Moving On - Halloween Themed Story - An Oldie but a Goodie!

Looking for Halloween themed stories? Here's a brief look at a short story I wrote a few years ago titled Moving On. Excerpts and a summary of reviews for all my stories are available on my website.

Brandt's been trying to rebuild his life, but it's been a difficult year. On this special Halloween night, maybe Graeme can help both Brandt and himself move on.

A Short Story Moving Series - Book 1 of 2 19 pages (PDF) / 5,425 words Cost: $1.99

Moving On (2nd Edition) by Addison Albright - Now available in ebook formats at: Smashwords - Available File Types: MOBI, EPUB, PDF, RTF, LRF, PDB, TXT Amazon Kindle - Kindle Format (AZW) Barnes & Noble - Nook Format (EPUB) The eBook Store from Sony - Sony eReader Format (EPUB) Kobo - Kobo eReader Format (EPUB) All Romance eBooks - Available File Types: PDF, PDB, LIT, HTML, PRC, EPUB, RB OmniLit - Available File Types: PDF, LIT, HTML, PRC, EPUB, RB 1PlaceForRomance - Available File Types: PDF, LIT, PDB, EPUB, HTM, LRF, PRC

On Halloween, Graeme accompanies the love of his life, Brandt, to the annual costume party. This year, though, Brandt isn't dancing with Graeme, he's dancing with a handsome stranger, and Graeme couldn't be happier. On the most mysterious night of the year Graeme has one chance to give his beloved the best gift of all, and he makes the most of it, from the first dance to the final farewell.

An Excerpt

Graeme watched from across the room as Brandt danced slowly with a nice-looking man decked out in a purple, crushed-velvet pimp costume. There were some wild costumes at the Halloween dance party tonight and Brandt was looking extra hot in a tight sailor boy costume.

Graeme didn’t remember seeing the man Brandt was with before, but he’d taken notice of the guy tonight. He’d watched the purple pimp checking out Brandt and finally working up the nerve to approach Brandt for a dance. The man was clearly on the prowl for a hookup, and if there was one thing Graeme wanted tonight, it was for Brandt to finally get laid again. Brandt really needed to move on with his life.The man had been polite and pleasant. He seemed like a nice guy. Not at all predatory—pimp costume notwithstanding. He’d be a good choice for Brandt tonight. They looked good together.

It had been just over a year since Graeme had left Brandt, and it had been a very hard year on Brandt. Hell, it had been hard on both of them, and if Graeme could fix it, he would, but he didn’t know how.

Brandt had been doing pretty well these past few months, but he still wasn’t getting out like he should. Graeme was glad to see that their friends, Jason and John, had been able to convince Brandt to get out of the house to attend this party with them.

As Graeme watched the couple dance, the purple pimp started putting moves on Brandt, squeezing Brandt’s ass and pressing their hips together. Brandt reacted quickly, placing both hands squarely on the man’s chest and heaving. The man let go immediately.

Shaking his head, Graeme had to stop himself from crossing the floor to try to talk some sense into Brandt. Wouldn't do any good, anyway.

The song ended and Brandt stalked to the edge of the dance floor, looking wretched. The purple pimp watched him go, looking confused as hell. Fuck.

Graeme moved closer to Brandt, wanting to be near former lover. He desperately wished there was something, anything, he could do to help Brandt, but what? He'd already tried everything he could think of.

© 2009 Addison Albright (2nd Edition)

© 2008 Addison Albright

Thank you! - Addison Albright

Also available by Addison Albright…

Dreams
Cultivating Love
The Straggler
Nevermore
Cow Pie Bingo
Now and Forever
King Kong vs. The Skinny Pirate
Photo Shoot
Moving On
Moving Along
Dropping Quarters
Born to Be Wild

Click to find Addison on the web…

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Coffee...With a Side of Sympathy -- Rowena Sudbury

A short drabble.

Just when you think everything is going the way you want it to something comes along and upsets the apple cart. Chris sighed as he waited for David to dress.

"Tore the muscle clean off the bone, there's nothing for it but surgery. I know it sucks, you'll be sidelined for months, possibly half the year. The sooner we can get you in the better."

They should have been used to it, hearing news like this. David was anyway, and Chris shifted angrily on the hard bench in the waiting area of the doctor's office. Chris still couldn't wrap his head around David's obsession with building his body, piling muscle on muscle, sculpting himself like a Greek god. Sure, David had tried to explain it hundreds of times, but to Chris it seemed like hiding behind excuses.

There were heated words once they got home; Chris unleashed all the vitriol in his soul.

"Well...this is just business as usual."

David winced as he watched Chris's pinched face. He bit his lower lip, cleared his throat and said, "'Scuse me?"

"Don't," Chris spat out. He turned and strode away. David could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was highly irate. He held his peace as he watched because it was extremely rare for Chris to show his pique this way. Not to say he didn't often get pissed, he just usually didn't get pissed at David.

"I told you didn't I?" Chris's voice was muted.

"Told me what Chris," David said with a sigh. He closed his eyes, willed the pain to ease, willed the blackness to keep from overtaking him.

"That you were working too hard. But no, Mr. Know-it-all says he's just fine. Says he's worked his body this way for years. Says, in essence, that I don't know jack shit about shit."

David didn't open his eyes because he could see Chris's flaming cheeks, lightning bolt eyes, and clenched fists. It would be easy, he knew, to stop the tirade in its tracks. It took a strong will for anyone to corner David this way, and it wouldn't be out of form for him to strike back. But, he couldn't, so he hunched his shoulders and hung his head.

"For fuck's sake David," Chris had come closer; he reached out and roughly jerked David's face upward. "Have the balls to look at me when I'm talking to you. If you had done what I asked you to we wouldn't be in this mess."

"We?" A bit of the accustomed anger made a feeble attempt to course through him. "We aren't in this mess Christopher, I am. I fail to see how it affects you in any way. I'm the one's facing surgery again. I'm the one's on the shelf again. You get to go out, have your drinking parties with the girls."

It was so sudden David wasn't expecting it, but Chris's hand met his cheek in a stinging slap. Whatever air had filled his balloon deflated, and he sunk back, defeated.

"Did it ever occur to you that I miss you when you're down? Is there room in your brain for even a tiny thought that I drink with the girls because it fills the time waiting for you? What the fuck do you expect, that I'm gonna sit in my room and pine away from you while you take yet another four month break?"

The anger began to drain from Chris's face, and he flopped down in a chair with a long expulsion of breath. He reached up and ran an angry hand through his hair. "Don't you ever try to throw this back in my face."

David sat back, kept his face neutral as the sudden shift in weight sent pain tearing through his arm. "I'm not, but I don't want you to make this any worse for me than it already is."

"Too late for that now." Chris spun on his heel, left David sitting in the den alone to stew.

Several hours passed, and David never joined Chris in their bed. At last he flung himself from the bed and grabbed up his robe, went to investigate.

David was still in the den, lying on his side on the futon. Even though Chris knew he would be there, he didn't expect to find him this way, curled into a ball of abject misery.

Chris wanted to keep the anger, wanted to tell David that he flat didn't care. That he brought the whole thing on himself. He was selfish, and careless, and fucking stupid.

Even though Chris had seen David cry before, it was the little tear that ran down from the corner of his eye that was his undoing. He stripped out of the robe and curled in behind David, pulled his cold body close and held him while he cried.

"I'm not made of steel," Chris thought, "his sorrow moves me."

In the morning David had eased somewhat, but Chris could still see the melancholy. Chris roused myself, stood up, gazed down at David.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Coffee."

Chris gathered his robe and left David in the den while he gathered what David wanted.

Sympathy...with a side of coffee.

Free Story: The Hostage Heir by Lenore Black

Summary: Christopher Lucas is hired for the summer to provide security for Jason Keller, heir to the vast Keller fortune. But all is not what it seems. (Loosely based on the fairy tale "The Twelve Dancing Princesses.")

The Hostage Heir
by Lenore Black

"You're here for the security position." The man behind the desk raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Um, yes, sir." Christopher Lucas tried not to squirm under the weight of the scrutiny, resisting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his pants, doing his best to forget that the man behind the desk was one of the wealthiest men in the state. Langston Keller puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like anybody else. It sounded feeble, even in his own head.

Mr. Keller tented his fingers beneath his chin. "The job is to look after my son Jason, to keep him out of trouble."

Christopher wasn't sure what kind of trouble a person could get into in Blue Cove—and he'd lived here all his life—but hey, a job was a job.

"Yes, sir," he answered. "I understand, sir."

After a moment Mr. Keller nodded, as if Christopher had passed some sort of test. "You're never to let Jason out of your sight, not for any reason. You'll work as part of a team. Mr. Walsh will fill you in on the details." He waved his hand in dismissal.

Apparently, Christopher was hired.

