in our circle and in some ways, he was as tenderhearted as I was, only he hid his softer side behind macho bravado.

Bond’s thumb stroked my palm, causing my body to vibrate. “How was work?” he asked.

“Oh, you know, the same old bullshit, but I did okay in tips.” I had to raise my voice so he could hear me over the music pounding through the floor. “Stan stuck me with friends of his who wanted to set me up as a stripper.”

“Sorry, Blue, that’s gotta suck. Did it remind you of the situation your father put you in?”

“Yeah, for a second, but let’s not go there. I’m not a fifteen-year-old girl anymore. Plus, your text came at the perfect time and cheered me up.” I scooted closer to him. If anyone could help distract me from my plight in life, it was Bond.

Sweeping me into his aura, he pulled me in close and kissed me deeply. After he sufficiently stole my breath, he clutched my hair in his fist and yanked my head back, then he bit his way down my neck.

The delicious pain made me gasp and squirm. “Oh yeah!”

He nipped up the other side of my neck, causing me to yelp. “Strip,” he ordered.

While I quickly shed my clothes, Bond went to the bathroom and returned with a towel, which he draped over the left armrest of the couch. He turned me to face him as I stood there with my arms wrapped over my breasts.

“Cut that out,” he growled at me, taking my small wrists in his hands and bringing my arms to my sides. He scanned me from head to toe. “I’ll make those tits of yours suffer when I get back.”

He knew exactly what I needed. Just his words made my thick, dime-sized nipples strain for his crop. He clasped my tight buds and pulled me around to the end of the couch. Setting my bottom on the edge, he roughly pushed me over. My back arched when it hit the seat cushion, situating my butt higher on the armrest with my calves dangling over the side.

Watching Bond, I spread my knees wide, dipped my fingers into my wet entrance, and coated my clit with my juices. Like my huge breasts, I felt embarrassed by my protuberant nub.

“I’ve got it,” Bond said, swatting my hand out of the way. “This is why you need to be tied up. After all this time, you still doubt I can make you cum? Repeat after me, ‘You’re in control.’”

“I’m in control,” I said and laughed.

“You will pay for that,” he said with a wicked grin. “Arms above your head. Now!”

“Yes, sir,” I responded with plenty of cheek as I saluted.

“You must be itching for a really hard session later. Now shut up and let me take care of business.” He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down. Never one to wear underwear, his long cock jutted out in rapt attention. After rolling the condom over his hard erection, he pierced my wet labia in one fast stroke.

“Oh, hell yes … take me hard,” I growled thickly.

His thrust kept rapid time with the hammering bass that rose up through the floor as he used his thumb to manipulate my bulgy clit.

I clasped onto the edge of the cushion over my shoulders and pulsed into him, helping him to stab deeper. I needed it hard and fast, and he didn’t disappoint.

As my clit swelled, Bond used more pressure, rubbing back and forth across my raised bud. He savagely forced his pelvis against mine, bringing me right to the brink of relief as the sweet friction started to overwhelm me.

“Do it,” he yelled.

“Ohhh god … harder!” I cried.

As soon as my orgasm began, he increased his propulsion and pinched my nipples, sending me even higher over the bewitching edge into senselessness.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” I screamed, gushing over Bond’s cock as my electrified contractions fired between my boobs and my swollen clit.

He paused and smiled at me.

I prayed that someday “my Bond” would manifest, but as each year flew by, I became less and less hopeful. Silently, I thanked “this Bond” for making the wait less arduous.

He held his hands out to me and tugged me to my feet. He pulled me away from my musings when he shouted, “Flip over!”

As I bent over the side of the couch, face first, he split my long hair in either fist and yanked me back onto his shaft. His extreme drive knocked my pussy against the edge of the couch. That, coupled with the yanking of my hair, caused the pure sense of pleasure and pain that allowed me to lose myself and thoroughly enjoy sex with him.

Not long after, his deep roar rumbled in his chest. He jackhammered throughout his climax, adding his call to the chorus of music surrounding us. His body blanketed mine, and I could feel his pounding heart against my back. Once his breathing slowed, he stood and spanked my ass.

“Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll wake you when I’m back later.” He slipped off the condom and using the side of the towel lying under me, he wiped off his cock and thighs, and then buttoned up his jeans. He tossed the condom in the trash and left.

As soon as the door shut, I stood and cleaned all the wetness between my legs.

I loved being in Bond’s apartment alone. Somehow, it made our friendship even more intimate. I dug my short, satin robe out from the very back of his wall of closets. The mirrored doors cast my reflection back to me, and I quickly turned away. I vowed to hold onto the vision of how Bond saw me, not how I saw myself.

I bounced up onto his king-size bed, where his 007 Octopussy poster hung above the headboard, and I scanned the rack of paddles, whips, restraints, and other bondage paraphernalia that hung on the left wall. I wondered what he might use on me later.

Restless and not tired, I wandered back to the living room and looked through the photo album of Polaroid pictures of women that sat on the coffee table. Naked from the waist up, I marveled at how he had gotten so many women to expose their breasts for his camera. I was very happy to see none of the gals from our group had posed.

I grabbed a quick snack, and then got ready for bed. The day had worn me out, so it took me all of five minutes to doze off to the pounding bass vibrating the small apartment.


“Blue, wake up.” I felt someone shaking me. I scurried up to the top of the bed, making myself as small as possible and tucked my legs in against me. My heart raged inside of my chest.

“It’s just me,” Bond said gently into the silence.

“Sorry,” I responded, trying to brush off my reaction. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just a few beers. I stopped drinking the hard stuff altogether.”

“Okay, no missionary.”

His shoulders lowered, and he shook his head. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, Blue. I won’t forget.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just waking up.” I lowered my legs and sighed.

“Do you want to pass until tomorrow?”

“No, definitely not. Just give me a minute in the bathroom, and I’ll be ready.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

“Great. I’ll set everything up.”

“Great.” I hopped down off the mattress.

He spanked my naked ass on my way to the bathroom.

“Hey!” I yelled, giggling. “We haven’t started yet!”

“Just getting you warmed up.”

“Stop it and we’ll get to it sooner,” I fake whined with my hands on my naked hips.

“Who’s in charge here?”

“Is that a trick question?”

He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face the bathroom.

I bent over in submission, presenting my ass to him, but before he had a chance to spank me again, I ran off.

“Now, you’re really going to get it!” he called after me.

“Sure, uh huh.” I laughed and closed the bathroom door behind me.

When I exited after freshening up, I saw a black crop, a brown strap paddle, and a full-headed black flogger lying on the side of the bed. Looking up, a coarse, beige rope hung from an eyebolt in the ceiling with leather cuffs attached. However, what really garnered my attention was Bond, standing naked in front of me, his five-foot, ten-inch, slender frame suiting me well.

I loved that he had let his long, brown hair loose. I’d always had a thing for men with long hair.

His full shaft and bulbous head let me know he was just as excited as my pounding heart indicated. Between his defined, smooth chest, hard cock, and the tools he’d set out, my pussy blushed appreciatively and my clit poked out.

“Are these nipples ready for my abuse?” he asked, squeezing them tightly between his fingers. He led me under the eyebolt near the side of the bed. “Do you want a gag? I’m not going to be gentle.”

I shook my head rapidly. “No.” I hated anything that could potentially restrict my breathing.

“Don’t disappoint me,” he warned. He attached the padded leather cuffs to my wrists and tugged the rope until my arms stretched above my head, my feet still resting firmly on the ground. He brought over a thick piece of bamboo and used the long side of the rope to tie my ankles to the wood, keeping my feet fixed far apart.

Completely exposed, I no longer had control over the outcome. My body vibrated and my breathing became low and shallow.

“Your expression is such a turn on. Did you know that submission makes your eyes glow? I want the rest of your body to feel it too.” He ran his hands all over me as he devoured my mouth. Our intense chemistry sparked, increasing the sexual tension as he squeezed my breasts, plucking at my nipples.

I twisted and turned from the flare of his fingers digging into my flesh, causing my juices to run onto my thighs.

He slapped my boobs, and I wallowed in the sensation. Deriving pain from my body allowed me to enjoy the pleasure. Bond knew how to find the outer edges of my resistance. I could already tell he planned to push them.

As if hearing me, he chose the strap and began working on my back, striping me with force as I squealed out with each strike. He had awakened every nerve ending, sending chills up and down my spine.

I trembled with arousal.

After throwing the strap down, he glanced up at me and twitched his eyebrows. He teased between picking up the crop, which I had experienced numerous times with him, and the flogger, which he seldomly used on me. With crop in hand, he started on the pulp of my large breasts, slapping closer and closer toward my nipples. Right and left, he alternated, until he landed directly on target.

“Ahhh,” I cried, so high on the endorphins being released, the acute sensation had me gasping.

He then found a rhythm, back and forth, landing squarely on my peaks.

“Ohhh … ohhh … ohhh!” I cried with each snap of the crop.

When the treatment ceased, he knelt down and reached between my thighs, caressing my clit with one hand while rubbing my G-spot with the other. He stopped and said, “I’ll be right back.” He quickly returned with a towel that he spread on the carpet under my soaking wet pussy.

My cum had migrated past my thighs onto my lower legs.

“Are you ready for more?”

“Yesss,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“Just remember, you asked for it.” He picked up the flogger and started swiping my back with the many leather lashes, sending tremors over the surface of my skin. Once he struck the front of my body, I knew he had been taking it easy on me. He used the whip and swashed over my breasts harder than before. I screamed over the ferocity, twisting in my restraints and loving every second of it.

Then he took me completely by surprise. He used the flogger on my thighs, until it landed right on my protruding clit.

“Uhhh … Uhhh … oh, holy hell!” I yelled, instinctively attempting to close my legs.

“Spread those knees wide and expose your pussy to me,” he ordered as he slapped the leather hard against my thigh.

He used his fingers to fondle my nub while with his other hand, he yanked on my urgent nipples. Right at the brink of an explosive climax, he stopped and resumed flogging the front of my body.

Off and on, the sweet torture continued, until I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please!” I cried out.

“If you insist.” He seared me with his kiss just before he sucked my right nipple into his mouth and continued to manhandle my clit.

The hard detonation racked my body, shaking me to the core, making my knees weak as I struggled to stay balanced on my legs. My squirt shot out, firing repeatedly, and covered his hand. Once my orgasm trailed off, I collapsed onto Bond as he captured my weight.

He held me until I could stand on my own, then he untied my ankles and decreased the tension in the rope above my arms. Lifting my body, he perched my knees on the edge of the mattress with my face down, my arms arching back behind me. Under me, he replaced the towel, and then donned a condom. He groped the front of my body and played with my clit before seeking penetration. He knew if he kept me right at the brink, his stiff cock would cause my titillation to fire off again.

The thick head of his shaft shoved against my labia while he wrapped his arms around my torso. He pulsed into me, using his control over my body to sluice out and slam back in. “You may touch yourself,” he whispered seductively.

I rubbed the very tip of my clit and began to gush even before my second climax struck. My body erupted as he continued to seek his own liberation.

He rode me hard throughout my potent orgasm. His girth widened just as he slowed down his unrestrained pace. He shifted his hips from left to right, rubbing every spot in my canal. His arms held me captive as he used me to find his own release. He whispered, “I’m right there.” The roar I had come to love sounded, and I could feel the heat of his release. We stayed locked together, still flying high from our copulation.

“That was incredible, Blue,” he sighed. “Let’s clean up and get into bed. Then you can show me the tat you’re getting.”

We snuggled in bed for a while, and I felt completely satiated and content. I reached down into my overnight bag and showed Bond the tattoo that would be permanent in just a few hours.

“Where?” he asked. He lay on his back holding the drawing above us.

“At first I was thinking the top of my foot, but Cat said that’s a no-go because it’s very painful for a first tattoo. Plus, this particular design needs to be larger so you can see the cherry blossoms in the wings of the dragonfly, don’t you think? She says she plans to give it lots of dimension with shading and make it appear to be flying. It’s going to go on my right shoulder blade.”

