Monday, October 20, 2014

Stallers: More Tales of Times Square Cuties excerpt by Mykola Dementiuk

Lambda Award winner for Best Bisexual Fiction, Mykola Dementiuk's masterful collection, stories of certain men who used to stand around in certain locations in Times Square in the old days where they knew they could always find another horny man and instant semiprivacy just a door away in which to act out their desires. 

Stallers: Tales of Times Square Cuties
Sizzler Editions (April 20, 2011)



I darted across the empty lounge and quickly stepped through the open door of the ladies' room. I took a deep breath and frowned, disappointed by the faint but ever-present ammonia smell. She'll make it pretty, I smiled, and bustled into a stall, clicking the latch behind me.

Just moments before I had paced the back of the theater, nervously peering out the lounge door and finally saw her enter the movie house, her large bosom thrust out, her walk exaggerated, her legs and thighs strong and thick. There had been some exchange of words at the ticket booth and I was afraid the old crone in the booth would enforce the No Unescorted Ladies policy and not let her in; though I'm sure she wasn't taken in by the lipstick and high-hair and knew quite well what the lady had between her legs.

But I finally heard the turnstile clicking, the crone gesturing, and watched her scraping her heels, wobbling towards the lobby doors.  She wore a loose short skirt and I nodded contentedly at her black nyloned legs and red high heels but blushed, drawing back when she spotted me gaping out the open door. I hurried to the bathroom. I should not have been upstairs; that wasn't part of the scenario; even though she was late I should have been patient and awaited her in the bathroom stall, just as I had done all the weeks before. Would she now be angry and not come down?

I sat on the toilet and clenched my thighs, listening to the faint movie grunts and cries pushing in through the bathroom door. Still, I kept my hands off my cock, willing to be patient now that I knew she was so near; she provided me with enough fantasies to keep me occupied all week; I simply had to be patient a bit longer.

I did not wait long. Her high heels clicked loudly on the marble lounge floor and my cock jumped in my pants as the heel-clicks moved closer and entered the ladies' room. I stooped to the stall door and pressed an eye to the narrow slit between the door and panel frame, watching her shut the bathroom door behind her and click to large clear mirrors above the wash basins. I clenched my thighs and sucked my breath, catching the rising traces of her sweet perfume, each tincture pulsing thicker and sweeter through the door interstice, ridding the air of the too-clean bathroom smell.

She paused at the mirrors and flounced up the back of her beehive, then turned to examine her bosom from the right side and then from the left. Not satisfied with the position of the left side she reached into her blouse at the shoulder and jerked on the limp bra strap. The breast wobbled on her chest as she adjusted the strap until the loose bosom rose into proximate position with the other hovering buoyant one. I fell to my knees off the toilet seat and pressed my face to the stall door as if I could suck in the shaking tit through the narrow door gap. Content with her balanced bosom she smoothed the blouse and brushed at her shirt loose skirt.

Suddenly she bent over and reached down to align a twisted anklet bracelet and what should have driven me into a masturbatory frenzy at the clear view I had of her large fat ass beneath the rising and hiked up loose skirt only made me grimace and curse at the frustrating lurch of my dying cock from the unexpected new-style pantyhose covering her thick thighs and legs and the dimming the slither of panty G-string she wore underneath that inched into her upturned ass.

I thought of pouncing out of the stall and calling the whole thing off. I didn't mind this new fashion style of higher-rising skirts but I did object to the elimination of garter belts and nylons, which she usually wore, that were the crux of my masturbatory dreams. As fashion moguls dictated that skirts rise each season, from ankle bottom to pussy apex, the new look necessitated a utilitarian solution to convince women to purchase and wear the shorter skirts without turning them into porno magazine frumps. Hence the pantyhose, an all-in-one garment of panty and nylon melded together, easily slipped on, easily head up, – Wear it like a ballerina! – eliminating the need for a cumbersome garter belt with its awkward dangling straps and clinching rubber-button clasps. Ladies! No more Embarrassing Situations! Be the New Woman! Discover the Total Freedom of the New Look! (The freedom to open your leg and have hose cover your crotch?) Even the Sunday papers displayed full-page colored advertisement of before and after shots of seated women; porno garters on the left, demure New Look on the right. I cut out the garter left side, jerked off, adding it to my collection of woman/man cutouts from magazines and papers.