A forty-ish man in glasses, wearing a weary expression, was waiting for him out in the hall. "Bill Walsh, head of security here at the Kellers' summer house. So?"

"Mr. Keller said you'd tell me what to do?"

Mr. Walsh let out his breath. "Thank God. Half the people don't make it past the 'eyeball test,' as the old man likes to put it. And I can't keep good help because— Well, anyway, come on. I'll show you to Jason's room, and you can get started. Call me Bill, by the way." He set off briskly down the hall.

Christopher hurried after him, kind of wishing that he'd flunked the eyeball test. Not that babysitting some rich guy's son was the end of the world or anything. It was just a crappy way to spend the summer. Christopher would much rather be out on the boat with his brother, helping with the family fishing business. But since their dad had died three years go, money had been tight. So here he was, stuck with the Kellers until Labor Day.

"This way," Bill said, turning down another corridor.

Like most Blue Cove natives, Christopher had mixed feelings about the summer people who turned their town inside out every May. He had often been curious, though, about the grand homes up here on the promontory. Now that he was actually inside one, he couldn't keep his mouth from dropping open. The marble floor was shiny enough to see his reflection in it. There were so many paintings linging the walls it looked like a museum. Windows stretched all the way to the ceiling, making the sky and sea seem like part of the decor.

"So, here's the deal," Bill said, as they hurried along. "You'll be two hours on with Jason, two hours off doing general patrolling of the grounds. Jason lives to make our lives as difficult as possible, so don't trust him for a second. Don't believe a word he says. Never leave him alone. You'll only get one chance here. Slip up, and you're out."

"But—" Christopher frowned. Why would Jason Keller want to give his own security people a hard time? Weren't they there for his protection? Shouldn't he be glad about that?

Before he could get out any of these questions, Bill added gravely, "I'll try to keep you on day shift, but if the old man decides you're on nights, you're on nights." He stopped outside a door. "Here we are." He clapped Christopher on the back. "Good luck, kid."

You're going to need it hung unsaid in the air.

Bill went striding back down the hall, leaving Christopher to fend for himself. He hesitated outside the door, finally working up the courage to knock. There was no answer, and he stalled there, not sure what to do. He could go after Mr. Walsh, but he'd been very clear that Jason Keller wasn't to be left alone. Christopher took a deep breath and barged on in.

He found himself standing in a living room filled with impossibly expensive things. The rug beneath his feet was so thick and plush it felt like walking on air. The furniture looked to be antiques, covered in pale, fragile-looking fabric. Silk maybe. Christopher wasn't sure. He just knew it was something his fisherman's hands probably shouldn't touch.

"Hello?" he called out.

Still no answer, and he drifted further inside.

In the next room, he found acres of books in floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There was even a sliding ladder, like the one at the town library. A desk sat facing the windows, as if its owner liked to look out at the cliffs. The desk was covered with yet more books, photocopied articles and sheaves of handwritten notes.

Christopher continued on into the next room and stopped in his tracks. In the middle of the space stood a veritable fortress of a bed, with thick wooden posts, an ornately carved headboard, and a wrought iron canopy hung with heavy panels of green velvet. It was the kind of bed, he thought, where a prince should sleep.

"Being stared at is not the most pleasant way to wake up." The voice came from deep within the shadowy recesses of the bed hangings.

Christopher practically jumped out of his skin. He hadn't realized there was someone actually in the bed.

"Oh, um, sorry?" he managed feebly.

The covers rippled, and a young man sat up, fixing Christopher with a resentful glare. Christopher sucked in his breath, possibly loudly enough to be heard. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from Jason Keller, but certainly not the kind of beauty that felt like a punch to the gut—wild chestnut curls and cheekbones sharp enough to cut, creamy skin and big, dark blue eyes.

Jason sighed. "I don't suppose there's any hope of you going away." He threw back the covers and slid out of bed.

Christopher was too busy staring to answer. The top of Jason's black silk pajamas hung open, showing off nipples the color of dark pennies, a flat belly and strong chest. The pajama bottoms barely clung to his hips, like an invitation to... Christopher swallowed hard.


Read the rest of the story at Lenore's blog.

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part nine of ten

Chapter 9 - The Gift

I didn’t know how long I’d slept, waking so stiff and sore that I didn’t want to move. Groans made him smile sheepishly.

“Oops. Don’t move. I’ll get some aspirin,” he breathed warm into my ear.

Slowly I emerged from the sheets. My mind, reliving it all vividly, had held me there more than abused body. He ran a bath for me and need for its healing warmth beseeched me to make my way. I soaked, watching his back as he shaved. That and the razor revealing high cheekbones and strong chin hypnotized me.

Roaming eyes took in shoulders not overly broad, abs strikingly toned and sleek. He had a derrière to die for, just the right amount of curve filling the seat of his favorite aged jeans. He often preferred to lounge in those jeans and I enthusiastically approved. Infinitely touchable, he made me long to reach for him even now but I contented myself with the view and let the pills and warm water do their work. He’d even added Epsom salts to the bath and the thought made me smile.

“What?” he queried, catching my flash of teeth in the mirror.

When I admitted thinking how considerate he was, he came and knelt by the tub. His aspect serious, he slipped a hand below the bubbles to caress my arm.

“It’s because I love you.”

Having contemplated the growing depth of my own emotions over the last few weeks, I replied with virtually no hesitation, “I love you, too.”

‘There, I’ve said it.’

Whether or not this was meant to last, I intended to appreciate every moment of it. Kissing, tongues delicately sucked, warmed me more than the water. His hungry mouth tasted of peppermint mouthwash and I thought of the holiday season still months away. It occurred to me that I’d gotten the greatest gift of all.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I told myself.

He dried me tenderly. Rubbing lotion into chaffed thighs, bruised butt, rough heels, and between toes transported me. This treatment suited royalty in the comfortable chair.

Who truly dominated? Our relationship genuinely one of equals, a typical outsider would surely not understand. Others in similar circumstance would know more how we felt, the intricacies of our interactions and the substantial bond involved. I could tell he spent more time concocting his scenarios than we took enacting them. These exhibitions meant to please me (!) required extensive planning. He gave as much or more than he took.

We really just dabbled in the art of S & M. Although the news would probably stress family and friends, our arrival to this supposedly menacing sexuality had been accidental. Straightforward and unabashed requests led to gradual discovery of our inherent traits, treasure unearthed for which we were both perpetually grateful.

I thought now of our private stop code. “Stop” is too easy to say. Submissives need something of true meaning that can’t be misconstrued by their dominant. That’s when accidental injury can most likely occur. The bar’s name where we met our safe word, he’d let me choose it. His enthused acceptance had made my day.

“Durango” yet to be invoked, the need had never arisen. And I did not remember who suggested we take that step, prudent for continuing recent bedroom behavior. Neither of us wanted to desist nor had any intention of doing so.

Certain he was up for it (he told me!), I planned to eventually top him. I remained unconvinced of my preparedness. There is very real commitment to detail and groundwork to which I am unaccustomed. I had thus far been the grateful submissive throughout.

I lost all track of time in thought and only knew the hour would be considered very late in most places. But this was New York City. We planned attendance at a semi formal gathering. He surprised me again, presenting a lovely gown of red silk. Thin straps crossed the back, cut so low he’d bought matching panties in both color and design. The greatly correspondent undergarment would remain well out of sight.

The bodice of the dress offered a tasteful hint of cleavage and kerchief skirt barely reached mid calf. Completing the look, lace banded stockings rose just to my thighs and high heeled pumps again exactly matched. All in a style I would have readily picked out for myself, I was never so well coordinated. I considered my usual little black number hanging in the closet for tonight’s affair. How refreshing to leave it behind for something so bold. I almost looked forward to attending tonight’s fête. If only it didn’t mean leaving our intimate haven I’d be thrilled.

Subtle makeup tints dramatized the ruby lipstick. He’d picked that out, amazingly. He downplayed it, telling me the lady at the cosmetics counter selected it upon seeing my outfit. My rejoinder made it clear that merely thinking of lipstick surpassed most guys. Matching it to dress would not have occurred to me.

I eyed the deepening discoloration at my throat, dubious at camouflaging the blotches. Seeing the set of my features, he returned to my side in the dressing room bearing my lovely collar. Raising my eyebrows, I started to protest. It was hardly appropriate for the upcoming event, especially if you took into consideration the client throwing this party. Visualizing leather bondage gear alongside his Italian tailoring almost made me laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not that socially inept,” he joked.

That’s when he gave up the collar’s secret. Pressing hidden latches, he lifted the net of diamonds free. My jaw dropped and I must have looked ridiculous. Even if I did, his smile widened compassionately. He stepped close and draped the icy cascade against my skin. Asking me to lift my hair out of the way, he proceeded to firmly close the many clasps. I let my hair swing back in a wave and leaned in toward the mirror. It covered the marks flawlessly, worthy of water cooler gossip in place of contusions.