“Not sure I agree with her. You like pain,” he said with a wide grin. “That, and Cat’s a light touch with the tattoo machine.” He scanned my body as if to find the perfect spot. “I’m sure you could handle a tattoo on your foot … man, you were so fucking hot tonight. I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.” He chuckled and looked back at the design. “Yeah, I think this design should be larger.”

“Is Cat the one who fixed your previous tattoo?”

“Yep, and she also did Red’s tat.”

I reached across him and touched his right deltoid, tracing the Celtic knot surrounded by the flames of the sun. The whole group now knew the significance of that tattoo. He had lost his fiancée in a car crash many years ago.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Bond asked.

“Cat’s an amazing artist, so no. If it were anyone else, I probably wouldn’t do it in the first place.”

“Gotcha.” He leaned across me and turned off the lamp.

I lay the art rendering of the tattoo on my bag and cuddled up close to Bond. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I sank into the bed and his arms, smiling and thinking that tomorrow should be an interesting day.




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Bound by Your Love Series by Blakely Bennett

Blakely Bennett's Book Image 2





Dive into chapter one of Bittersweet Deceit by Blakely Bennett










by Joni Mitchell



“Mason, get up,” I said, jostling him. Underneath the gray sheet, his chest rose and fell slowly. It was a rare treat for him to spend the night.

“Hmm, Lainie come back to bed.” He reached out from under the cover to pull me to him.

“Come on, I’m serious. It’s already nine thirty and Jacqs will be here soon. Isn’t Victoria expecting you home?”

“I told her my plane doesn’t arrive until this afternoon.” Mason looked up at me and pierced me with his ravishing, clear, blue eyes. “Can I come back after your brunch? I don’t know when I’ll be able to get away again.” He scooted up against the headboard, which caused the sheet to fall to his waist.

The smattering of hair on his chest and taut lower abs made me groan.

“Come here, love. We still have a few minutes.” He moved down on the mattress and held his arms out to me.

I climbed in and covered his body with mine. “We don’t have much time.”

“I love you, baby,” he said just before his lips touched mine.

I wouldn’t say I love you back, I couldn’t. It was not that I didn’t love him, I loved him so much it devastated me if I thought too far ahead, knowing that he would never truly be mine. I kissed him back hard, breathing him in, wanting to fuse our bodies together. My extra twenty-five pounds no longer deterred me with Mason; my full hips and soft belly seemed to inspire lust in him.

He flipped me over onto my back, spreading my long, smooth legs wide as he plunged in. “You’re so ready, it won’t take us long.” He groaned once he gained full penetration and held himself still. Peering down into my eyes, he said, “I want to play the game again when I come back later.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head no.

He shifted his weight to his right side and gripped my chin with his left hand so I was forced to look straight into his eyes. “You know you want to. I’m not sure why…” He said as he pulled his cock back slowly and rammed back into me, causing me to writhe. “you want to…” Then he leisurely stroked in and out of me. In his husky, deep voice he said, “pretend like you—ahhh yes I can feel you getting closer—pretend you don’t love the game.” He paused, but still held me in his gaze. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel your pussy grab onto my dick like only you can.” He resumed his deep, frantic pace as I equally met his incursions. “Don’t forget to breathe. Oh yeah, there you go, come for me.”

“Please!” A squeak escaped from me followed by a low groan. I quickly gulped in air, spinning as my release erupted.

“I’m coming with you,” Mason called out. He jerked rapidly and then held himself tightly against me.

The feel of his cock pulsing inside me almost got me off again. He rolled to the side, his chest rising and falling.

I nuzzled against his neck, breathing in his spicy aftershave and warm skin, a smell I would never forget. I glanced up at the clock and said, “Unless you want to meet Jacqs, we need to get the fuck up and get dressed.”

He drew me close. “I love when you talk dirty, baby.”

I tried to keep from laughing. “I’m serious.”

“Are you aware you say that a lot?”

He tickled me until I pushed away from his chest and said, “Get dressed and skedaddle. I’m hopping in the shower.”

“Text me when you’re free. Should I pick the game or would you like to?”

“Out with you. Now! I need to take a really quick shower because she’ll be here any minute.” I threw him his pale-blue, dress shirt and turned before he could distract me again with his sexy good looks. He had this way of knocking me senseless with his steely smile and stellar physique. “What am I going to do with you?” I mumbled on my way out of the room.

I heard bang, bang, bang as I stepped out of the shower.

My robe hung from the hook on the back of the door so I quickly covered myself and stepped out of the bathroom. “I’m coming,” I shouted.

I opened the door and Jacqueline blurred passed me in short, red shorts and a bright-orange top. She spun around to face me. Although short and petite, her personality gave the illusion of an Amazon. Her dark waves flowed to the middle of her back. Spring, or “flip-flop weather”, was finally upon us in South Florida and the heat index had us wearing as little as possible. She kicked her shoes off by the door.

“Have you seen the new guy who lives in your building? I saw him strolling through the parking lot. His walk is almost feline but totally masculine,” Jacqs said, placing her multicolored backpack on the table by the door. “I swear he looks like a tall Paul Newman—those light-blue eyes and gray hair at his temples. Swoon worthy.” She glanced up at me and then squinted her blue-green eyes.

I folded my arms over my robe.

“Have you met him already?”

“Let me get changed,” I said, turning away.

Jacqs followed me into the bedroom. “That’s not your mystery man is it?”

I peered over my shoulder at her and then slipped into a beige T-shirt and navy shorts.

“Oh my god, it is! He is so—so—damn good looking.” She stood there with her hands on her hips, staring as if to reassess me. Her mouth hung partially open.

“Don’t you think you already have your hands full with Red and Bond?”

“Well, I don’t mean for me. Damn, woman, I figured I must know him since you’ve been hiding him from me, but I don’t recognize him. Should I?”

“No, you’ve never met him before. Should we go out or would you like to cook?”

“Let’s stay in. You know I love cooking and this way you don’t have any excuses not to answer my questions. You promised you would finally tell me everything.”

I rolled my eyes, but Jacqs didn’t see. She was too busy walking to the kitchen and checking out the contents of my refrigerator.

“So how old is he? I’m guessing mid-forties.” She pulled out eggs, cheese, broccoli, a package of mixed, dark-green lettuces, and basil.

“Lettuce in eggs?”

“Have you ever not liked my cooking?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “You’re just stalling.”

“Fine, he’s forty-five,” I said, sitting on the stool that faced her across the wide granite countertop.

“Fifteen years older then. Kids?” She cracked an egg against the side of a bowl.

“Two: seven and ten.”

After turning on the stovetop and pouring the oil into the pan, she cut up the broccoli like a veteran sous-chef. “So three kids? Wow.”

“No, I meant two kids.” I lowered my forehead into my palm, not wanting to have the conversation. Talking to Jacqs made it more real and took away my ability to rationalize the situation.

“Oh, okay.” After spreading the oil around, she tossed in the broccoli and some basil leaves. “So how did you meet, and when did you find out he was married?”

“Do you remember the guy I sort of mentioned that I had two dates with?”

“Yes and you wouldn’t tell me his name. Did you meet him online?” Stretching up to the cabinets behind her, she tried to reach the spices on the second shelf.

“Let me do that,” I said, walking around to the other side of the island.

“Garlic salt and red pepper please.”

After handing her the spices, I returned to my stool and continued, “I met him by accident.”

The spatula paused in the pan. “What are you talking about, girl? Did you have a date or not?”

“Do you know GG’s Waterfront Bar and Grill? It’s much more upscale than it sounds.”

“I don’t think so. Anyway…” She resumed stirring the eggs.

“I was supposed to meet up at the bar with someone from one of my dating sites and he never showed.”

Jacqs threw in a fistful of greens and stirred them into the broccoli. “And Paul Newman’s doppelgänger did?”

As I shared how we met, I became lost in the crystal clear memory:

I felt hopeful as I got out of my silver, two-seater, convertible Saturn Sky. I smoothed down my black fitted skirt and made sure my sheer blouse hung just right. I’d worn my three-inch heels, foregoing my favorite five-inch pumps so I wouldn’t tower over my date.

I paused for a moment and watched Jacqs pour the eggs into the pan and sprinkle in cheese.

“According to my date’s online profile,” I said, “he also owned his own business, which you know is important to me.”

“So you really thought he had potential. Go on.”

I sat down at the bar, laying my small clutch in front of me.

“What would you like?” The bartender asked, tossing a square napkin on the bar. His crisp, white shirt and black vest suited the dark wood décor of the restaurant and bar.

“A Riesling and a glass of water would be nice.”

“You got it.”

Every time the door opened, I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see the guy from online. I lingered over my glass of wine, and once I had taken the last sip it was quickly replaced with another.

“I didn’t order this,” I said.

“Compliments of the gentleman,” he said, pointing down the bar.

I bent forward, searching to my right and gasped when I saw him. Doing my best to recover quickly, I took a sip of water and waved. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” his deep, resonating voice answered. He lifted his drink and stalked toward me like a predator—confident and strong.

I would willingly let him catch and eat me for dinner. I shook the thought away.

Moving as though it took him little effort to command his body, he settled himself in the stool next to me. “You’re waiting for someone.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

His proximity unnerved me. I had always thought of myself as someone above being controlled by chemistry and attraction.

“You mean controlled by hormones like me,” Jacqs said, holding out a plate with the omelet. “There’s coffee too.”

“Well, yes, if I’m being completely honest. It happens to be a first for me and part of the reason it’s been so hard to talk about, notwithstanding the promise I made to him. I had been in judgment of your crazy libido. Something I thought you should have control over.”

Jacqs burst out laughing and said, “Welcome to my world.”

We sat down at the round, dinner table and I took a couple bites of the eggs. “Oh, this is delicious. The lettuce gives it an earthy taste, almost like spinach.”

She gave me her I-told-you-so look and chewed a mouthful. She swallowed and said, “Well don’t keep me in suspense.”


“Well, yes, I was waiting for someone,” I said, adjusting my blouse and trying to hide the tremble in my hands. “However, if he’d planned to show, he would’ve been here by now.”

“His loss is most definitely my gain.” His eyebrows raised and his wicked smile sent heat over the surface of my skin.

He reached across the distance between us and caressed my shoulder. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” His touch unleashed a frisson of excitement that caused me to shudder.

I stared at his fingers and then back into his eyes, not knowing what to make of the conversation or my body’s outlandish response.

Seconds, minutes, hours, ticked by, or so it seemed as the silence enveloped us. I could no longer hear the clicking of glasses or silverware. The flare of his pupils and the red heat that crawled up his neck let me know I wasn’t alone.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, dropping his hand and pulling out his wallet.

“What? Wait! No,” I said, swallowing hard to get my heartbeat to slow.

He chuckled slightly and said, “I just meant, let’s go for a walk along the water. It’s beautiful out.”

“Oh, I…” I fumbled around for something plausible to say. I rested my hand on my upper chest, willing my pulse to settle down.

He smiled again and it devastated me.

In a daze, I watched him pay the bartender and leave a healthy tip. He took my hand in his and I let him lead me away from the bar and out of the restaurant. I kept a step behind him, my eyes trailing down to his small, round butt straining against his black slacks and then back up to the collar of his purple dress shirt that just skimmed the bottom of his salt-and-pepper hair. His strides were casual but strength infused each step.

“What’s your name?” he asked once we reached the dock that ran along the back of the restaurant.

“Lainie, and yours?”


“Is that a family name?”

He stopped and casually leaned against the railing, looking out at the water with my hand still firmly in his. Lights refracted over the surface of the dark current of the Intracoastal.

“Like you can’t imagine.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Would you believe me if I told you my name was Mason Mason?”

I laughed thinking he must be joking, but he didn’t smile. “Not really? Oh my god, do your parents have an odd sense of humor?”

“It was my great, great grandfather who put it into motion, and the males in my family have carried it on.”

“What does that make you?” I thought for a few seconds and said, “Mason Mason IV?”

“Only on my birth certificate.” He lowered his head and kissed my hand.

I felt it way more than I wished to. The heat of his lips seared my skin and sent a throb between my thighs. “Why did you do that?”