Still for a few months, before the short-skirt/pantyhose fashion was fully accepted by skeptical women, and hose moguls turned even richer by adapting and out-besting minis with micros, all you had to do for thrills was ride any street bus or subway and see the fashionable broads in their fashionable short skirts struggling to cover their gartered thighs as the gawkers in opposite seats sat with elbows on knees disbelieving that suddenly life all over the city was even more thrilling and lustful than any Times Square delusions.  And though I never came in my pants on a city bus or subway, I often rode for blocks out of my way, gaping at nervous crossing and re-crossing dark legs, fascinated by the insistence of flustered dames to hide what they must have known would be seen by all. Yet wasn't  the point of the New Look to show all to all? In the argument over the promiscuity of certain women's fashions the point is moot or should I say stiff? It's like pornography and erotica: one makes you go home alone and jerk off in your solitude, the other makes you take home a partner and make love together.

She adjusted her ankle bracelet and slowly straightened up, her short skirt sliding back down over her fat ass and thick hose thighs.  My cock re-stiffened at the sight of her quivering skirt bottom: once more the image of skirt and legs stirred the fantasy of unattainable pornographic sex. I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock before she surprised me with some other frustrating New Look.  She turned and looked at my knees and jerking cock beneath the stall door then leaned back on the sink, her legs slightly outspread, her heavy aligned bosom pushed out on her chest. I pressed my lips to the door gap and darted my tongue into the narrow slit, running my eyes from her high-heel shoes, up her black leg hose, to her swaying skirt bottom, the tiny folds and creases in her short loose skirt, the wide shiny belt about her waist, onto her smooth blouse belly above the belt, the large high breasts and finally settling on a stitch of a bra strap molded under her tight blouse and rising from a lumped left bra cup across her shoulder.

I looked at her round puffy face: a glistening drop of sweat seeped down her forehead in a thin swift line, leaving a streak of separated makeup which melded into the arch of a black eyebrow. I rubbed my own sweated cheeks on my shoulders and pressed my eye back to the gap.

Every Friday the same scenario: posing, teasing, revealing, and finally, if it all fell in place and at the right moment, mutual orgasms and ejaculation from across the room, – though I sometimes think she faked it. And she looked ready: she licked her red lips and slowly raised the front of her loose skirt, pulling it up her disappointing hose-covered thighs, swaying the hem at the bottom edge of her groin and suddenly lifting the skirt to her waist.

It was an unexpected sight and my torso buckled in surprise as my hard cock lurched out of my hand beneath the stall door as if breaking from my body and surging to attach to hers. The incredible but possible scenarios streaked through my mind as I caught my cock and pulled back under my door.

I had never imagined such a sight: she stood with her skirt around her waist, her high-heeled legs outspread, her hairless hard cock and balls braced up the front of her belly and out of the skimpy panty Gstring, but trapped in the shifting mesh of the dark nylon pantyhose material. If ever a fashion was designed for the wrong gender this was it (at least males had something to show in the hose, whereas women didn't).

I tottered on my knees and struck my head against the door, straining my bulging eyeball into the narrow slit. She leaned further back on the sink and slightly pushed up her groin; the head of her cock peeped out of its uncut fleshy sheath as if probing the unfamiliar restrictive mesh. On one side of the stiff dick a thick nylon seam rose from the bottom of the panty crotch and wove up the center of the belly and disappeared into the folds of the raised skirt.

I settled into a steady even masturbation and watched her slither her fingers around the base of her balls, up the fat cock to the trapped round head. She reached under her rumpled skirt and groped for the pantyhose top.

"No!" I moaned, beating my cock furiously and pounding the door.  She dropped her hand and once more outlined the large cock with her fingers. I screamed and fell back from the door and doubled over against the toilet bowl, my scum spewing over my fingers and onto my shirt and pants. I cursed at the abrupt ejaculation, but my penis remained stiff and I continued squeezing and rapidly stroking my cock as if trying pro-long the too-short masturbation. Would she wait for me to come again?