He called for a driver and we walked hand in hand to the car. My escort opened the door. Thanking him, I got in trusting he knew my humble statement regarded much more than rare courtesy in a coarse age.

Cordially mingling at the soiree, I couldn’t resist seeking him out repeatedly across the room. More often than not, his gaze met mine. After fulfilling our social obligation in the briefest amount of time politeness allowed or, honestly, less, he materialized at my side. Fingertips resting against my cheek, he leaned close to whisper intimately.

“Let’s go.”

To be continued...

Origination by R.E. Blakeslee

This is a 475 word excerpt from Origination by R.E. Blakeslee. You can find more information on Lillibridge Press at GLBT Bookshelf.

Length: Novel | 460 pages | Trade Paperback

Price: $18.95 Print

Cover by Rebecca Price

---

BLURB:

"Confidently we send the Seed with The Betylos encapsulated. He will be reborn on the blue planet and remind the men their women are cunning, lustful creatures. Let them embrace The Philosophy as we have..."

On a rainy night, naïve, eighteen-year-old Eran Aeggle flees his childhood home, stumbling across an extraordinary stone. He picks it up, and with a bright flash of light, he falls unconscious. When Eran wakes he is unable to explain what happened or why he's so fascinated by the peculiar rock. Did it cause the two tattoos of an unknown origin on his shoulders?

Buffalo, New York - 2075

As Eran's need to attend The Alluvium Institute and become a botanist matures, so does his attraction to Simon Duncan, a handsome artist. It seems as if fate has brought them together. However, life is not meant to be an ever-blooming garden... Will Eran nurture their growing love or let it wither from uncertainty? How can Eran accept the destiny aliens set out for him if he doesn't believe? Will he let his turbulent past drag him into darkness?

As wide-eyed citizens of the City of Light live unknowing, a sadomasochistic killer stalks the night. But there is hope - in the moonlight a reluctant hero soars on wings of mysterious illumination. If only Eran could find the courage to realize...

---

EXCERPT:

Panic inundated Eran, washing up into his face. The man he had saved from drowning sat across from him. Eran didn’t know what to do or say. Simon stared into Eran’s eyes and he couldn’t look away, but wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. Suddenly he realized he’d gotten the wish he had made on the top of the Albright Knox Art Gallery. He was gazing into Simon’s eyes and now, more than ever, Eran needed to know what went on behind them. Did Simon recognize Eran? Did he know Eran saved his life? What was Simon thinking? Goddess, what is he thinking?

Simon’s gaze lingered a second longer as if he knew Eran’s dark secret. His heart pounded like the steel the construction men had rammed into the earth. Simon cocked his head and reached across the table with his hand outstretched. “So—what’s up, Eran?”

“Um, not much.” Well, at least it seemed Simon didn’t remember because he said nothing about it, which soothed Eran’s fears. Eran’s heart rate slowed, but didn’t quite calm. He glanced away, wiping his palm, hoping he wasn’t sweating.

Simon looked at his music player. He was more handsome than Eran remembered, perhaps because it had been dark and rainy the other night. He didn’t remember Simon’s lips being so red. In fact, they reminded Eran of the succulent strawberries he had eaten as a child, which had grown wild on the hillside back in Farmington. Did they taste as sweet? And right now, as Simon smiled, his bright, green eyes accented those lips beautifully. His teeth were bright white, like he only ate marshmallows so as not to stain them.

“What are you guys up to?” Eran asked when he dragged his eyes from Simon’s.

“We’re going to Delaware Park—Hoyt Lake. Simon thinks some rescuer pulled him out of the water last night.” She smirked devilishly.

Eran’s heart did a slingshot, and then another. He swallowed hard, his anxiety rising.

“Tee Tee—Come on.” Simon tilted his head sideways, rolling his eyes.

“Says he had fiery, blue wings and skin like a ghost and not to mention, no shirt. I think he hit his head a little too hard,” she sniggered.

Oh, think of something to say…think of something to say. Eran smiled awkwardly. Finally, he said louder than intended, “Well...well, that’s absurd!” He drank another bit of coffee, which had cooled slightly.

“Exactly,” Tee Tee said. “If you’re up for a little mystery we’re going down there and you’re welcome to come. It’ll be an adventure!” Tee Tee’s voice rose again at the R. She glanced at Simon, who rolled his eyes.

“Well, ah… I don’t have anything else to do.” Eran replied in a calmer tone. He wanted to go. Needed to go. He must know what Simon remembered.

First, Do No Harm, by B.K. Wright

INTRO:
In some societies, those held in highest esteem are awarded zero tolerance for failure. What oftentimes goes unnoticed, however, is the same zero tolerance which these esteemed members award themselves. It is through the infallibilities of these members that we are often forced to realize our own imperfections. In “First, Do No Harm”, one such member of society must realize his own imperfections if he is to allow himself the opportunity to experience love in its most imperfect form.

EXCERPT #1:
Kenton Weston had been accepted to the country’s first, and in the opinion of many the very best medical school in the United States. The University of Pennsylvania is a private research university and a prominent member of the Ivy League whose founder was none other than the great Benjamin Franklin, and Kenton had felt very privileged to have been accepted to its medical school and be taught medicine by some of the best in their field. The University of Pennsylvania, or Penn, as it was more familiarly known, was home to a teaching hospital like no other. The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania (HUP) is huge and its medical system extensive. After a decade of intensive study and practical application, Kenton Weston had been very well prepared to assume his rightful place among the best in his field. Upon completing his residency in surgery, Kenton had been asked by none other than the chief of surgery himself to continue his studies which would culminate in his becoming more than he had ever thought possible. Kenton Weston had become a transplant surgeon. If there was one thing that was missing in the life of Kenton Weston, it was someone special with whom to share his life. He had placed his outside interests on hold for so long that he had almost forgotten what they where. After having lived for over a decade now in Philly, Kenton had seen very little of this city which was so rich in history. Kenton knew that education extended far beyond the classroom and as well beyond the confines of the hospital, and had promised himself that he would take full advantage of this extracurricular education. Thus far, however, he had not. He had yet to visit Independence Hall where the Declaration of Independence was signed, the Liberty Bell, as well as the many other historic sites which claimed Philadelphia as their home such as the homes of Edgar Allan Poe and Betsy Ross. Art museums had long been a favorite of Kenton, and he had allowed himself one day years ago the luxury of discovering the many treasures found in the Philadelphia Museum of Art which features the steps made famous in the movie Rocky. Concerned for his social life or lack thereof, many of Kenton’s former fellow students and now colleagues had offered to “fix him up” with a special woman they knew. What they didn’t know, and what he Kenton had chosen never to divulge to any of them, was that Kenton was gay.

EXCERPT #2:
Michael thought about all that had occurred between him and Kenton. He certainly didn’t want this one to get away. Jeff had given him this blessing, so what was holding him back? The answer to that question was “nothing.” Michael needed to talk to Kenton before he did rounds. He headed up the stairs and into his room.
Kenton broke free from Michael’s hold, and turned to face him. They looked at each other, and then kissed each other, the kiss of longing for that which until now had not been fulfilled. They kissed slowly but not hesitantly. This was a kiss not to be hurried.

EXCERPT #3:
Jeff got out of bed and walked to the door of Kenton’s room. He looked in and noticed that Kenton was sleeping. Kenton was naked, at least from the waist up, which is where the covers stopped. Jeff slowly and quietly walked into Kenton’s room and stood at the foot of the bed. As Jeff watched the rise and fall of Kenton’s chest with his slow steady breathing, he wondered what comprised Kenton’s thoughts. Did he always see the world through the eyes of a physician, or were there times when he thought of life in its simplest and most natural form?
After watching Kenton for awhile, Jeff walked around to the side of the bed opposite from where Kenton was sleeping, and quietly climbed into bed. He pulled the covers up over his naked body and lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as if to give himself courage. Turning onto his side, he moved closer to Kenton until he was close enough to put his arm over him and rest it on Kenton’s chest. Kenton was immediately awakened when he felt Jeff’s hand on his chest. He turned onto his back. “Jeff, are you okay, are you feeling okay?” Jeff’s hand did not leave Kenton’s chest as he said, “I don’t think of you as an old man, Kenton”, and then kissed him on the mouth. Kenton and Jeff remained as they were, each holding the other, feeling the same feelings, though neither thinking the same thoughts. Jeff was feeling so much love for Kenton and thinking about their wonderful future together. Kenton was feeling love for Jeff, but thinking of the harm that could come from this relationship, hurting both of them.

~B.K. Wright~Find me on the GLBT bookshelf, and www.beautobeau.com.

Origination by R.E. Blakeslee

This is a 400 word excerpt from Origination by R.E. Blakeslee. You can find more information on Lillibridge Press at GLBT Bookshelf .