“I would do more, if you’d let me. Your long, sexy legs, clear, green eyes, and conservative demeanor make my hands vibrate with the need to strip away the artifice…”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I want to know everything about you. What do you do for work? What are your passions? Are you happy?”

I held onto the dock railing with my free hand and cleared my throat. “That’s a lot all at once.”

He stood up and we resumed our walk, “How about one at a time?”

I pursed my lips, trying to keep from smiling. I found it hard to contain the fluttering inside me when I looked into his eyes. His powerful gaze drew me in. I felt him rapping on the fortress I had built around my heart from years of disappointment in the dating arena.

He tucked my long, sandy-brown hair behind my right ear and said, “I want to see your face when you tell me.”

I took a deep breath and plunged ahead into unchartered waters. “I own and manage a clothing boutique. I have now for five years or so.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“I love it. Once the place was mine, I changed the name and upgraded the curb appeal with large front windows.”

We continued to stroll when he asked, “So you remodeled the store front?”

“Yes and reconfigured the floor plan.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Thank you.” I blushed. Get your shit together, woman. You are not one to lose it over a man. The wine must have gone straight to your head.

He led me over to a bench and we sat down. “How did you know what to do to the store?”

I adjusted my skirt and smoothed the fabric. Sitting down, he was a few inches taller than I. I looked up and said, “I studied business in college. Through high school and college I worked in clothing stores to help with expenses. The different shops helped me create the vision of what I thought would work best.

“To answer your second question, I’m passionate about music. I love going to live concerts and Broadway shows and I’m always on the hunt for new songs. My taste in music is eclectic, as is my taste in friends. Other than working, my friends fill up most of my time. Your turn.”

“You didn’t answer my last question. Are you happy?”

His attention felt more like an indomitable gravitational pull than mere interest.

“Lainie?” he whispered too close to my ear.

“Let’s save that one for another time,” I said, looking at him through my mascara-laden eyelashes.

“Are you saying you will see me again?”

I bit my lower lip and said, “Are you always this forward?”

“In business, definitely.”

“And otherwise?” I asked.

“When I meet a gorgeous woman who causes my heart to pound like you have, then yes.”

He thinks I’m gorgeous? The man who might have walked straight off the pages of GQ?“Thank you. I’m flattered.” Trying to deflect the emotions he stirred in me, I asked, “So what do you do?”

“I’m a CEO coach.”

I turned my knees toward him and said, “What does that mean?”

“I’m a paid mentor to CEOs, business owners, and senior executives. I help them achieve their goals in business, and in their personal lives.”

“I never knew that even existed. Do you enjoy it?”

“I love it. It’s exciting to help other people manifest their dreams.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that job existed either,” Jacqs said, pulling me out of my recollection.

“He has master’s degrees in both business and psychology.” I took a couple of bites of my omelet and followed it with a sip of coffee.

“That must mean he travels a lot.”

I nodded. “He does, and that’s how he was here today.”

Her brows pulled together as she scrunched her nose.

“He flew in yesterday, but his wife expects him home this afternoon.”

“Oh, so he’s local. This seems so unlike you, girl.”

I forced out a heavy sigh and said, “It’s something I swore I’d never do. I don’t have a good excuse other than he is simply every single fucking thing I’ve ever dreamt about.”

“Other than being married with small children.”

“Yes, other than that.” I nodded.

“When did you know?”

“Please don’t be mad at me, but he told me that very first night. He has been honest from the start. We were going to keep it at friendship level, but that flew out the window by the third time I saw him.”

Jacqs wore a look of utter skepticism.

“I get that he is lying to other people. That’s what kills me. I keep thinking I can stop it … that I can end it. And I have tried. Remember the day when you came here, before we went to Red’s together to hang out with everyone.”

“How can I forget? That’s the night Bond showed up drunk and outed Aidan and me to the whole gang.”

“Yeah.” I paused remembering that night and then asked, “So you’re calling Red ‘Aidan’ now? Are you still the happy threesome?”

“Don’t even try, girl. We aren’t talking about me until you finish your story.”

“Okay, fine. So where was I?”

“He told you what he does for a living and that he loves his job.” Jacqs cleared our plates so I had to project my voice to her in the kitchen.

The bench we sat on faced the dock, and I could see the current making ripples on the water. “It’s great to love your job, isn’t it?” I asked. I felt the overwhelming desire to run my hand up his neck and play with his hair. His manly scent inspired impulses I’d never considered, especially not with a stranger.

I felt his breath against my cheek and turned toward the warmth.

“Lainie,” he said almost like a groan. His deep, gravelly voice caused my nipples to harden in pure lust.

I tried to force it aside. I drew my head back slightly and asked, “Are you happy?”

He winced. “In some ways I’m very happy. I’m fit—”

“Clearly,” I said and clamped my mouth shut, wishing I could garner some self-control.

“Thank you.” The sides of his mouth curved up, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. The soft lines in his forehead became more pronounced. His shift in energy placed a shroud over me, and I wanted to hug him to take away the pain.

“Tell me,” I whispered.

“And he did,” I said to Jacqs. “I’m not going to give you all the details because it’s not for me to tell. What I will say is that he is dead in love with his kids and will never leave them. His marriage is very troubled, and they’re working on finding a place of friendship. That doesn’t mean she would be okay with what we’re doing.

“We sat on that bench and talked for hours. I think I fell in love with him that very night.”

“Are you sure you’re not just hearing his side of things?” she asked.

“Do you trust Red and Bond?”

“With my life.” She sat back down at the table.

“I feel the very same way about Mason. I shouldn’t share this but I’ve heard some of his wife’s phone messages and she is venomous.”

“Look, Lainie, I don’t want to be judgmental, but there are always at least two sides of the story and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s unavoidable at this point. I’m in too deep. It will end someday and I try my best not to dwell on that. I have never loved like this before and I fear I might never again.” I closed my eyes, pushing the thought away.

“Isn’t this like me being stuck on Bond and hoping things will change?”

“Well, Jacqs, they have changed, but that’s not the point. If nothing else, we are honest with each other.”

“Will I get to meet him? I saw him, but I mean actually talk to him?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “To him it’s an even bigger deceit to his family to infiltrate my life, and he says it’s worse for me too. He thinks I shouldn’t have to miss him in the very places I go for friendship and support, and I can’t argue with his logic.”

“Well, girl, I think you are now the one mired in drama.”

“It’s never dramatic when we’re together; it’s waiting for the next time I get to see him that nearly kills me.”

“I can imagine. Thank you for sharing with me.” She reached out and touched my hand. “I love you, girl.”

“I love you too.”

Both Jacqs and I turned our heads to the sound coming from the back of the condo.

“That’s my phone,” I said. I scurried into my bedroom and over to the nightstand. I brought up the screen on my cell and saw Mason’s text.

MM: Your professor needs to discuss your bad grade and how you will make it up. Are

you ready for me?

My body flushed in response, but our games still embarrassed me. Not when they were happening, never then. I enjoyed pleasing him, and had come to live for it. With Mason I had opened myself up to new sexual experiences I never imagined I would enjoy.

I texted him back.

Me: Not yet. I’ll text when she’s gone.

MM: Extra spanks with the paddle the longer you make me wait. I need to ravish your body again.

Me: Yes, Professor Mason. 😛

MM: You better give me that tongue when I get home.

Home, how I wished.

“Him?” Jacqs asked when I sat back down at the table.

“Yeah. So how’s your ménage à trois working out?”

Jacqs’s face reddened and she wriggled in her seat. “It’s wonderful, but I’m having a hard time really sinking into it. I’m expecting Bond to get bored at any moment and find someone more interesting. It’s only been a few weeks, but he still hasn’t dated anyone else. That must be some kind of record.”

“I’d say! And Red?”

She sighed slowly and smiled. “He’s amazing and I’ve never felt so loved, cherished, and cared for. As Bond keeps saying, we’re all taking it one day at a time.”

“Well you sure do seem relaxed and content; it’s a very nice change.”

“Thanks.” She paused and then I saw the wheels turning. “Have you heard from Stay?”

Stayman, or Stay as we all called him, was part of our group of friends, which met regularly at Red’s house. Jacqs brought me into the fold via her alliance with Bond.

“Yes, Stay called me last night. Did you put that into motion?” I said my lips pursed in displeasure.

“Wipe that look off your face, Lainie. He had two tickets for Ed Sheeran, and you know you love him. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“Why, pray tell, does he have two tickets?” I folded my arms across my chest, feeling like I had been set up.

“I can only assume he bought them a while ago for him and his ex. Don’t go if you don’t want to. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“I already told him I would,” I said, shaking my head.

“Then what the fuck, girl?”

“You’re pushing us together, and it’s never going to happen.”

She tapped my arm and said, “Never is a mighty long time and would that be such a bad thing?”

“Let’s just drop it okay?”

She appeared to be considering it and then said, “Sure, back to the good stuff. I would guess he is just about your height?”

“Yeah, he’s six foot one like me, so the few times we’ve gone out, I’ve left my expensive heels at home.”

“Do you go out a lot?”

“Not at all anymore.” Then I thought about our game later and said, “He does love for me to wear them inside. That’s a first for me.”

“I’m sure your long legs look very sexy. Before I shove off I must know, is Mason a good lover?”

I blushed in mortification, like the young college student Mason wanted me to play.

“Boy, oh boy, that good?”

I just nodded.

She threw her head back and laughed. “And his cock? Tell me, is it stellar?”

“Jacqs!” I whined.

“Give it up, girl. You know all about my guys. Fess up.”

“He’s perfect for me,” I sighed. “You know I hate when their cock is too long and bangs up against my cervix.”

“I like that—”

“Yes, that has been well established.”

She grinned and said, “And…”

“I’d guess six to six and a half inches, and average thickness, but he gets harder than anyone I’ve ever been with. Oh, and the stamina…”

Jacqs chuckled again and said, “On that note, I’m going to take off.” She rubbed her thighs and stood. “Aidan wants to take Adjustable Bend into the open ocean today, and I think the boys have something planned for me.”

I stood up and faced her as she threw her backpack over her shoulder. “Now who’s blushing?” I asked.

“I think I have some idea of what they might have in mind.” She twitched her eyebrows and made a funny face.

“I hope you’re right.”

After we hugged goodbye and I closed the door, I rested my back against it. After a moment, I took a deep breath, stood up, and went to the bedroom to text Mason. Another message waited for me.

MM: Wear the short black skirt you know I like with the white blouse. You know the rest.

Me: I need a few minutes to get ready.

MM: She’s gone?

Me: Yes.

MM: On my way!

My pulse raced as I quickly disrobed and donned the schoolgirl outfit Mason had bought for me. He didn’t care for the knee-high, white socks or the saddle shoes that usually went with the look. In his version, the naughty college student had stockings and garters with very high heels. I slipped into my favorite red, Manolo Blahnik five-inch heels that I only wear indoors, and shut the bedroom door to see myself in the full-length mirror. The short skirt barely covered my butt so the black straps of the garters could be seen. Without a bra, the thin, white blouse didn’t hide much. My rosy areolas could be seen through it. I left the first three buttons undone so Mason could see some cleavage. My hair and makeup definitely needed some attention.

Dressing for the scenarios he created had an effect on me. Usually conservative, I was blossoming into a sexy, more confident version of myself.

I wasn’t sure how much time I had to get ready, so I moved with haste. I flipped my thick hair over, which was still partially wet from the shower, blow-dried it, then teased it with a comb to give it volume. I used a black, coal liner around my eyes and a heavy layer of mascara. After putting on deep-red lipstick, I took in my reflection. Perfectly slutty, I thought.

I hurried to the second bedroom and pulled the desk away from the wall, angling it so the office chair faced the door. The second chair in the room, I set on the opposite side of the desk facing in. Several blank sheets of paper sat in the middle of the desktop and I left them there. I tidied the penholder and lined up the printer so it sat flush with the edge. When I yanked open the bottom drawer, I found it empty.