---

Blurb
"Confidently we send the Seed with The Betylos encapsulated. He will be reborn on the blue planet and remind the men their women are cunning, lustful creatures. Let them embrace The Philosophy as we have..."

On a rainy night, naïve, eighteen-year-old Eran Aeggle flees his childhood home, stumbling across an extraordinary stone. He picks it up, and with a bright flash of light, he falls unconscious. When Eran wakes he is unable to explain what happened or why he's so fascinated by the peculiar rock. Did it cause the two tattoos of an unknown origin on his shoulders?

Buffalo, New York - 2075

As Eran's need to attend The Alluvium Institute and become a botanist matures, so does his attraction to Simon Duncan, a handsome artist. It seems as if fate has brought them together. However, life is not meant to be an ever-blooming garden... Will Eran nurture their growing love or let it wither from uncertainty? How can Eran accept the destiny aliens set out for him if he doesn't believe? Will he let his turbulent past drag him into darkness?

As wide-eyed citizens of the City of Light live unknowing, a sadomasochistic killer stalks the night. But there is hope - in the moonlight a reluctant hero soars on wings of mysterious illumination. If only Eran could find the courage to realize...

---

Prologue

Grant stood at the top of the steps, waiting. He glanced up at the suns, shielding his eyes from their brightness as his robe fluttered in the breeze. He didn’t want to be late. How long should he wait? He shifted his vision and noticed Herald striding up the steps. Finally, he had arrived. Grant hadn’t thought he would show and Herald’s eyes illustrated his apprehension. Yet…here he came. They had bonded when younger, but things played differently now. Herald was, after all, a Believer.

When Herald reached the top step he didn’t say hello. In fact, he said nothing at all. They turned, walking through the Corridors of Mahray.

“Are you going to say anything?” Grant thought as they entered, the door closing behind them.

“What do you want to hear?” Herald asked as they passed through the anteroom leading to the Council Chamber. Large, round windows let in the suns’ light, casting intense beams on the floor that were interrupted by their bodies passing through them again and again.

Grant could think of a lot of things to say, but finally thought, “You support us.”

“I don’t, but I’m here.” Herald stopped, turning to look at him. “Brother, is it not enough?”
Grant smiled at him. It was enough…enough for now. It soothed Sylva, their sister, too. The brothers walked on, but neither of them said another word as they came to the door leading to The Tone. Grant placed his hand on the handle and pulled.

“Wait!” Herald’s loud mental thought unnerved him.

Grant looked at his brother. Lines of frustration ran across Herald’s forehead as if he was older than his age. Grant hated seeing them and knowing they were because of him, but there was no other way. Everything in Grant’s being told him this most importantly. He didn’t know why, but he had always known he would do this: voice his thoughts to the Council of Twelve. Grant believed he could only tread this path. He must see where it led for his wife and for his sister, Sylva. Grant’s mind twisted with doubts…doubts about many things, including the validity of The Philosophy.

Grant couldn’t believe in something hindering his people. Besides, his mind would not let him trust those who were in power. Power distorted The Philosophy and its enforcers’ thoughts, which held a group of people down like the two women who meant most to him. The influence the Council of Twelve wielded kept those less knowledgeable in Darkness…Darkness confused for Light.

---

Copyright 2009 R.E. Blakeslee
From the novel Origination by R.E. Blakeslee, published by Lillibridge Press in paperback

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part eight of ten

Chapter 8 - House Training (continued)

No doubt relishing my impaired state, he must also love his ruse. He said little scams always satisfied more if he first taunted me with snippets of information I could later piece together. He’d spun the fable about the blinds and innocently showed me the features on his new camera.

I mused over these puzzle pieces, struggling to pull myself onto the bed. Claiming the Manhattan skyline sometimes bothered his eyes, he extolled the necessity of shutters for better sleep. Realizing that I’d never seen him unable to sleep, I snorted.

‘But then,’ my mind crooned, ‘every time you’ve seem him sleep you have always just fucked him within an inch of your life.’

There’d been more, too, not all so direct. Conversely, he’d charmed me with his display of the video camera’s direct to TV capability by a real-time screening of the pigeons on his roof. Their cooing and rustle of wings soothed me, minor spectacle enjoyed from the comfort of his unpretentious sofa. Iridescent feathers improved the cloudy daylight as the flock moved about. It made a pleasant distraction to his newspaper that lazy Sunday morning.

I recalled how whistling from the kitchen made that day decidedly less gloomy. Delicious aromas heightened AM hunger. Soon we ate a breakfast of crispy bacon and his signature crepes smothered in strawberry sauce. I’d all ready sampled some of the homemade whipped cream off of his lustrous skin earlier that morning. Ransacking his refrigerator as he slumbered, I had come back to bed. Waking properly, he acted incensed at my raid. Animated caricature of protest soon fell silent when I distributed two dollops onto the tips of my breasts. I tingled at that memory.

“I thought the cherries were meant to go on top of the whipping cream, not the other way around. But then again, these are more like strawberries, so pink and plump,” he argued with himself comically before sucking the topping off.

And there was the night vision demonstration another time. We’d walked the park after dark, filming feral cats and foraging raccoons. Their presence had been customary during childhood summers on an upstate farm; I got a revealing look at the familiar critters in this urban setting. He’d known I was a sucker for animals, both agreeing they had more of what we laughingly call “Humanity.” They certainly didn’t treat others like the majority of people.

Still in the dark I thought of how he treated me. Rolling over, my effort caused the constraints to ratchet maliciously tighter behind my back. I found the blinking light of the camera and spread my legs to it.

“Your cum is starting to slide down my ass,” I said in a sultry voice, trying to provoke his return. “That dirty cock of yours needs me more than I need it. You can jerk off, or you can have this.”

Murmuring various enticements, I lifted my hips toward that winking little beam. Exposing myself ever further, I tilted my pelvis and spread legs wide. Defiantly I derided him.

“You couldn’t even have me if you hadn’t shackled me to your lousy bed. You call me a dog sometimes because that’s all you could get before you lured me here.”

Struggling at my bonds helplessly, I found my brain responding to the sensory depravation by magnifying the aches settling in major muscles. I fidgeted still more with the rising awareness.

When he did come back, he lifted the camera from its stand so he could hold it close to see me in the blackness. He picked up the leash. Off the bed and kneeling at his will, I heard it rasp across the sheets. And he had lubricant, audible pop of the top informing me. After a long moment the cold liquid dripped onto my backside. Still sightless, I felt the fluid slither down the crevice of my posterior. It seemed to be the only occurrence in the whole universe.

Legs loose and watery, I rested upper body on the bed to support my weight. He snaked the oiled handle slowly within the dark reaches of my behind, powering past sphincter’s resistance. I found myself philosophically unable to pull away from the punishment.

‘How is he holding the camera?’ I pondered crazily, ‘I know he’ll want this on film. At least it’s skinnier than his dick.’

Wildly fragmented considerations choked out another strangled chortle. Hearing it, he asked if I had something to say. He waited for me to signal a stop. I offered nothing but a high pitched whine. Braided cable penetrated past the handle and the supple span made him toil harder. His fingernails pinched viciously as he labored. My bleating amplified with the stunning misery, conscious thought fleeing. I found divinity in the decadent spoilage of corporeal being.

He finally seemed satisfied with his feat and I felt him move to the bed, leaving me violated. Chain jerked hard caused the cuffs to bite into my hands as the links raced up my spine. I groaned loudly, shoulders straining. There was no expression on my face as I waited for his next exhibition of authority. I could hardly stand it, trying to intuit the next fiendish act in this play. The fiery ache in my rectum centered all attention.

“Suck me hard,” he said.

Sleek legs suddenly squeezed my sides painfully. Taking away my breath, he pushed my face to his crotch. The thick span of his penis slapped me as he pushed it up by the base. I eagerly took the soft skin of his semi hard member between my lips, tasting myself.

“Looks like my pet grew a tail.”

Smirk evident in his voice, callous jeer rippled over me in a warm exhalation. I concentrated on breathing, respiration noisy through my nose. He tugged my head up with a handful of hair and stood. I landed on my heels balanced precariously. There was a brief pause before the click of the latch, so I knew he replaced the camera to its former perch. I sneered toward it, over my shoulder, and shook my hips, agonizingly lashing my “tail.” I sensed him, sitting in his recliner, idly squeezing his erection as he watched me. Biding his time, he likely sipped a glass of wine or perhaps some juice. I made a show of acting bored this time, even sighing like I had somewhere else I’d rather be.

My ploy worked and the door burst open. Light flooded the room as he hit the overhead switch. God help me, hurtful light blessedly relieved the disorienting dark. There had not existed so much as a glowing clock face, only that evil red wink. I’m sure he switched his camera over from night vision. But I still adjusted to the brightness and he seemed instantly upon me. I considered that he would make me suck him again, tormenting me with the absence of him inside my pussy.

Handcuffs came off and, blinking rapidly in disbelief, I flexed my arms and rubbed my shoulders for a moment. He lifted me and wrapped my legs about his waist, lowering me firmly onto his cock. I held on tight, arms around his neck. Splayed hands pressed to my back for support, he stepped back to lie on the bed. Directing me not to move, he arched up into me smoothly, making me even more aware of the foreign object with which he sodomized me. One strong hand gripped my chain.

“Turn around,” he directed.

I couldn’t keep my fixation from his sensual lips as I rose up. I carefully gathered my artificial appendage, wincing as it moved within. It was a mystery to me how so many people found this pleasurable. Of course I’d received no preparation. Suffering fulfilled me like no other bedroom activity.

Feet near his shoulders, I held his calves. His length filled me and my wetness spread further over him with the new angle. The black leather strip draped across his stomach in stark contrast to his luminous skin. My breath caught.

But then he tugged on the leash and the air exploded from my lungs. I locked my thighs against him and froze my butt high in the air.

“Good. Now, touch yourself.”

Gasping sides heaved between my ankles. He withdrew the anal penetration another fraction of an inch. I pressed hard to my responsive flesh with impatient fingers. He continued thrusting steadily, almost gently. Overwhelmed with uneven extraction from behind, I shook from head to toe. Tightened chain let me lean into my collar for mild asphyxia.

Wheezing, I came again and again. Handle pulling out at long last, reedy growls rose to a scream upon expulsion. Still he fucked me, his erection fading. I folded my torso over his legs, completed by all that had transpired.

It signaled the end for now. He helped my clumsy fingers release silver buckles. Noting he’d had nothing left for his own orgasm, I extricated myself and expressed my regret. He disclosed to me that he didn’t care.

“It would just have distracted me from really appreciating what I was doing for you,” he said. “It was glorious.”

Wholeheartedly of the same opinion, I nodded groggily in satisfied stupor. We settled side by side snuggling in messy covers.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part seven of ten

Chapter 7 - House Training

Nipples swelled with his simple touch, fabric rubbing them seductively as I ambled toward the hall lavatory. The simple card on the ornate gift box said in masculine penmanship: My Pet.

My entire comical image of him picking reusable food containers went out the door when I lifted the velour lid. I almost squeaked. Whatever the worth of this, the value appointed me had ostensibly become immeasurable and slightly daunting. Could it be a loaner?

Diamonds sparkled in indirect lighting hidden somewhere above ornate cabinetry. Far from being a piece of elegant jewelry, the necklace clearly designated subservience. Precious stones arranged in a shimmering web of interlocking settings overlaid a heavy black leather collar. The inside padded and lined with velvet, twin outside buckles affixed it.

My hands shook as I lifted it to my neck. I finally managed to fix it in place, adjusting it so the silver D-ring aligned with my spine. Prisms danced over dark blue shirt collar framing it. I was mesmerized. A soft knock on the oak door at my back made me jump.

“How’s it coming? Do you need help?”

“I’ll be right out.”

“Do you like it?”

Muffled question held lurid promise, sending a thrill up my back. Reaching toward the door, I suddenly remembered the underwear. Moist lace indicated what affect simply donning the lovely gift had wrought. I grinned, recognizing how he’d purposely let me experience this first rush alone. He may have missed initial visual; his augmentation would be spectacular. I exited the bath and found him right outside.

Painted fingertips to bejeweled throat brightened his eyes. It made me think of the coldest winter day. Not the chill, I recalled those deep blue heavens from which unclouded sunrays warm the earth. Romantic notion baffling, I discounted it as spurious. Something in doting eyes contradicted my doubt. But it could have been my imagination. He bustled right by.

Unable to comprehend why he stepped past, I noticed the partially ajar cupboard mirror. He withdrew a digital video recorder. A feral leer assured dark delights were yet to follow.

My lover told me what I’d suspected, that he had neither wanted to miss my reaction nor had he wanted it to be influenced by his presence. Spying the black lace at his feet, he picked up the miniscule piece of cloth and sniffed approvingly. Then he whimsically aimed the still live camera back to me and zoomed in toward my face.

“What is it that you want? Today, from life in general, what would you ask for if anything was possible?”

It seemed a night for introduction to many varied sides of him. Stammering, I delivered a short list wishing good health, happiness, and similar banalities. It earned me a penetrating look. Gazing up from the display screen, his intensity bored into me.

“Don’t be obtuse. You’re smarter than that. I want to know what your heart desires.”

“Right now?” I tipped my head and lilted, “I want you to show me the part of this beautiful gift that you’re withholding.”

Glimmering white teeth flashed a grin. In my mind I wondered where this was going. It had to be some elaborate ruse. He stunned me yet again, setting aside the camera and stepping into my embrace.

“It seems you always know just the right thing to say. I want to know you, to learn everything about you. But here I am pushing it. When I decide on something I always take it too fast. I want you to have emotional breathing room, if not physical.”

This last pronouncement punctuated by the production of a braided leather leash, it clipped to the ring under my hair. He gave a wicked smile. I deemed his smugness worthy. I would do whatever he wished and not regret.

“Look at this. Now I can take you almost anywhere. Before I always feared you might try to run off.”

Trilling into my ear, he pulled me into the hallway toward the sofa. When we reached it he turned to me and moved the cloth free from my shoulder. One hand worked to bare my breasts. Leash around the other applied pressure to bruises hidden under leather. I moaned for his biting and licking, the dull throb at my throat.

His fingers brushed savagely down my back and loose silk whispered to the floor. He shivered when I bent to kiss his chest and lips touched his nipple. Encouraged by his speechlessness, I grazed my teeth over the swelling and he hissed.

I saw the length of leather uncoil from his hand and expected it to pile at my feet. Instead, he threaded it between my legs. His hands tugged it back and forth, sliding tight against me. Anchoring myself with a grip on his waist, I worked his flesh aggressively.

The plaited strap slithered out from between my legs and he jerked me off of him. I straightened brazenly. Taunting him, I thrust my tits out and palmed the left. As I pushed it up I squeezed the bullet tip. I wiped the fingers of my other hand across my mouth, wet from sucking at him, and thrust them down to touch myself.

He knew perfectly well I goaded him into whipping me. I wanted it. And we both loved the anticipation inherent in the game.

“Down,” he demanded, slipping his pants over slender hips.

I awaited him, lips parted, as he stepped out of the cloth. Astonishingly, he clamped his hand over my mouth and turned my head. His palm threatened to smother, fingers firmly holding my jaw. He grabbed his erection with a fistful of my red-gold locks. Mad with lust, I darted wild eyes to the side and watched his hand frantically knot slightly damp strands.

“It’s like screwing silk,” he growled.

I struggled and bawled against his hand, desperate for him to fill me. It was futile, his power too great. I felt strands of hair tear out by the roots with the terrible might he engaged. Buzzed from the discomfort, dizziness of desire brought me close to swooning.

‘I’m a teeny bopper seeing Elvis for the first time.’

I snorted with delirious joviality at the unbidden thought. Overwhelmed with frustration and equally excited at the same time, I toyed with the idea of throwing out the hand signal. Ever watchful, he would stop as soon as he saw. Before I decided it he stopped himself and fell back into the sofa cushions.

I slid to the floor. Turned toward him, I looked up at his countenance. His breathing a harsh rasp, eyes closed tight, he obviously struggled to recover from the verge of ejaculation. I lay quiet, immobilized by need.

Dimly I heard him announce, “You want me to beat you. Don’t you?”

Only then did I realize he looked at me. I nodded numbly and pulled myself upright with no small effort. He stood and scooped me from the rug. I lay limp in his arms. Returned to the bedroom, he laid me down.

He unhooked my leash and got a cardboard box from the bottom drawer of his bureau. Out came a length of well-made chain, slim but strong by his grimly displayed test, and two identical padlocks. One lock secured chain to the cuffs still heaped on the bed and he rolled my body over. Deftly threading, he linked fetters through D-ring to second lock. Clicked around a bar of the brass footboard, lock at my side formed the final connection. He could leave me to stave if he wished.

Told to get on my knees alongside the bed, I did so feeling clumsy and out of breath. The first lash struck and I realized he’d gotten out his short stiff riding crop at some point. It struck below my buttocks, licking inner thigh before withdrawing. He had expert aim and thrashes landed within inches of one another, alternating between one leg and the other.

He mounted and vaginally assaulted me, pressing the side of my face into the covers. He wrapped his other hand around my waist, driving in harder and faster. I sobbed, not from pain or despair, but joy at new vibrancy and vitality. He finished with a guttural snarl and heaved off.

Capriciously, I thought, ‘Apparently his epididymis has all ready regenerated and his vas deferens is in good condition.’

Frenzied chortle loomed imminently. I swallowed it, sputtering.