“Shit! Where did that damn paddle get off to?” I frantically looked around the room, checking near the blue, covered futon couch and the closet. Then I remember and laughed. I went back into the living room and opened the drawer of the end table. The heavy, shellacked, wood paddle had Mason’s college fraternity’s Greek letters along the handle.

My eyes swept the area to find places that needed attention. I pushed the chairs flush with the dinner table and put the spices back in the cabinet. While I rinsed the sink, I heard a knock. I ran on tiptoe back into the second bedroom and shoved the paddle into the drawer of the desk. Back at the front door, I said, “One sec.” I tried to settle the excitement pounding in my chest by bouncing on my toes. Then I flipped the lock and opened the door.

He scanned me from head to toe and whistled. “You are stunning.”

I erupted into laughter over his outfit: the tweed coat with oval patches on the elbows and the loafers were a nice touch, as was the pipe with a man’s face carved in ivory in his hand, but the spectacles perched on the tip of his nose were what did it to me.

“Is that any way to greet your professor, the one who is willing to help out with your dismal grade in my class on the failure of American politics in the twenty-first century?”

“Well, no, um…” I tried to hold my breath so I wouldn’t giggle. I stood up to my full height, which made me taller than him in my five-inch pumps. I waved him through the door.

Even in his silly costume, he looked overwhelmingly handsome.

He turned to face me and I could almost feel his hands on me, as if his light-blue eyes held the power to penetrate the surface of my skin. Simultaneously I loved and hated that someone could have that kind of sway over me.

“I’ll be in my office,” he said as he slipped off his shoes by the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “I expect you there in one minute. Do not keep me waiting.”

“Yes, Professor Mason,” I said, using a soft, demure tone and getting into character.

After ducking into the bathroom to check my appearance I knocked on the door to the second bedroom, which he had left partially ajar. I leaned my head in. “Excuse me, Professor, do you have a minute to discuss the grade I received on my paper?” I asked in a wispy voice trying to channel a mix of Betty Boop and Marilyn Monroe.

He beckoned me in with one hand while looking down at the papers in front of him, the pipe hanging from his mouth.

I suppressed a chuckle and pulled down on the hem of my skirt. My heels sunk into the thick, cream-colored carpet as I kept shifting my weight from one leg to the other.

“Stop fidgeting,” he said, looking up over his glasses. “Sit.”

Settling into the chair that faced him, I crossed my legs.

“Keep your legs open,” he practically shouted.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, Professor.”

He removed his glasses and the pipe and placed them on the desk. “Now about your grade…”

His eyes locked on mine and I felt myself leaning forward, being pulled into his orbital field of love and lust. Although I pissed and moaned about the games we played, I couldn’t fail to recognize their purpose. If we made passionate, intimate love each time we came together, we would never part. This way we could still enjoy each other while creating a level of distance between us.

I believed, down to my soul, that he loved me. I couldn’t deny it when he looked at me like he did in that moment. The intensity brought tears to my eyes, which I hurriedly blinked away. I cleared my throat and said, “Yes?”

“How do you intend to make up your grade?”

“Um…” I said, getting back into character. “I thought you might have some ideas.” A coy smile played on my lips.

“I do. Fold your skirt up and spread your legs wide.” He propped his elbow on the desk and rested his chin on his hand.

“Excuse me, Professor Mason, but—”

“There are no buts except what I plan to do to yours in a few minutes. Either do what I say, or get out.” He leaned back in his chair and pointed to the door.

I looked to the door and then back to him, squirming in my chair. “But sir, what if someone comes in?”

“Well, I imagine they’ll know what a poor student you are and that you’re willing to pander to my whims to get better grades. I’m sure all the other professors will be thrilled to know.”

I did my best to look embarrassed and ashamed, dipping my head down. My nipples had trouble cooperating, they flared hard and erect.

“Ahem,” he muttered and pointed to my legs.

I stared directly at him, spread my legs wide, and slowly lifted the edge of my skirt. Moisture had already gathered between my thighs during the short scene.

“No panties and a smooth mound? I have to assume you’ve already met with Professor Charles.” His brow creased and his jaw tightened.

“No, no. I have never had a class with him. I promise.” I closed my thighs slightly.

“Keep your legs open. I can see you’re already wet. I want to observe you while you make yourself come.”


“No ifs, ands, or buts. Get to it.”

“Yes sir.” I trembled slightly, I felt so turned on.

He circled around the desk and perched on the edge.

I snaked my right hand into my shirt and fondled my breast while my eyes took in his hard, cock straining against his pants. With my left hand, I caressed my thighs working slowly up towards the warm, wet cleft between my legs.

Spreading my knees even wider, I tickled around my aching pussy and delved my fingers into my wetness. Mason’s eyes flared when I brought my fingers to my lips and coated them with my natural juices.

“Ohhh man,” he groaned. “Oh sorry, fell out of character. Okay, I’m back.”

I licked my lips and dipped my fingers back into my pussy. He loved watching me fuck myself with my hand, so I forced my fingers in deep. My eyes trailed away from his as I caught him rubbing his erection through his clothes. I wanted to unzip his pants and free his cock, but it was his game and I committed myself to playing it through.

I tweaked my small nipples, pulling and rolling them until they were longer and distended.

“Undo another button on your shirt and pull your breasts out,” he ordered.

My tight, white shirt became more like a corset when I pulled it down around my breasts. Though still pert, my cleavage spilled over, and I could feel the cool air against my hardened peaks.

Scooting my ass forward in the chair, I trailed my right hand under the waist of my skirt, and found my already pulsing clit. I finger fucked myself with my left hand while I circled my arousal with my right.

He lowered his zipper and I looked up just in time to see him extract his cock and balls through the opening in his pants.

Masturbating for Mason coupled with watching him cup his testicles and draw a finger over the tip of his erection to coat the head with his pre-cum caused me to pant. “Oh god, I’m close.”

“Stop!” he shouted.

“What?” I said, completely breaking character and yanking my hand out from under my skirt.

“You are forbidden to come before your punishment. Remove all of your clothes except for your garters, stockings, and heels.”

“Yes, Professor Mason,” I said, with a wispy voice, playing the naughty college student again.

“Come around the desk and lay face forward across it.”

The cold air conditioning in the room along with the anticipation of the paddle had me shivering. I shifted into position, my arms folded under my chest, which allowed me to look over my shoulder. “What will you do to me?”

“Whatever I want, of course.” He opened the lower drawer. “Stay still and this will be over quickly. Ten, plus two extra swats for making me wait so long, and I expect you to count.” The punishment didn’t start right away; instead he ran the rope tassel that hung from the hole in the bottom of the handle across my back and over my full, round buttocks. Then he caressed each one and stepped back.

I felt the air move behind me before the first spank of the paddle landed on my right butt cheek. “Oof. Oh, one!”

“You have behaved well—so far—therefore your grade has moved up to a D. Let’s see if we can improve on that.”

The paddle hit my left cheek a bit harder and the heat quickly migrated to my pussy. “Two,” I grunted, struggling to stay still.

The strikes landed faster as I called out, “Three, four, five, six.”

He paused and said, “That’s worth at least a C. I’ve always known that students could be quite trainable.” He ran his hand over my tingling ass and trailed his fingers along my spine, up to my shoulders. He took me by surprise when he gripped my neck and held my head down, my cheek pressed to the desktop. I moved my arms to my side, my breasts sandwiched against the surface. “Let’s see if we can get that grade up even more. Take six straight thwacks in a row and I can safely bump you up to a solid B. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Professor.”

The strength of the punishment increased as did the wetness gathering between my legs. I yelled out each of the remaining swats, grunting and groaning, unable to move away.

“Very good,” the professor said. “Shall we shoot for an A?”

“Oh, sir,” I panted, “what would I have to do for that?”

“Spread your legs wide and find out.” He let go of my neck and situated himself behind me. I felt the swollen head of his cock rubbing at the entrance to my pussy.

“Oh yes,” I moaned as I felt him penetrate me. Already so turned on, I knew it wouldn’t take me long.

He stroked deep and long, using my shoulders for leverage. “Such a nice and tight pussy. I think your pussy deserves an A.”

Although the room was cool, all I felt was the warmth of his body and the intensity of being taken from behind and truly owned. I hissed and moaned as my first orgasm began to contract and spread the heat that caused me to combust.

A layer of perspiration began to form between us.

He continued his long thrusts while my contractions began to subside and I floated in the ethers of my release. Still rock-hard inside me, I knew I would have another explosive climax before he finished.

A melody interrupted the play and Mason said, “Shit.”

I recognized the ring tone.

“I have to take it,” he said, pulling out of me.

“I know.” I wavered out of the room and into the bathroom. I struggled to focus on the mundane actions required to clean up instead of on the harsh reality that had just interrupted my time with Mason. From the wicker top shelf, I retrieved a washcloth. I turned on the hot water and waited for it to warm up while I removed my heels, the garter belt, and stockings. After cleaning my saturated labia, I rinsed out the washcloth and then sat on the toilet with my head in my hands. Ragged breathing in my throat and chest signaled the impending breakdown. “No!” I said out loud.

As I washed my hands in the sink, I shook my head at my reflection. What the fuck are you doing? I grabbed another washcloth and removed the smudged makeup from my eyes. I wrapped my robe around me, sighed, and went out into the hall.

Mason waited for me on the overstuffed, beige couch in the living room. “I’m sorry, Lainie.”

“Yes, I know. Please, just go.”

“I’ll let you know when I can get away again. It sucks that we were interrupted but damn, baby, you were sexy as hell.” He held his arms out to me and said, “Come give me a kiss goodbye.”

Unable to resist him, I complied. I fell against him, his kiss confounding me. My heart broke with every departure, fracturing into a million pieces until he returned and his presence slowly re-glued each tiny piece together again. Every time my heart went through its demise and resurrection, the more fragile it became. Melting into his embrace, I thought, If I could just stay right here.

When we broke apart, he said, “I have to go. I’m already running late. I left the jacket and the other props in the closet.”

I looked away and said, “Okay.” I held open the door for him and watched him walk out of my life once again.




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Bound by Your Love Series by Blakely Bennett

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Please enjoy a peek inside Stuck in Between by Blakely Bennett.











by Joni Mitchell


My eyes swung to the left, and skimmed the rack to see if he had added any new devices for disciplining his wayward lovers. There, on the wall, hung a variety of whips, cuffs, and paddles. I had long ago vowed never to allow him to take such liberties with my body. At least I had upheld that promise to myself.amn, not again, I thought as I opened my eyes and scanned my surroundings. In one fell swoop, I had abandoned all my firmly held resolutions. I should have known better than to mix alcohol and my ex-boyfriend Bond.

As I sat up, I felt my head swim from the wine, the pot, and Bond. He was like a ticking time bomb, blowing my life to pieces each time I gave in to his gravitational pull. In my defense, he had that effect on all women, not just me. Unfortunately, I was the silly woman lying naked in his bed under the black-framed Octopussy movie poster he had hung above the headboard.

Bond leaned through the doorway wearing fitted white shorts and a short-sleeved shirt with a white collar and blue stripes. His long, brown hair appeared wet from the shower. Seeing him dressed like that reminded me he came from money. To me, he looked funny dressed like a man going to play tennis at the country club instead of the tattooed biker he liked to portray. Neither was really him in my opinion.

“Chop, chop,” he said.

“‘Chop, chop’? Have you turned into my mother all of a sudden?” I said, slowly pivoting my body to the side of the bed to stand.

“I have company arriving soon.”

The way he said company, it was clear it would be of the female persuasion.

“It’s not even 10 a.m.,” I almost whined but modulated my voice in time.

“They own a sailboat so we’re setting out early. Seriously, I need you to vacate.”

“Well, good morning and fuck you too.” I wanted to stick my tongue out, but instead behaved like an adult.

He moved toward me with that look on his face.

I held my palm out, to halt his progress. “Don’t,” I said.

“Look Jacqs, let’s talk later, okay? I don’t have to be at work until nine tonight. We can deal with this at Red’s before I head in.”

“Deal with what exactly?” I turned my back to him and threw on my dress from the previous night. My torn panties were nowhere to be found.

“Well, you know, last night.”

Last night, I sighed.