Coldly leaving without speaking, he chose to ignore my hysterical mirth. The room plunged into darkness with the closing of the door. Heavy curtains hid very effective shutters blocking city lights. A momentary brightness alerted me to his return so he could set up the camera on a tripod by the wall. When the room reverted to black, I understood he must have it set on night vision and would watch me on his television via live feed.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part six of ten

Chapter 6 - Geography(continued)

“You’re mine. Anyone, man or woman, who even shows thought of fucking you is going to wind up in the ER.”

Perversely joyful, I managed to retort spitefully, “How would you stop me if I wanted some other man or woman to fuck me? You leave me on my own for days, sometimes close to a week at a time. Don’t you think I have needs in your absence?”

His eyes aglow, another side showed unexpectedly. Suddenly speechless, taken aback, I just blinked up at him. I didn’t believe I’d heard correctly. He reasserted his offer.

“You heard right. Move in with me. I’m a selfish bastard, but I want to be everything to you. Think about it,” he countered my inanity. “I could always just chain you up. This place actually has excellent soundproofing – the main reason I chose it. Let’s me concentrate, not hearing some neighbor’s brat.”

I closed my eyes with a sigh when he bent to kiss the bruises at my throat. Then he suggested a shower. The large glass enclosure filled with steam as we soaped one another. He washed my hair, massaging my scalp as he held the shower head with its long flexible hose. Then he lowered the stream and, spreading my thighs roughly, aimed the pulsing spray up into me. The suddenness caused my eyes to roll back in my head. Now he knelt, looking up at me. For one insanely anxious moment I awaited marriage proposal.

“Time now to get you clean, and then I can make you dirty all over again.”

Water flooded my relieved self and he bit my thigh. I knew it left small even dimples because I’d seen the neat indentations many times, all over my body. Sometimes they filled with blood. Not today. He soon put the nozzle back in its cradle and we toweled off with soft bath sheets. I took time to soak up most of the water in my hair and comb it out properly before emerging.

Padding back into the bedroom, I picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it on as he watched. Water spotted the blue silk as I buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. He told me as always how I looked better in his shirts than he did. Unbuttoning it exposed the even slices he’d put on my stomach and he bent close to examine them. Then he led me back into the warm bathroom. After smearing my skin with ointment, he affixed a square bandage. He surprised me again by presenting a pair of my panties. Left behind at some point, they’d been laundered and secreted in a drawer for my future use.

I took my time pulling them on, sliding them up my legs teasingly. He’d dressed himself in just cotton pajama pants and I liked the way the cuffs pooled around his ankles. It was a pleasure of mine to watch him while both dressing and undressing. In fact, it always amazed me at how sexy he made the most mundane acts. How beautiful on him were even the least exalted parts of the human form - his narrow wrists, overly large Tuscan nose, the shapely feet I was now admiring.

Offering me wine, he stopped a moment to extinguish the numerous wicks still lit. In contrast to his bedroom and office, the apartment’s kitchen sported warm colors and even a more clement temperature. Modern, no kitschy theme or tacky collectibles evident, he cooked in a chef’s showpiece.

He poured a glass of claret. The color reminded me of the gem in his ring and tiny orbs that oozed out behind the blade of his bowie knife. I sat down hard as my legs gave out. It went unnoticed, his absorption in arranging salads on tiny plates and garnishing them with thinly sliced strawberries. After that he ladled cold cherry soup into delicate matching bowls.

Besides doing me, he relaxed by cooking. It suited perfectly an outlet for his exacting nature, all the precision of putting together a combination of correctly proportioned ingredients to make something truly palatable and appealing. He slid open the big warming drawer. The crusty bread he liked to bake and stuffed mushrooms loaded the intimate ash wood table. Spinach and artichoke dip also joined china place settings. My stomach rumbled at the sights and smells.

“Dig in,” he chuckled, “I want to make sure you keep your strength up. Just don’t eat so much that you get sleepy. I’m not through using you.”

He toasted the future with an ambiguous expression. I echoed his words with a lopsided grin twisting my lips. Never quite certain what went on in his head, I’ve never minded. We mainly communicated with sex. I guessed the lack of over-sentimentality made me more comfortable. Uncertainty doesn’t faze me now that I’ve found sexual freedom.

An over simplification, this summation of a complex situation, all the same he gave exactly what I sought. I hadn’t even known what my life lacked until we began discovering our hidden natures together. Not about loss of control, the submissive’s environment is anything but out of control. More orderly than anything, the dominant carefully orchestrates everything and liberates his or her bottom companion.

What defined us? Pure sincerity. We let loose uncluttered passion, lust, and hedonism. We also instituted the greatest mutual respect.

The key is complete and utter trust shared between two responsible and mentally healthy persons. No fear exists besides what my own mind manufactures, perpetuating the fantasy in just the right way. I can’t truthfully conceive that he would carry things further than I wished them to go.

Our union without trepidation or apprehension, I can give myself over to it with no reservation or dread that I will be judged. There was no need to discuss what I could never articulate. With him I am the person forever sought and previously undiscovered.

Today we lingered, recovering our energy and savoring the food. I inhaled the perfume from the spray of roses, displayed in a crystal vase pushed to table’s edge along the wall. They were black, just as always. He’d started the tradition for me. Comparing them to what we share, he explained that they defined for him that disorienting and weirdly likable experience when a place is familiar and exotic all at the same time. He likened it to walking in the rain on a street you think you know in a city at which you’ve only just arrived.

Surprised to see the mysterious blooms in the first place that long ago day, in such a provincial setting to boot, I wondered at their origin. Just as in all that he did, there was considerable forethought involved.

He’d phoned his New York physician for his health report. Knowing him as a longtime buddy from the old neighborhood, he requested an additional favor. A few more calls procured the flowers and off they went, carefully packaged along with the documents. His way to never open a phone book or search the internet, he depended upon his extensive network of colleagues and cronies. He’d happily helped associates in turn and likely will again.

He cleared the table, telling me to relax. Dishwasher loaded, he sealed leftovers in identical Tupperware bowls. I pictured him attending a house wares party, perhaps hosted by the matronly assistant he sometimes employed. In my vision he choose the Deluxe set in Windsor blue and unpacked each piece carefully and meticulously. Washing each one first, he then arranged them in the designated cabinet for upcoming service. A grin tugged at my lips. Trying to contain the laughter threatening to bubble out, I excused myself to use the hall bathroom.

His long tapered fingers caught at my shoulder before he touched my chin, turning my face to his. I felt pulled in by his whisper.

“There’s a present for you on the counter. Put it on before you come out.” Cupping my breast, he continued firmly, “Then keep the shirt but I want the panties gone.”

I could do that. The trick would be walking straight.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part five of ten

Chapter 5 - Geography

I’d first heard him proclaim me beautiful in a dimly lit Minnesota bar. Ideologically speaking we’d travelled about as far from there as you could get. Upon our first meeting I’d looked at him with scorn, most of humanity not worth my notice as far as I’m concerned.

My work, photographing various cultures’ conflicts and hardships, took me on a horror tour of countless countries. I’d seen some of the deepest depravity humanity had to offer: Rwandan slaughter fields, refugee camps with inadequate supplies and sanitation, villages where a third of the population carried the HIV virus and scores suffered and died on lice ridden cots.

Some wonderful people I met along the way made it worthwhile. They kept me going back. My hope to make a difference, their stories fortunately sold magazines. It’s a cold world, I know; at least it ingested a little awareness feeding sensationalistic appetites.

I returned to the States ready for some serious R & R. My camera focused on landscapes and wildlife where I hiked and camped for days along the Temperance River gorge. That night, however, I quietly drank away some memories before attempting sleep.

The curtly nodding stranger ignored my dismissive air and sat at the empty stool next to me. When he neither spoke nor moved away I found myself granting him a grudging respect. Despite myself, I began studying him out of the corner of my eye. When he ordered a vodka martini, my drink of choice, I smirked. This looked like the same strategy I’d seen men try in bars all over the world.

A few had succeeded, I must admit, but the affairs were always short lived. It seemed to always be me, the inevitable purveyor of bad news, to end the fling. Breaking hearts had somehow become a side effect of being me.

That cool night at the bar in Schroeder, my stranger got his martini dirty as requested, sipping it as he watched my reflection in the mirror. Then he left and I actually felt niggling disappointment. I went back three nights in a row, not admitting to myself that I hoped to see him even as I scanned the crowd.

The last night I planned to go, he showed. I had a dirty martini waiting. Dressed again in an expensive suit he still managed to look more relaxed, his silk tie loosened.

“What changed?” He remarked boldly, “The other night you seemed offended by my existence. And tonight you buy me a drink?”

We started off slowly after that. I abandoned my tent for better accommodation and he took me to dinner several times. At the end of each date he would walk me to the elevator of my hotel before bidding me goodnight with a chaste kiss and squeeze of my hand.

He always steered conversation back to me, keeping a great deal of him secret. I had to have him, the realization that I hardly knew the first thing about him increasing my desire. I very matter-of-factly brought up sex, insisting to see a negative AIDS test first. It had been a priority to get my own clean bill of health, practically the first thing accomplished after arriving in New York months earlier.

Fortunately as practical as me, he presented documentation with a flourish the very next night. He held a dozen black roses in one hand and the paperwork in the other. Grateful, I doubted my ability to wait months for results. I would have probably broken my own rule.

It seemed years ago and time had flown by. I landed an assignment in the Big Apple, happy to be close to family. A busy place filled with interesting characters, it was also his base of operations. Flood of memories screened in moments, I let him walk me to his bed.

“Lie down. Relax.”

I’d long since learned not to be deceived, my nipples hardening at his felonious advice. Various aches made themselves known and I knew they would be savored until healed. Some would take days.

He detoured to his bureau and my heart skipped a beat, several beats, when I saw the large knife in his hands. It looked new, like something a hunter might own. It glinted in the light of many flickering candles when he unsheathed it.

He snatched an incongruous canister of cashews from his desk. He fed me a few, chewing a handful. A thoughtful gaze on me, he picked up the blade again. He didn’t bother to dust the salt from his fingers.

“Remember when you bled on my chair last time? You were never properly disciplined for that.”

The scene flashed before my eyes. I could not have disagreed with his account more, argument unspoken.

My period had made a mess of his sheets and he surprised me with an order to sit in the chair. I draped my legs over the armrests and he immediately mounted me again. The chair had creaked complaint at the pounding inflicted upon it. Pulling out swiftly, he told me to look.

“See how slick it is with your blood. Now turn around.”

His dick against my anus, slippery as it was, still took effort for him to work into the tight opening. And the pain was immense, unending, as he forced himself in time after time, holding back his orgasm to prolong his pleasure. I rocked under his unbearable ruination, enduring the punishment without complaint. My low moan and his heavy breathing were the only sounds to be heard under the flat smacking sound of his genitals bashing against my otherwise neglected vulva.

He jerked me back to the present by putting the tip of his weapon to the taught skin of my stomach. I realized he’d sharpened the metal to a scalpel’s edge because tiny crimson drops appeared, no pain yet from the incision. It only began to hurt when he started a third cut and I held my breath, mesmerized.

Stopped at the count of five, they were shallow. Maybe three quarters of an inch long and a mere quarter of an inch apart, each one was ruler straight. He clarified motive for the deceitfully tasty snack when he bore salty fingers onto this latest handiwork. He destroyed oddly beautiful pinprick drops of blood, the salt rubbed in. Tears sprang to my eyes and he brought his hand up, demanding that I lick it clean. I lapped at it, a strange keening emerging from my throat. Erection forming during enactment of this diabolical scenario, he told me to move.

“You took that like such a good girl," he praised, taking my place. "I know what a hopeless slut you are and I want to reward you. Mount me now.”

I did so gladly, emitting the high strangled sound. I dropped to his chest and he allowed me to kiss him. As I tasted his salty lips it intensified sensation from the small precise cuts, compressed now against his hard stomach.

Pushing my shoulders, he got me sitting partway back up so he could suck at nipples briefly before curling up to lick at my wounds. Wanting to rub my clit as I watched, I brought my hand in. He crushed my body to him, dropping his head to the pillow in one fluid movement. Eyes blistering me, speech sounded dangerously soft.

“I didn’t tell you to pleasure yourself. Your purpose is to please me.”

With that he shoved me off, rolling on top of me. He put his hand on my throat, squeezing with alarming strength. For just a moment, he blocked my airway. When he moved his hand I knew that red phantom fingers would remain, later turning purple and finally fading to green and yellow before vanishing.

‘I’ll be wearing scarves and turtleneck sweaters for a week.’

The thought resonated giddy. He ignored it, weighty silence almost tangible, and then rolled away. My eyes followed him as he crouched between my legs.

“I want a close look at what you wanted to play with. You know you’d be worthless without this cunt, you little whore,” he breathed over my nakedness. With that he lowered his head and used his teeth on the smoothly waxed lips hiding my vagina.

The sharp nips caused me to jerk away from his teeth, almost as quickly bucking against his mouth. He told me how swollen my sex was, the lovely deep blush of my flesh, as he sucked my clitoris free from its hood, pulling it between his teeth. I let out a high pitched wail. He drew back his head, slapped my pussy tauntingly, and balled his hand hard against tender flesh. His fist ground deep, not entering so much as punching against me with short firm movements. His forearm moved like a piston and I struggled onto my elbows in order to watch it as if from outside myself. I was transported.

With malevolent glee he aligned the garnet stone of his college ring to punish sensitive nerve endings. Close to another orgasm, I was pulverized until I thought injury may result. This notion excited me still further and I contorted in ecstasy. It forced me to drop back onto the sheets, howling like a banshee. His jaws replaced his fist and he literally ate my climax, lips and tongue working. His constant groan vibrated against and, more importantly, within me all the while.

Beyond contemplation of consequence, I tangled my fingers in his hair. Flaxen curls felt luxurious between my fingers. Without warning he climbed over and pushed me back onto the mattress. Erection haphazardly aligned, it rammed in.

Shrieks were torn from my throat. His flat stomach slapped a frantic rhythm against mine. Tendons straining in his neck called me. I gave in to impulse and licked them, biting down on his shoulder as his cock ground into me still deeper. With a final shove he bellowed, his head thrown back. His entire taut body quivered with tension as he discharged inside of me.

We lay shuddering, silent in each others’ arms but for our labored breathing. When he shifted onto his back, arms behind his head, I caught my breath at the beauty of him, his chest gleaming in the light. I propped myself against him, unable to suppress my joy.

“You amaze me,” he rumbled, “I can’t get enough of you. I ought to hate you for it. I don’t. Why is that?”

“I can’t answer that. Hell, I can’t even begin to tell my family or even friends about you. I don’t know where to start, and so they keep trying to set me up with some investment banker or post grad frat boy.”

The last word died on my lips as he pounced. Pinning me to the bed, he snarled in my face.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part four of ten

Chapter 4 - Eminent Domain (continued)

My softly spoken delivery was less timid than it may have sounded. I loved testing the boundaries. Velvet laughter caressed me, raising the hair on my arms.

“True. I throw you out and you keep crawling back. I can’t decide sometimes if I should screw you or call the dog warden, you little bitch,” he retorted. “Maybe I should put you out of your misery.”

Cuffs clicking open freed my left hand and then my right. He slowly pulled my arms out and down to my sides as if we were a pair of ballet dancers. Gently soothing over the muscles, he gripped the straps again and yanked hard. Having ripped it down the length of my body, he let go. It lay tangled around my feet and he freed it from them, dropping the scrap of cloth.

‘How did the fabric hold? Is it entwined around my restraint where it disappears over the edge of the box spring?’ After this ridiculous hypothesizing another voice in my head said with much more force, ‘WHO CARES? Touch him while you can!’’

I blindly found the bunched muscles of his upper arm. He’d leaned in, licking my navel, and my groping hand prompted him to bite the soft skin of my stomach. Moaning and twisting, I sunk my nails in. I clutched nothing, not even knowing where he had gone. He moved so swiftly that the displaced air swirled over me. Changing quality of the light through my blindfold made me realize that he held a candle. I shivered with dread and delight.

“You scratched me, you worthless slit,” he thundered. “Now I’ll show you pain.”

I all ready squirmed in anticipation when the first drops hit my skin. I heard the first juicy plop. He moved his arm, slowly dripping a trail of hot wax along my hip and over my belly. Absorbed by the line of sweet agony, I didn’t realize he had extinguished the candle and held it the opposite way, poised to penetrate me.

He jerked his hand in and I screamed as the long taper infiltrated me. The shock passed and my cries softened, pussy virtually swallowing the smooth cylinder.

“That’s better; I don’t want you to lose your voice now. There’ll be plenty of reason to scream later, I assure you. The night is so young,” he mocked inches above my mouth.

He bit my lip, a tiny pain. My mouth filled with the sharp taste of copper as his tongue licked at the cut and pushed beyond my lips. His strength became apparent by the way that deep kiss never wavered even as he continued brutalizing me with the candle. One arm steadily supported the body. I aspired to be eyewitness, my perfect acquiescence contending for this prize.

I was at last able to catch my breath, though only slightly. He let his body rest against me, breaking away from my lips. His pulverizing rhythm never faltered. It was another minute (or an hour?) longer before he tossed the object away from us. I made a sound of complaint, so close to orgasm. The penalty/reward instantaneous, he yanked my blindfold off.