It was actually 3:30 a.m. when I had heard the first text chime, and I didn’t have to look to see who it might be. I ignored the sound, rolled over and started drifting back to sleep. Bond, however, proved relentless and texted me seven more times. After the first five texts, I started to worry. I had considered turning off the sound on my cell phone overnight since knowing Bond, but I feared my sister wouldn’t be able to reach me in an emergency. She frequently called at off hours, but found texting too much of a bother so, at least, I knew I wouldn’t be dealing with her latest drama.

I finally gave in, snatched my phone away from its charging cord, and headed into the bathroom. I scrolled through my newly received texts:

Bond: Jacqs, are you up?

Bond: Come on, sleepyhead, I need you!

Bond: My father threatened to cut off my money again.

Bond: He and I really had it out this time. I don’t think he plans to speak to me again.

Bond: I just need you to come by and bring me a bottle of wine. That will calm me down so I can sleep. Please!

Bond: Now I know you’re just being stubborn. Are you lying in bed trying to get back to sleep?

Bond: It’s not going to work. I need you, and you know you are my only real friend. Pretty please?

Bond: Baby, I promise to behave, okay? I’m asking you over as my friend only.

Me: “Yeah, right,” I said to the bathroom door. I gave in and typed:

Me: What kind?

Bond: Merlot and thank you, thank you, thank you, you’re a godsend.

Me: You owe me.

Bond and I had been friends for over eight years, and he had always been there for me. I knew a lot about his family dynamic and what it cost him on an ongoing basis. I would always respond to him, even though I fought it.

I stood in front of my closet, looking for something half-decent to wear. After putting on a light sundress, I grabbed my purple hoodie. Winter weather in Hollywood, Florida, could be unpredictable. After freshening up in the bathroom, I stared in the mirror. You’d better behave yourself tonight, I said to my body and then rolled my eyes at myself.

As I pulled my messy, long, wavy brown hair back into a ponytail, I thought of putting on some makeup but nixed the idea. My eyes, green around my pupil and blue filling the rest of the iris, were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and makeup couldn’t fix that.

On my way to Bond’s apartment, the only movement on the street was a stray cat and a section of a newspaper blowing in the wind. It was warm enough outside to let me crack the driver’s side window. I drew in a deep breath of ocean air coming from a few blocks away. The surrounding silence made the volume on the stereo seem louder, so I turned it down. After pulling into Bond’s parking spot, I bumbled up to his place toting the bottle of merlot.

“Here you go,” I said, after unlocking the door with my own key and handing him the wine that I kept for such occasions. “Do you ever plan to get your own car?”

“No,” he said, taking the bottle into the kitchen.

“Are you ready yet to tell me why?” I asked as I followed him.

“No,” he repeated, uncorking the bottle.

Even with his body angled away from me, I felt the ungodly pull on my being. It had been months since I’d sex and far longer since I had received a really amazing orgasm at the hands of another. Simply, I was crazy horny, and hanging out with a past lover, specifically the one with the most magnificent cock I ever had the pleasure of experiencing, did not help matters.

My nipples tightened as Bond glanced over at me. He seemed very tall at five feet ten, but then again, at merely five feet two, almost everyone dwarfed me. He was a decent-looking man, with masculine arms and legs, who, against convention, wore his glossy, brown hair long. His face would qualify as above average, I suppose, but he wouldn’t be considered exceptionally attractive. His light brown eyes, however, seemed to mesmerize us simple mortals. I had never given much thought to pheromones before I met him, but he had them in abundance. His unique scent melted the defenses of women in his presence, which, trust me, can be quite intimidating when you are the one dating him.

His low-slung, black jeans, black T-shirt and black boots made him look as dangerous as he truly was.

“Do you want a glass?” he asked.

“Sure, why not,” I replied. I leaned against the counter, took the goblet from his hand, and asked, “What happened this time?”

“Honestly, the usual argument. They want me at their next event so I can play the black sheep and make them feel superior. I told my father I can’t get time off, which is partly true.”

“Is there some big event at the CroBar club? Do you have to be at work that night?”

“Yeah, but there are plenty of newbies who could fill in for me.”

“How much longer does your father have control over your inheritance?”

“At forty, I’ll get the money my grandparents left for me. Five very long years. It wouldn’t be such a big deal, but you know me, I love to party and those monthly trust payments help.”

I knew his emceeing job kept him busy, but it certainly didn’t keep him out of trouble. He was like a spider sitting in the middle of his web, ready to capture his latest prey.

“Help pay for dates, right?” I hadn’t forgotten how he liked to wine and dine. “You can’t mean you spend it on living here,” I said, glancing around the apartment.

His place was above the club where he worked, and it could get loud in the little abode, so I didn’t imagine he paid much rent. He did have expensive tastes though. The kitchen was completely outfitted, although I’d never known him to cook. The black leather couch with plush matching recliners sat atop an oriental rug. I knew he spent some of his funds on those ridiculous toys hanging on the wall in his bedroom. His king-sized bed filled most of the space, and he used the wall of closets for his clothes and a collection of leather jackets and boots.

“Is your family thing another one of those company functions?” I asked.

“My family is a company function.”

“The one you dragged me to was dreadful. For Democrats, they surely looked, acted, and talked like their Republican brethren. I’m pretty sure I was the only woman or man there not wearing a business suit.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said and shrugged his shoulders.

“What does Lily say about it?”

Bond took a big gulp of wine. “Lily wants me to come because she hasn’t seen me in ages, and she says she doesn’t have any fun without me. They’re making my brother Donny a partner, so it’s going to be black tie.”

“So what are you planning to do?”

“Talk you into going with me, of course,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“Oh, hell no. You have years of experience dealing with hundreds of people looking down on you and asking awkward questions. I, for one, don’t have the stomach for it. Plus, do you really want to encourage Lily’s idea that we’re the perfect match?”

“Aren’t we?”

I decided not to dignify his question with a response. His need for multiple women, domination, and his general fucked up nature didn’t suit me well at all. And yet, he was my best friend. My body would staunchly argue he was entirely and exactly what she needed, including the length of his cock and his aggressive sex. Fortunately for me, at least most of the time, my mind ruled my collective being.

“You didn’t answer,” Bond said as he led me into the front room.

“You noticed that all by yourself?” I sat down on the soft leather sofa, leaving some distance between us and took a sip of wine.

“Am I going to have to spank you, Jacqs?” He held out his big hand, and my heart beat a little faster. “Because you know, not much else would give me as much pleasure as putting you into your rightful place, over my knee.”

“So what do you plan to do?” I said out loud, while my body flamed in silence over his suggestion. I could already feel my pussy throbbing, and he had yet to touch me. I swallowed a larger gulp of wine, trying to distract myself.

“I already told you,” he said as he refilled his glass and topped mine off. “But since you are so inclined to change the subject, how’s your sister doing?”

“Samantha is a train wreck, although—and it seems wrong as hell—she is as gorgeous as ever.”

“And the baby?”

“My mother is taking care of Sarah, who is a love. I just don’t understand why Samantha wouldn’t give her up for adoption when she seems to have no interest in raising her.”

“Where is she staying these days? Is she still seeing the same therapist?” He shifted closer to me, nonchalantly laying his hand on my thigh.

I stared at his fingers, feeling the energy radiating from his palm. His touch caused wetness to gather in my panties. “Uh ummm,” I said, abruptly pushing his hand off me. “She’s living in an apartment with her latest criminal boyfriend. As horrible as it sounds, I’m just grateful she’s not at my place. And no, she stopped seeing the therapist when he insisted she needed to grieve our father’s death. She ranted on about it to me. She said, ‘I’m twenty-fucking-five years old, and they want me to grieve something that happened when I was nine.’ She told him to get a life and to fuck off. She never went back.”

“Sorry, babe. She’s a good kid, deep down,” he said, shaking his head.

“Let’s hope it surfaces soon … for her sake and Sarah’s.”

“What about your boss? Is work any better?”

“He’s still a huge asshole. I long for the days when he was still on his best behavior. Now he’s just a bull in a china shop, running over everyone. But really, I’d rather not talk about work on my day off.”

He threw his arm around my shoulders and said, “I’ve got some great dope. Want a hit?”

“I’m exhausted because some crazy man got me out of bed at three thirty in the morning.”

“This stuff will perk you up.”

I finished off the glass of wine and said, “Oh? Well, can I crash on your couch tonight?”

“Bed and of course.” He winked.

“Couch! And stop winking at me.”

“I guess we shall see?” His relentless stare penetrated my blue-green eyes.

“What about your promise to behave?”

“I’m incapable of behaving when I’m alone with you.”

With sheer will I pulled away from his gaze. I wanted to swipe that confident smile off his face. It had been six months and three days since I had succumbed to his charms, and like an addict attending AA, I had no intention of starting back on day one.

Lainie, my closest friend other than Bond, remind me often, most especially when I complained about Bond to her, how ill-conceived it was to be friends with an old lover. According to her, I’d never gotten over him.

Bond handed me the pipe, and I took a hit. I held in the smoke for a bit, and when I breathed out, I, at once, felt more relaxed and energized. It didn’t lessen the tug on my libido though.

“It’s been awhile since you and I spent any time alone together,” Bond said, pulling me back against him.

I sighed, feeling like I’d come home again. “Mmmhmm,” I muttered.

He took advantage of my relaxation and drew me in for a kiss.

“Wait!” I said, trying to hold him off.

“Don’t play games with me, Jacqs. I can already smell your cunt, and it’s driving me insane.” When his mouth descended on mine, my mind lost the fight, and my body started making all the decisions.

As I shifted my legs across his lap, I threw my arms around his neck, and took in his naturally appealing fragrance. I wanted more; I needed to be closer. My rational mind made one last attempt, trying to persuade me how much I would regret my decision to have sex with him. I mentally kicked her away, deciding to suffer the consequences later.

Bond groaned into my mouth as he schooled me with his tongue. No one had ever tasted so good; I just wanted to eat him alive. He shifted my body around so I straddled his lap, and I felt his profound interest. The forcefulness of his continued kiss compelled my submission. In those moments when my body ruled, the desire to give myself over to him resurfaced.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. “You have the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen,” he said, as he had before.

I figured he said similar things to his other women, but I didn’t care in the least. All I wanted was for him to take me roughly, so the rest of my world would fall away.

He lifted the hem of my dress off my thighs revealing my white bikini panties. He rubbed my pussy through the thin cloth.

“Jesus, Jacqs, already so wet for me? You’re good for my ego.” He continued circling the way he knew I liked.

“Your ego … oh … doesn’t need … any help!”

“Shh,” he said.

I almost lost control when he slipped the material to the side and plunged his middle finger into my wetness. “Ohhh,” I moaned.

Scooping up my juices, he lathered my bulging clit. “Look how hard and swollen you are already. You haven’t been using this enough,” he whispered into my ear as he lightly pinched my bud between his fingers. Then he laid his hand flat and made big circles, alternating between soft and slow and a hard frantic rhythm. He propelled me higher and higher.

“Stand,” he ordered as I hovered at the edge of a powerful orgasm.

I quickly obeyed.

He tore off my panties and let them fall to the floor. Repositioning me on his lap, he resumed his play and placed a finger from his free hand into my mouth. “Make it good and wet.”

Holding me right at the edge of release, he softened the pressure on my clit and inserted his saliva-wetted finger into my ass. As soon as he penetrated my anal opening, which had to have been his wicked intention, I screamed out my climax, “Oh, oh, oh, yes, oh Bond, you make me … ohhh!” I breathed erratically as my heart tried to beat its way out of my ribcage.

He held me tight against his chest as I recovered, slowly floating back down to earth. “I’ve missed you,” he muttered into my hair.

That lone comment began to thaw my heart and melt my resistance. I won’t make this into more than it is, I promised myself.

“A lot,” he continued, “and seeing your face as you come, there’s nothing else like it.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” I said, but could feel my mind shaking her finger at me.

“Please undress me,” he said in a domineering yet quiet voice.

I tilted upright and pulled up his shirt, revealing his smooth chest, taut stomach, and small silver nipple rings. He lifted up slightly so I could yank the top out from around him. On his right shoulder was an intricate Celtic knot surrounded by the flames of the sun, which covered an earlier tattoo I had once seen before he had it reworked. The underlying faded blue tat had one Celtic knot intertwined with a heart, and flames crowning the top. It was much smaller and poorly done, but I still wondered what it meant. Bond never liked talking about it.

My eyes shifted away from the tattoo and moved down his chest, following the trail of hair leading into his pants. Shifting my butt back towards his knees, I unzipped his jeans. I stepped down from his lap to sit at his feet in order to remove each black boot. I had to tug to get them free. I then slipped the denim down his legs easily.

He wore no underwear, leaving his magnificent cock standing at attention.

“Kneel,” he said, although he needn’t bother. The pearl of precum had already garnered my attention.

Obliging him, I settled between his knees and lifted his hard erection to my lips. He let me play for a few minutes, but it would be short lived. Before he took control of my mouth and his blowjob, I had time to take in his masculine scent of warm skin and sandalwood, and the musky taste of his cock, which had long been embedded in my psyche. I could have knelt there forever worshipping his phallus, but Bond didn’t have the patience for that. I knew where he planned to send his first ejaculation.

Once I had worked his cock halfway into my mouth, he tilted my head up and forced the rest of his engorged dick into my throat. My eyes watered as I struggled to maintain eye contact, wanting to see him as he took from me what he needed. He shifted himself to the edge of the couch and slowly pulled himself out of my mouth, allowing me to swallow and take a breath.

“I love that mouth of yours, Jacqs. My cock belongs there. It’s been way too long, don’t you think?”

Before I had a chance to respond, he soused past my lips, forcing himself in until I felt his balls on my chin. Back and forth he moved, never breaking eye contact and our connection. His cock swelled even more as his orgasm hovered close.

The last time he pulled out he said, “Take a deep breath for me honey.”

I nodded and did as he asked.

He immersed his shaft back into my throat and held it there as he bellowed his release. “Fuck Jacqs! Just as I remembered, oh fuuuck.”

My eyes continued to tear as I watched his climax through a blur. I felt both powerful—that I could give Bond such an intense orgasm when he could have anyone—and in awe of his sexuality and the spell he cast over me.

“Jesus,” he said, as he finally withdrew his cock.

I licked my lips and made a popping sound.

He chuckled as he reclined against the couch and closed his eyes.

Resting against his left leg, I snuggled close. I lifted his semi-hard cock and licked off the come oozing out of the tip.

“Do you know what will happen if you continue doing that?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm,” I muttered.

After he had recovered, he reached down and pulled me back into his lap. I couldn’t help but swivel my butt, making Bond laugh.

“You sure are a horny girl, Jacqs. I think you should visit me more often.”

“You have plenty of women to provide services for you.”

“First off, none are like you. And secondly, I was talking about you.”

“Let’s not talk,” I said. I would berate myself the next day for my current indiscretions, but I had no plans on stopping at one orgasm.

“As you wish. Let’s move this to the bedroom.”

He stood up with me in his arms, and I wrapped my legs around his fit waist. In quick, confident strides, he entered the bedroom and placed me down at the edge of the high mattress.

“I’m always amazed at how quickly I recover for you,” he said, staring down at me.

With my legs hanging off the end of the bed I leaned back on my hands and said, “Shall I believe it takes longer with the rest of your harem?”

“Believe what you want.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Don’t get snarky, Bond.”

“You’re right, let’s not talk.”

Our brief conversation hadn’t dissuaded his cock. Clutching my thighs, he pulled my ass just over the edge of the bed and lowered himself, propping his upper body over mine. I held my knees back, opening myself to him. His hard-on penetrated my enflamed pussy, and after two strokes, he was fully immersed.

He groaned in ecstasy and I moaned in unison, making us both smile. Bond filled me in a way no other man had, and I enjoyed every second of it.

Our pace became frantic as we slammed our bodies together, and I could feel our perspiration building.

Bond slowed his thrusts and said, “Play with your clit, Jacqs. I want to feel you come with me.”

I hesitated, still feeling the discomfort that came along with touching myself around other people. Even with my history with Bond, I still felt self-conscious.

“Do you need some motivation?” he said, glancing at the rack that held his instruments of torture.

“No,” I said, letting go of my right knee and circling my clit. I placed my other hand down on the bed to propel myself against Bond’s delicious assault.

“Jacqs!” he grunted, and I knew what he meant. I had let my eyes drift shut, and he demanded eye contact during sex at all times.

“Yes sir!” I practically spat out.

“Good girl.”

I circled my nub in time with his lunges and grunted each time he crashed against me. It didn’t take long to get right to the very edge, sparking small orgasms leading up to the big one.

“Bond, I’m close.”

“So am I love. Take me over the brink with you.”

“Okay … okay … oh lord, oh yes, here we go! Ohhh.”

My pussy clutched and convulsed around Bond’s cock, causing his orgasm to fire along with mine. A roll of thunder that seemed to start in his chest escaped his mouth in a roar that deafened us both. His explosion filled me with his energy and come.

He collapsed on top of me, shifting slightly to the side. I just lay there, dead to the world, floating in the afterglow.

“Jesus, Jacqs. Do you have special powers in that pussy of yours?”

“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I think I have sex amnesia with you.”

“Sex amnesia? That’s a new one. Do tell.” I wondered where he came up with his bullshit.

“Well, if I remembered how great sex was with you, I’d be following you around all the time.”

I laughed at him. “Uh huh,” I said, scooting over to get around him.

“Where are you going?” He grabbed my waist to keep me in place.

“To clean up,” I said, gesturing to my saturated labia, “and to brush my teeth.”

“Okay, hurry back.”

Once I had finished up in the bathroom, I climbed into bed, and we got into our usual sleeping configuration. My right cheek lay on his left shoulder, and my left leg crossed over his stomach. His left arm cuddled me in close, and we both started drifting off. I would berate myself in the morning, most especially when Bond morphed back to his usual self, but in that moment, before sleep overtook me, I felt blissful.


“Last night was a mistake and shouldn’t have happened. Next time call Red.”

“Come on, Jacqs, don’t pull away from me.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I said, throwing my hands out in front of me.

“I’m not.”

“Bond, I love you, but you’re delusional. You are kicking me out of your apartment so you can yacht with some rich chicks Red has drummed up, and yet, you’re acting like I’m shunning you after you have awakened me with kisses and a warm breakfast. Really, dude?”

“Oh, no,” Red said as he strolled into the apartment, “she’s calling you dude. That can’t be good.”

“Fuck off Red. I’m not in the mood,” I said, spinning around with my hands on my hips.

“Are you ever? I mean other than last night, obviously. And I had actually started growing some respect for you but now…” He swept his hand around as if the gesture said everything.

“You and the Neanderthal deserve each other,” I spewed at Bond.

I punched the big brute in the stomach, and he just laughed.

At six feet two, Red towered over me by a foot. Everything about him was big. He had a large head and huge hands, and even as much as I hated him, I wondered just how big his cock might be. He had small gauges in both earlobes and full lips. He kept his beard and hair shortly cropped, which highlighted the sharp planes of his face. Bond had dubbed him “Red” when they first met at their private high school. His hair fit the name; even the hair under his arms and on his chest was red.

He, like Bond, had one tattoo. His was much larger due to the sheer scale of his size and its location; the tattoo spread out across the top of his back between his shoulder blades. It was a green Celtic tree created by a complex series of knots that illustrated the trunk, roots, and branches.

I never understood the friendship between them, but they seemed to have a history that kept them close. Where Bond had flitted between different jobs and apartments over the years, Red seemed far more stable, owning a house and a successful investment firm.

“You’re still coming over to Red’s later, right?” Bond asked. “We can talk then.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. And when are you going to start hanging out somewhere else? Don’t you realize that your guard dog doesn’t like me?”

“How wrong you are about that, Jacqs,” Bond said.

I stared at both of them, absolutely sure they were just fucking with me, but I could have sworn Red’s ears went crimson.

“It’s time for you to leave, Little One,” Red said.

I hated when he called me that, but Neanderthal and Little One had become our snarky nicknames for each other.

“I’m going,” I said, grabbing my keys and purple hoodie off the entrance table on my way out.




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Come take a look inside ARMAGEDDONVILLE by Jay El Mitchell








My grandfather owned a cabin on Lake Moorwood, nestled in the Appalachian Mountains. Dad would take me up there for one week every summer for generic father/son bonding. Fishing, chopping wood, etc. He called it a respite from the evils of modern day society. I did not share my father’s dislike of technology but I always loved going to the cabin. Following his death ten years ago, the cabin became my inheritance. It wasn’t until six weeks ago that I ventured back.

My name is Thomas Sullivan. On a personal level, people call me Sully. Professionally I am known as T.X. Sullivan. At twenty-nine, I’ve had two novels on the best-seller list. Never above the #4 slot, but that’s not much of a sore spot for me. I get paid handsomely doing what I love, and that’s a sweet gig. Last year a big-name director decided my book Last Hollow was worthy of the big screen. It’s in post-production now, set for release soon, and according to what I’ve heard, is predicted to be a summer smash hit. Up until six weeks ago I was on cloud nine. Best-selling books, a movie, engaged to a beautiful actress named Corrine. It was all sunshine and rainbows. Too good to be true.

I twisted the top from another beer, took a long swallow. Tomorrow I’d be heading back to the city and I intended to be hungover for the trip. To be honest, for the last six weeks I’ve either been drunk or hungover, or some combination of the two. No sense in breaking protocol my last night on the lake.

A soft scratching brought my attention to the front door. I weaved my way over and opened it. Sterling sauntered in, tail wagging and tongue lolling in vapid canine joy.

“Been chasing deer again, haven’t you?” I said, returning to my spot on the sofa. “One of these days you’re going to run into a pissed off stag, and I doubt you’ll find it so amusing.”

The dog slurped from his water dish for a good twenty seconds before he came to me, nuzzling his head into my lap, dark eyes full of adoration. I rewarded him with scratching behind the ears and reassurances that he was a good boy. When I finished scratching he turned his attention to the items on the coffee table. He sniffed my beer, my handwritten manuscript, and the diamond ring.

“You miss her, don’t you, buddy?” I said. His tail swept briefly back and forth. “Well she’s not coming back. She cheated on us. She had another man. Probably had another dog, too.” Sterling chuffed. “You’re in denial. She probably even had a cat.”

Corrine and I got together shortly after the success of my first novel. Up until that point, most of her acting credits involved independent films and a handful of commercials. When Last Hollow was being cast I got her the audition, but even I have to admit she got the part based on her own talent. Sometimes I wonder if I still would have pulled those strings if the male lead had already been cast. Probably. I trusted her. It never occurred to me to be concerned about the pretty boy A-list Irish actor the director had managed to procure for the role. That actor had his choice of a plethora of starlets, yet he had to have my fiance.

“Now I know I can’t blame him,” I told the dog, who had settled into a furry gray mound on the floor at my feet. “She’s the one who wronged me. In fact, I should be grateful to him. This way, I found out she was a gold-digging whore before I married her. See? He did me a favor.” I took another swallow. “That mick asshole.”

When I placed the empty bottle on the coffee table I found myself considering the dark screen of my cell phone. For the majority of the past six weeks I left it off. The whole point of coming out here was to get away and clear my head. Or, more accurately, drink until my head was too full of alcohol to be occupied by anything else. I had turned the cell on occasionally, mostly just to respond to my agent’s many texts. I figured if I didn’t check in at least once a week he’d send the local sheriff to my door to make sure I hadn’t offed myself. Although John never came right out and said it, he did elude to it. There was no need for concern. I would be lying if I said the idea of suicide had never crossed my mind during the last few weeks, but always fleetingly. After all, someone had to take care of Sterling. The lovable but dumb animal had little to no survival instincts and would probably starve to death out here if left to his own devices.