A few individual hairs pulled out. This fresh, sharp pain and sight of blood discoloring his chin unhinged my mind somehow. I squeezed my eyes shut but the promise of relief vanished, vertigo spinning me into the darkness. I opened my eyes and they betrayed me. The world spun now, alabaster skin around a crimson stain.

It induced a series of deep flutters, my cervix a giant moth flapping frenetically toward some moonlit blossom. He sensed it, my gasping writhe the clue. The groan escaping his lips showed his excitement at my response to his abuse. That cool exterior was cracking.

I observed the real measure of his arousal when he pushed himself onto his knees – that single fat drop of emission leaking from the tip, nearly ready to fall. He moved close to my face. His organ loomed large, encompassing my world. I thought he might actually let me lick it off. Choosing the alternate, more degrading route, he smeared it on my face. It left a trail across my cheekbone. The head felt so soft and pliant, deceiving silk pressed to my skin. I knew how it could batter more tender parts of the female anatomy and the anticipation drove me even closer to the brink.

My face ablaze with the very humiliation I craved, I was ordered to stand up and face the wall. Ravening, dimly registering his edict, I failed to respond. He appeared truly angry and I felt fear – a sudden, faint terror. His long fingers closed over my wrists and began dragging me toward the edge of the bed.

A scared woman inside asked, ‘What am I playing at? He could kill me and not a soul would know.’

He let go before I would tumble to the floor and I struggled to find my legs in an effort to stand. His hands came to my aid, oddly gentle, untying my ankle and steadying me.

Guided to the wall and pushed into it, my tits were crushed against the surface with a force I found both uncomfortable and alarmingly delicious. He put a palm on each firm curve of my ass and pulled me open so that I thought I might tear in two. His breath came out in animal grunts. My cunt tightened around him, nipples swelling perversely, and my own cries began to drown him out. Heartbeat thundering in my head, I felt him come in a hot burst. As if given permission, my climax detonated a galaxy of stars. I vibrated in intoxicating afterglow.

He collapsed against me, his weight pinning me to the unforgiving wall before he suddenly stepped backward. I crumpled to the floor, blood still trickling from my lip as I turned to lick his ankle. Leaving a scarlet smudge I thought he would make me lick it off. And I would do it without pause. Instead he commanded that I stand.

“Get off the floor. You look like a fucking dog,” he griped.

Collecting my bearings, I took an upright stance. His next move shocked me, nearly unbalancing once more. He grabbed my hair without pulling, placing his hand on my cheek. Wavering on my feet, I expected this diversion to culminate in a violent tug upon my locks. My eyes followed fine tresses trailing between unfurled fingers to drape over his forearm in a translucent wave.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The proclamation spoken now and in this moment surprised me. All the same, I found my thoughts traveling back.

To be continued...

Animal Parade by DM Sands - part three of ten

Chapter 3 - Eminent Domain (continued)

His tongue left a wet trail from collar bone to ear, where he tugged on the lobe with his teeth. Then he licked behind my ear, over it, and plunged his tongue into the canal. Over and over it darted inside, the wet sound imitating that which he usually induced from much lower. And then as he started to gnaw on my neck something loosened in me, the marionette’s strings suddenly cut. He let go and stepped back, watching me fall gracelessly to my knees with an impact that didn’t even register.

His dick right in front of my face appeared bigger than life itself. I wanted it in my mouth, to nibble and pull it in.

“May I, please?”

In answer to my plea, he grabbed the back of my head and forced himself in, nearly gagging me but for the fact that I wanted it. A hoped for fulfillment, it was never guaranteed.

He would push me away when I asked to suck him off or rub his erection against my face and neck. I’d pay later for licking. I always licked it, as many times as I could. As penalty he’d inflict some new suffering upon me or just leave me, bound and exposed, to endure his absence for however long he felt adequate. Abandonment by far the nastiest thing he had ever done, nothing worse came to mind.

Now I enjoyed the suede texture of him and started to reach for his hips. He wrenched back, leaving my hands half raised as if in supplication. I nearly drooled and felt my cheeks flush as I rolled my eyes up toward his face.

“What did I say about touching me?”

He told me not to move and I knelt there awkwardly, awaiting reprisal. Apparently he’d obtained new handcuffs. The last pair broke under duress. Technically, the key snapped off in the lock.

That’s when our liaison first showed a humorous element. Returning with bolt cutters he had said he now understood why the police started using plastic strip ties on suspects. He, however, preferred a good old fashioned steel pair.

“I like your steel pair, though I find them far from old fashioned,” I’d wisecracked, inelegantly chained to the desk.

He burst out laughing that afternoon. Then he whipped me with his belt for being facetious. That had become our pattern, seemingly endless rough sex followed by more hours of banter and even tenderness. If he wasn’t gearing up for another programming session, that is. I’d usually not know the situation until the scenario played itself out.

If lucky, I’d find myself lathered within a steamy shower. Perhaps we’d curl up later with books picked from his library, soft music or a smoldering fire as backdrop. Exhibiting plenty of sensual after-play, hands and mouths roamed over barely clad bodies. The flesh willing, bodies weak, desire usually became so unbearable that we’d join in lovemaking yet again right there on the sofa.


Other days, with him so distracted and serious planning a new venture, he might not have even given me time to retrieve my panties. There I would stand on the street, his cum running down my leg, a disheveled figure in the dark trying to hail a taxi. The doorman didn’t quite know what to make of me and called Yellow Cab if I failed finding reasonably prompt conveyance. I always made sure to tip him for his trouble, surprising him every time.

Eyes blazed as he strode toward me, bringing me back to the present from my reverie. He told
me to lie down on the bed. Quickly I complied.

“That’s good,” he sighed, as if he regretting his need to do this. “Get on your stomach. I want to see your pink ass in the air.”

Arms pulled over my head suddenly, his endeavor locking them in place to the headboard pinched narrow wrists. Another set of marks needed hiding or explanation. I’d think of something. Silk brushed my back. It whispered over my skin raising gooseflesh. The fabric wound and tied around my head effectively blinded me. I wondered if it could be the scarf assumed lost.

The reflection melted away upon slap from a rolled up periodical. My ass felt hot where he’d hit more than it stung. I nearly giggled as my cunt throbbed at the familiar, welcome sensation. The next landed with a thwack and I pushed up slightly onto my knees, rising up reflexively. It stung appealingly and I rose still higher. He slapped his hand lightly against my labia majora and rubbed roughly, working deeper. Spreading juices cooled rapidly, soothing burning flesh. He said nothing as he tossed the magazine on the nightstand.

Still not speaking, he got on the bed and I felt the smooth skin of his chest on my back just as his dick tore into me. My thighs spread wide under the onslaught of his and the fine blonde hair on them tickled my skin, inharmonious sensation alongside the brutal way he entered me. Penis buried deep, he twitched his groin muscles. He repeated the move several times, pulling cry after cry from me with each nudge, each minuscule lift inside me.

His breath on my ear told me I shouldn’t have this yet. And with that he was gone.

I whimpered, sensing he sat back on his feet. The weight of him shifted, my only indication. His hair brushed eager skin so softly and pleasantly until he bit my leg just above the knee. I flinched and he let out a low sinister chuckle. I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

There had been times when he’d walk out, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Left chained to a clothes rack in the darkened closet, I grieved the lack of him. Long and interminable, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours. As he sat at his computer, the real torment was hearing him describe some dark porn scenario.

Secretly, I guessed his narration came from his own disturbing imagination. And I hoped it was so, that he’d someday work it in with his plans.

Really not making me wait long at all, he’d come back and remove my restraints to take me on the floor or carry me to the bed as I blinked in the sudden brightness. Other times he would mount me where I stood. I’d grab onto the bar, his thrust hammering me against the neat row of suits.

After that I’d be whipped for soiling an expensive suit coat by supposedly sweating on it. He would soon stop to touch and admire the few thin welts left on stomach or legs. He’d seldom mark my back, liking it unmarred. The idea excited him that I could wear something backless while hiding evidence of our sport on neck or wrist with jewelry or cosmetics. Buying expensive apparel just for the purpose, he valued stripes on my stomach and/or legs lurking underneath.

I felt him grab my unleashed ankle. Lifting it to his shoulder, he licked the instep. Quivering as with fever chills, I waited for whatever may come. He let go my leg and let it fall, rolling me onto my back. Wrists twisted in the restraints, cruel metal encircling them in mean jaws.

“The teddy suits you… you’re really just an animal parading as human” he groused, “Just driven by hunger… the need to feed… to mate.”

Phrases disembodied in the air all around, licks and bites punctuated every pause at random places. Contact brought guttural cries, sounds accentuating his words. Fabric clinging to my skin from the water he’d flung, it peeled away as he tugged at the shoulder straps.

“Oh no,” he lamented. “How am I gonna get this off if you’re chained and bound?”

Unsure if I should answer, I offered quietly, “You could free me. I won’t run away, you know.”

To be continued...