I tapped the cell screen and it came to life. The signal was weak way out of here so calls were a problem, but texts seemed to go through just fine. John hadn’t texted in a while, not sure exactly how long, what with the drinking and all. A few days, maybe a week. That was curious. For the four weeks it was an every other day annoyance. Maybe his wife had finally gone into labor and he was too busy doing new father stuff to stalk me via text message.

“You know, I suggested they name the kid after you,” I told the dog, whose tail swished. “John thought I was joking.”

I weaved over to the fridge where more beer waited. At this point that was pretty much all that was left. I’d made one trip to town three weeks ago to restock my supplies, mainly cases of beer and several bottles of Jack Daniels, but also frozen hamburger, potatoes, bottled water, and several thirty-gallon gas cans to keep the generator going. As I returned to the couch it occurred to me, not for the first time, that I could stay here. Just live out here in the wilderness like a hermit, writing, drinking, and waiting for cirrhosis or kidney failure to do me in. I have no job or family to return to. I am only child, and my mother died last year. The few hold-over friends I still have from high school live elsewhere now, and are so engrossed in their own lives we only talk every couple of months, and meet up only every year or two. And even if I never write another novel the royalties from the other two, in addition to the upcoming movie, would be plenty to sustain this existence for the rest of my life.

“Should we stay here, boy?” I asked, scratching him behind the ears. His tail thumped against my leg. “I’ll drink and write, and you’ll chase squirrels and deer. Maybe you’ll even become brave enough to come out on the boat with me.”

No matter what I told the dog, I knew tomorrow I would put my duffel bags in the SUV and head back to civilization. Maybe I’d return in a few months to live out my days in wooded isolation. Until then, I have a movie premiere to attend. I’ll shave off weeks of neglected facial hair, get a haircut, buy a tailored suit, and smile through the goddamn thing, pretending I don’t want both of my lead actors to die in a car fire on the way to the after party. I still have my pride, or at least something like it.

The next day, Friday April 18th, I woke up around 9am to the most mild hangover I had experienced in weeks. Some food, coffee and water mostly perked me up, and I had the truck packed by 11. I turned off the generator and beckoned Sterling into the vehicle. I paused by the driver’s door, surveying the cabin, the trees, the gentle slope leading down to the lake. I’d remembered to pull in the canoe and flip it upside down so it would not fill with rainwater. I’d also locked the cabin doors. All was as it should be, yet I hesitated.

I couldn’t honestly say I’d been happy here these last six weeks, but I had managed to attain a sort of peaceful melancholy that mimicked contentment. It was comfortable. I’ve never been an especially depressed or bitter person but I have usually preferred to be alone, even as a child. I loved my parents (still do, and miss them) and cared for my small circle of friends, but generally chose solitary pursuits over their company. Maybe that’s why I have always been so drawn to writing: creating characters gives one a sense of interaction while remaining alone.

Leaving the cabin meant leaving behind that sense of contentment, even if it was a false one lubricated by copious amounts of alcohol. It meant going back to the real world, with real people, full of motivations and actions and thoughts completely independent from what I put on the page. Real people, with all their looks, their questions, and needs. The real world, where I’m not just Sully, drunken master of good Sterling, but T.X. Sullivan, wordsmith, cuckholded by the two people hired to bring my creations to life.

I can’t delude myself into thinking one screenplay is going to catapult me to the level of true celebrity. Excluding A-list powerhouse writer/directors like Spielberg and Tarantino, do you know the names of the people who wrote your favorite movies? Probably not. But you know the actors. You follow their blogs, read their interviews, judge and cluck at their every indiscretion and mishap. Such as an actor banging his engaged co-star, perhaps?

Maybe that is what I’m really running away from. I’ve been cheated on before, and yes it hurts, but it never motivated me to withdraw completely from everyone and everything. In the former instances I drank, I bitched to friends in bars, I cried in private, licked my wounds and moved on. Granted, the other two girls who cheated on me had never agreed to becoming my wife, which ups the emotional stakes considerably. But still, I think it’s the celebrity aspect.

It sucks to have your friends, family, and acquaintances know you were cheated on. The idea of the world knowing -blurbs on celebrity blogs and in magazines, the affair being dissected by hosts of daytime talk shows with tones of practiced pity just barely masking their dark glee- takes it to a whole other overwhelming level. One I admit I could not handle.

Sterling gave a quick bark, startling me out of my reverie. He was perched on the passenger seat, tongue lolling, ready to go. I opened the door and climbed in.

“So sorry to have kept you waiting, fuzzy butt,” I said, inserting the key into the ignition. “I was just plumbing the depths of my soul, which is selfish of me I know, when you could be sticking your head out of a moving vehicle.”

Sterling appeared to grin, as all happy dogs do, and when I rolled down the passenger window he immediately shoved his head through the opening.

As I put the SUV in drive I said, “I’ve always felt a little guilty for having you neutered, but you seem perfectly content this way. Maybe I should look into a similar procedure. It would definitely simplify things.”

The drive from Moorwood to the nearest town, Fosston, takes an hour and a half. The first hour is careful navigation through pitted dirt roads partially engulfed by forest flora, and the last thirty minutes is lonely back highways straddled by occasional stone quarries cut into the sides of the mountain. By about halfway down your ears pop, and if they don’t, you pray to your god that they will soon. The elevation change seemed to have no effect on my furry companion. His head was out the window the majority of the slow, cautious part of the trip. When we hit the highway and accelerated to 50mph, he finally retracted his head and settled into the seat, looking at the window at the landscape rolling by.

During the journey we listened to my mp3 player, mostly a mix of 70’s and 80’s rock and punk, and due to my father’s influence, a few classic country artists like Johnny Cash thrown in. I kept skipping the love songs.

About four miles into the stretch of highway we passed a car abandoned on the shoulder. I saw no one milling around and thought little of it, singing along to “Purple Haze.” A few miles down we passed a second vehicle, similarly abandoned. I frowned and kept going. As Jimi Hendrix was giving way to the Sex Pistols we came upon a third car, a brown sedan, straddling the yellow line in the middle of the road. I saw it in plenty of time to slow down and slipped partially onto the shoulder to give it a wide berth. When I saw a person inside I pulled entirely onto the dirt shoulder and parked the vehicle. As I reached for the door handle I told Sterling, “Stay.” My ever-obedient dog tried to squeeze out after me but I shoved the door closed. He looked through the glass at me, wearing a canine expression I interpreted as hey, no fair. After six weeks alone I might have been nutty enough to personify the mutt in my own mind but not so far gone I felt obligated to pause and debate with him in the middle of the highway. I turned and approached the car.

My intellectual mind was focused on the facts: stationary car in the road, person inside, possibly needing assistance in the form of emergency responders, or maybe just a tow. My subconscious mind, or something more instinctual, closer to Sterling’s mindset, must have sensed differently because as I moved toward the car my heart rate kicked up and my stomach began to wind itself into knots.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

She was slumped over the steering wheel, long blonde hair concealing her face entirely from my view. She did not react to the sound of my voice. I tapped on the window and tried the handle. Locked. “Ma’am-“

Barking and snarling erupted inside, causing me to jump back while my mouth let loose some profanity without my consent. A dog, some mid-sized light brown terrier, jumped from elsewhere in the car to the back seat window, issuing vicious warnings at me. The woman did not stir at the sound, which I figured meant she was far beyond my help.

Ignoring the dog, I leaned in closer to the car, trying to make sense of the situation. All I could see was the woman’s arms lying motionless in her lap, skin a deep brown, nearly black. A purse on the passenger seat had been tipped onto its side, contents spilling out. Makeup, a wallet, a pack of tissues.

Although I knew it was pointless I could not stop myself from asking one last time, “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” I guess I just wanted to pretend that I didn’t know what I knew. Dead woman driving.

I took a step back, surveying the dog. Even as it growled and spat hatred at me I felt pity for it. Locked in a car with its dead master, yet bound by canine law to protect her. It was touching in a horrible, gut-wrenching way, and somehow even more sad than the reality of the woman dead in the front seat. Undoubtedly the worst thing I had ever seen, including the funerals for both of my parents.

That moment held its title of Worst Thingfor only a few seconds.

My eyes fell away from the dog to the rest of the car’s interior. My breath caught in my throat as my mind tried to reject what my eyes were seeing. A car seat, bright pink fabric decorated with happy flowers. Secured in it, what looked like an oversized baby doll, but of a kind designed and manufactured exclusively in hell. The blonde hair matched the woman’s and looked normal enough, but the tiny slender arm hanging motionlessly was a horrible pale marred by greenish whorls, and the face. . . oh Christ, the face. Part of the lip was gone, revealing teeth and the muscle underneath. . .

I stumbled backward, tripped, and landed on my ass on the blacktop. Based on the bruises and later soreness it must have hurt, but at the time I was too full of horror and adrenalin to register something as insignificant as pain. I scrambled to my feet, eyes on the dog, trying not to see the reddish brown stains on its muzzle and then when I had to admit I did see, refusing to acknowledge what it meant. I stumbled back to my SUV, nausea rolling in my stomach. I still don’t know why but when I got inside I locked the door. As if the security mechanism would somehow protect me from what I had just seen.

I realized I was repeating the word “Fuck!” When I became aware of it I managed to stop, and grabbed my cell phone with trembling hands. 911. Still too far out, not enough signal. The call would not go through. I hit the steering wheel in frustration, unintentionally causing a bleat from the horn. The sound startled me, causing a full-body jump. I laughed. I had to. It was either that, or succumb to the full-out madness I had been courting the last several weeks,.

Sterling forced his head into my lap. He is well-traveled, and under normal circumstances would never enter my personal space while I’m in the driver’s seat. I ran a hand down his neck, along his spine. He was shaking. Perhaps his animal instincts were sharper than I’d reckoned, and had alerted him to the death outside. Or the other dog’s anger had spooked him. Or maybe he was simply reacting to my reaction. For whatever the reason, he was scared, and it was my place to soothe him with some petting and reassurances, and soon I was also calmed.

When I spoke my voice was unsteady but at least sounded sane. “Promise you’ll never eat me?” I started the vehicle and rolled forward, pausing to look in the rearview mirror. I didn’t want to leave that car, but had to get closer to town to get a signal. I would call 911, direct them to the scene, and come right back. I knew both the woman and the girl were beyond my help, but it still didn’t feel right, leaving them alone.




Did you like what you read? Would you like to read more? You can purchase your copy of Armageddonville at the following locations.


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Dark Love by T. L. Clark

T L Clark Book Image 2




Have a peek inside Dark Love by T.L. Clark








Chapter 1


Lucy hated going into Melanie’s office, the woman gave her the creeps without her really knowing why. Maybe it was her almost gothic appearance; she had pale skin but long black hair swept up in a chignon and her dark narrow eyes. Whatever it was, she was trying to keep calm as she handed her the papers from her own boss. Lucy was the PA to one of the other directors in the high finance firm, and he’d asked Lucy to take these papers into Melanie urgently. Unlike the other PAs, Jonathan (Melanie’s underling) sat at a desk within his boss’ office. Lucy smiled at him as she said good morning. She felt sorry for him; he hardly ever spoke unless it was to answer the phone. She looked at his sweet puppy dog brown eyes as he murmured his bashful good morning response. Melanie’s hand went to the silver chain at her neck as she spoke to Lucy, “Thank you, Lucy.” She took the prompt as her dismissal and hastily beat a retreat to the safety of her own desk. How did Jonathan put up with her? She was so stern and scary.

Once Lucy was safely out of her office, Melanie scowled at Jonathan. “Call her!” she commanded. Jonathan needed no more information, he knew exactly who the ‘her’ was and just how much trouble he was in. In fact, seeing her fingers touch her necklace was all the instruction he’d really required.

Sure enough, that evening ‘Veronica’ arrived at Melanie’s house on the outskirts of London. She had purchased it partly because it was a good investment for some of her bonus money, but also because it was detached with a private gated road and for its basement where Jonathan was now waiting for his correction. His Domina (Melanie herself) was not in her standard S&M black leather tonight. She was wearing a black and red corset and black stockings. The ones she knew he liked. The long red silk gloves and bright red lipstick finished the ensemble. Veronica was smiling her own appreciation. She had once been a submissive herself, but her Dominant had turned her away when he found someone new. He had always been fickle with a short attention span. But since then she had become more of a freelance prostitute, not wanting to replace her master. He had been her first and maybe last. She had met Melanie at a sex party and the two had found a concord with each other. Besides, Melanie paid well, and she quite liked helping with Jonathan’s corrections; there was something about him that made her jealous. Plus she got to release some of her own tension in the process.

Melanie usually liked Jonathan to wear his Spartan outfit in their scenes, and tonight was no exception. With her help, his pecs had developed nicely, so his chest was on full view. He was wearing nothing but a leather ‘skirt’ and long red cloak, and was kneeling in his assigned spot, head lowered. That and a leather collar which was chained to a metal ring on the wall next to the black four poster bed. The basement room was painted black all over, and there were black candles lit in the wall sconces. The bed was covered in red satin (impractical but Melanie liked the feel of it next to her skin). Tonight, the standing lamps with their red coverings had also been switched on.

“Stand!” Melanie commanded, and he obeyed, eyes still lowered. “Wall!” He stood facing the wall with his palms resting on it as he leaned forward, and carefully raised the flaps on the back of his leather covering. He had placed the whip he knew she’d want in the stand for her, which she now took in her hand, and struck the air to make a cracking sound with it.

“What have you to say?” she hissed.

“Sorry Mistress.”

“You know what you did, don’t you?”

“Yes, sorry Mistress.”

“You know I hate you looking at other women. You’re mine! Do you hear me?”

“Yes Mistress.” Crack! The whip struck his ‘ripe as peaches’ buttocks.

“I think you do it on purpose to taunt me.”

“No Mistress. I’m sorry Mistress.” Crack again!

“Naughty puppy!” Crack! There were red welts where she’d struck him, but he didn’t flinch.

“Well, since you like looking at women so much you can watch us tonight. Watch us and only us, nowhere else. Nod that you understand!” He assented. “But don’t embarrass Veronica; she doesn’t want to see your ugly, pathetic excuse of a cock peering at her. No arousal. Hear me?” He nodded again. “Take your position!” He knelt next to the bed, where he would get a full view of everything that the ladies did. Veronica was in her early twenties, Melanie in her early fifties, but Veronica still envied the Domina’s figure; she was well toned and slender. She worked out every day to keep it that way. With her, Melanie was not a dominant per se, but she was still in control. Melanie laid down on the red satin and held Veronica’s hand to bring her closer. “My puppy likes to look at girls. Do you want to show him how to lap like a kitten instead?” Veronica perched herself at the foot of the bed, “Yes, Mistress Eigengrau.” It was out of respect for Melanie that she used that name, not because she had to. Veronica slid her fingers to Mistress Eigengrau’s lacy thong and skimmed them off her milky white thighs, which parted in anticipation. Veronica knew her client well, and went straight for her sensitive spot with her tongue, making small lapping strokes at first. “Yes. Good girl. That’s it. There.” Mistress Eigengrau encouraged, whilst keeping an eye on the ever watchful Jonathan. Veronica let out soft mewing sounds as she slowly turned her laps into licks, flooding her mouth with her client’s silky moistness. Miss E was now starting to make her own groans and was beginning to rock her hips. Taking her cue, Veronica took a long hard suck on the clitoris in her mouth, making Miss E come. “Good girl! Ah; very good girl!” she moaned appreciatively.

Jonathan was finding the non-arousal command easy to obey. Although watching this should have been horny as hell, he felt an antipathy towards Veronica, which had been encouraged. Besides, he’d been well trained; he saw without seeing.

Miss E grabbed the twin-ended  strap-on from the side stand, and fastened it on herself. “Time for your reward.” She whispered to Veronica. Actually, it was part of her own power trip. She loved the feeling that she was in command as a man would be, giving pleasure to a woman. Veronica was on her back now. “Are you ready?” Miss E asked as she rubbed the girl’s luscious lips, only to find her sleek answer at her fingertips. She parted her legs so Miss E could plunge the dildo in. Veronica uncupped her breasts from her basque, ready for Miss E’s fondling, and if she was lucky, her kisses. She was indeed in a generous mood, if only to put on more of a show for Jonathan. She sucked on the girl’s breasts sumptuously before starting her slow pushes and pulls. Veronica revelled in the satisfaction of the feeling. It was smoother and more filling than many of the men she had, and gentler too. Their bodies merged and writhed, as they built the friction between them. Miss E let the girl come before letting go of her own release.

“You can look away now!” She told Jonathan as Veronica got up. This was not a romantic episode; no need for kisses and cuddles after the act. She had done her job, and now it was time to go. “Let yourself out!” Miss E commanded. Veronica nodded and slipped out of the room. Mistress Eigengrau beckoned her Sub over. She put a small bowl of food on the floor for him and spat in it (showing just how pissed off she was still). Once he’d eaten his food under her foot she undid his chain. “Come here and show me you’re mine!” She said a little more softly. She was about to leave him for a week, whilst she went on a hedonistic holiday. She liked to go as a ‘single lady’ so left him at home for the week whilst she had her fun. But she was going to miss him, and just wanted to be with him right now. She stripped him out of his uniform and removed her corset and stockings. Naked, they left the basement and went to the sanctuary of her own bedroom. This was an exceptionally rare event, which oddly made this feel more of a taboo than the kinky stuff they did normally. This was as close as they ever got to admitting their love to one another. She surprised him even further by being the one to lie down first. She was always on top. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. “It’s OK. You can come here.” She soothed, but he was frozen to the spot.

“Jonathan, here!” He just stood there, looking confused, so she got up and hugged him. Actually hugged him! “I’m going to miss you when I’m away.”

“I’m going to miss you too, Mistress.” He looked so sad and lost like this.

She knew this was a mistake. No, she’d not take him here. She’d had a moment of weakness. She took him back down to the basement dungeon where he got up on the bed on all fours. She slapped his arse hard. Ahhh; that felt better! He looked over his shoulder at her, his grin was impossible to hide. She spanked him again, making his erection grow a bit more. “There’s my good boy!” she chortled, hitting him again and again. When he was good and ready she gave the word, and he laid back for her, letting her fasten his wrists above his head. She mounted him quickly. She really needed this tonight. Veronica had been fun, but this was much more than that. This was her conserving the memory of her lover. She really was going to miss him, but she’d soon be caught up in the fun. She wasn’t going to pine. It’s just she liked what they did here. It was hard to beat, but sometimes a girl needed some variety.

She felt him sliding in and out of her as she rose and fell on his cock. She clung onto the bars hanging down from the ceiling to increase the motion. She let go to tweak his nipples, pinching them hard. Hard enough that he let out a small yelp, a combination of pain and pleasure. She felt his urgency increase so she leant forward and clamped her teeth where she’d just pinched. He hissed through his teeth. She looked him in the eyes, which were oddly not covered by his blindfold today. She licked his lower lip tantalisingly. It sent shivers through his entire body. His beautiful brown eyes were alight with excitement. She bit that beautiful lower lip, making him flex his hips. She grabbed onto his shoulders and rode him in earnest. Harder and faster until she came and then withdrew. She looked at him, lying there. OK. She wouldn’t deny him today. She remounted and started to move, “You may!” she told him as she reached down and squeezed on his balls, making him come hard and frantically inside of her. “Clean me!” she commanded as she pulled herself up to his face, so he could lick out his cum from her. Once he was done she commented, “I’m going early in the morning, so I won’t see you before I go. Just be a good boy whilst I’m gone.”

“Yes, of course Mistress.” With that she strode upstairs, leaving him to clean up. He placed the whip back where it belonged and hung his ‘uniform’ up. He cleaned the sex toy in the sink at the far end of the room. He bundled up the sheets to carry them upstairs along with her garments which he was going to have to wash. He flung the sheets in the washing machine, but would only switch it on in the morning. He warmed up a cup of milk in the microwave and took it up to his bedroom. He probably should have grown out of the comfort drink by now, but he liked it. And he needed its comforting warmth tonight; being taken up to Melanie’s sanctuary had been an odd shock. He sat on the bed in his spacious bedroom and flicked the TV on. Melanie’s bedroom was the other end of the landing, so she wouldn’t be disturbed. He sipped the milky liquid and smiled, feeling replete. He adored the sex he had with his mistress. The relationship suited him perfectly; it gave him a structure he’d never had. And tonight he’d been allowed his climax. The feeling of satisfaction still flooded through his veins.



Did you like what you read? Would you like to read more? To purchase any of T. L. Clark’s books, go to the following locations.

Amazon US            Amazon UK             Barnes & Noble

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Nasty Cop by B. J. Jackson

Neven Skrgatic Book Image 1




Take a quick look at what Nasty Cop is all about.










Let me tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Michelle. I am thirty-two years old. I work as an accountant in an investment company. Wait, that is not actually true. I worked as an accountant. I was involved in embezzlement of 4.7 million dollars, and I got caught. 

So, why wasn’t I convicted or even charged of embezzlement and money laundering yet? It’s simple, the detective or the Nasty Cop as I call him (not to his face, though), has other plans for me. He started blackmailing me, but it’s not the money he’s after.

I never thought that I was going to get caught, not in a million years! Well, maybe I’m lying again. Maybe I expected on some level it would happen. Maybe, I wanted to be punished, since I hadn’t been properly f….. in last three years, and not f….. at all in the last few months, so a subconscious urge to be punished was almost natural.



Did you like what you read? Would you like to read more? You can purchase your copy of Nasty Cop at the following location.








A Harem Boy’s Saga series by Young

INITIATION- image - high resolution


This provocative story is about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society. He was spirited to the Middle East, from his UK boarding school. He attended the Bahriji School (Oasis,) in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for serving in Harems for the wealthy and elite.

It is also a love story between the young man and his ‘Valet’ who served as his chaperone and mentor during the boy’s Harem service.



Author’s note:

I had a privileged and unique upbringing in Malaysia, where I was known as a “sissy boy.” Following in my brothers’ footsteps, I was sent to an exclusiveboarding school in England. It is there that I was inducted into a clandestine organization, E.R.O.S. The Enlightened Royal Oracle Society. For four years, unbeknownst to my family, I was willingly and happily part of a Harem.

My story has been kept under wraps for close to 45 years. The correct moment has arrived for me to make known my unique education.





Harem Boy- II - Unbridled - image


Unbridled is the sequel to Initiation – A provocative story about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society. He was spirited to the Middle East, from his UK boarding school. He attended the Bahriji School (Oasis,) in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for serving in Harems for the wealthy and elite.

It is also a love story between the young man, his ‘Big Brother’ and his ‘Valet’ who served as his chaperones and mentors during the boy’s Harem services.

This bookfollows the teenagers’ erotic and exotic adventures and experiences at their 2nd Arab Household Harem, the Sekham. They wereapprentices and models, for the household patriarch’s controversial photography project, “Sacred Sex in Sacred Places”.

The author’s experiences present facts that are truthful. Through these truths, which are often demonized by contemporary societies that deem such behaviors inappropriate, the author hopes to dispel condemnations and negativity which relate to his experiences. 

There are 5 – 7 volumes in A Harem Boy’s Saga series.








“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

Lao Tzu


Debauchery is the triquel to A Harem Boy’s Saga, a provocative story about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society through his UK boarding school. From there,he was spirited to the Middle East to attendthe Bahriji(Oasis) School in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for Harem services for the wealthy elite.

It is also a love story between the young man, his ‘Big Brother,’ and his ‘Valet,’ who served as his chaperones and mentors.

This bookfollows the teenagers’ erotic and exotic adventures and experiences at theirthirdArabian Household Harem, the Quwah. There, they became confidants to a prince, assistants inan international dance club venture, “Carousel,”and apprentices and models in a controversial photography project, “Sacred Sex in Sacred Places.”

This story is an account of the author’s experiences. Through these truths, often demonized by contemporary societies that deem such behaviors inappropriate, the author hopes to dispel condemnation and negativity related to sexuality, love, and personal freedom. 



All of Young’s books can be purchased at the following locations.


Amazon US              Amazon UK



No Distance Between Us is available at:










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