I heard the clicking of her heels scraping from the sink and towards my stall. I jolted at the raps on my door. Impatient little bitch, I thought, but let go of my cock and reached into my pocket for the money I had set aside every week. I glanced at the two folded bills – this week she was worth more and didn't even know it – then kissed them and rubbed them against my wet cock, lifting them to the door and sticking them into the narrow sweated door gap. They were pulled from my fingers as soon as they poked through the other side.  I heard the heels return to the sink and I fell back against the toilet bowl. There was a splash of water and then the heels clicked to the front door.

A movie female groan drifted in through the opening/closing door; the actress was probably getting fucked in old fashioned nylons and garters. I thought of the New Look – tight panty hose around a hard cock. I began to jerk off.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Amethysts of Wisdom excerpt by Serena Yates

"True love is more precious than the rarest of gemstones." --The Collector

In Amethysts of Wisdom by Serena Yates, Angus loves ancient languages and sharing his knowledge with high school kids, but his true passion is linguistic research. Love doesn't come easy for him, despite the amethyst ring his grandmother gave him to help him heal from the traumatic experience that still haunts him. He desperately wants a loving relationship with Ayden, despite their different temperaments, but cannot seem to overcome his fears. Ayden is not a patient man, and Angus is afraid he'll lose him, so he decides to open up.

Ayden hates the fact he can't seem to get closer to Angus. When he is shot at on a secret mission to free a hostage in Central America, he resolves to find out what is stopping Angus from accepting physical intimacy. Ayden finds him a gift, a mysterious amethyst-covered book, hoping it will show Angus how much he loves him.

But the book has a mind of its own. Mysterious letters appear and disappear. Weird dreams challenge their very understanding of reality. Can they overcome their differences and discover the amethysts' wisdom?

Amethysts of Wisdom
  • Diversity Novels; 2nd edition (January 31, 2013)


Chapter One

Provo, Utah, February this year

"Hey, gorgeous." Ayden Newkirk walked up to Angus's desk, winding his way between the stacks of books gracing the small office's floor. He wasn't quite able to suppress his grin of delight at seeing his secret boyfriend of three months. He knew they had to be careful, this was Mormon country, after all, and some of the most conservative people he'd ever met worked here at the university. But honestly? With the door closed behind them and late on a Friday afternoon, who was even going to notice? "Are you ready to get out of here and start our weekend?"

Angus glanced up from the papers he'd been staring at and blinked. His sky-blue eyes behind the sexy gold-rimmed glasses had that faraway look Ayden loved. It spoke of hidden mysteries to be discovered and even though Ayden had no idea what was so fascinating about teaching foreign languages and correcting students' work, he respected Angus's need to make what the man called 'good use' of the six or seven ancient and modern languages he spoke.

Angus blinked again then visibly pulled himself together before taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Ayden wanted to kiss the man's discomfort away. When Angus finally took a deep breath that sounded more like a sigh, Ayden got a little worried.

"Angus?" His grin faded. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Angus smiled, finally, and the stress line around his mouth dissolved. He dropped the pen he'd been making notes with and sagged in his chair.

"Come on, let's go." He held out his hand.

Angus rose and walked around his desk to join him. Ayden took his hand and pulled him up against him, locking their joined hands between them, right above his heart. His other arm went around Angus's middle. God, he had craved their physical connection all day. He always did, but the need seemed to get more intense the longer they were together.

He bent his head and touched Angus's lips. The man closed his eyes with a small sigh of bliss. Ayden stayed perfectly still for a few seconds, letting their breaths mingle. Where he was excited from just seeing his boyfriend, already more than half hard, Angus always took a little longer to let go of the tight control he maintained. Ayden had never met a more repressed man. Thing was, once they got going, Angus was always enthusiastic--up to a point. Ayden still hadn't figured out why Angus held back when more than kissing was involved, but he'd decided to wait. Angus was worth the wait.

Ayden licked along Angus's lips until he opened and welcomed him inside. Slowly he reacquainted himself with the flavor and heat of Angus's mouth, caressing and touching anywhere he could reach. Angus reciprocated enthusiastically until they were both moaning with the shared pleasure.

He started stroking Angus's hip, the soft fabric of the dark, conservative pants the man wore to work a somewhat annoying barrier between him and the skin he wanted to touch. He moved lower and squeezed a firm ass cheek, making Angus buck his hips and pull back from their kiss.

"Ayden!" He was breathless. "What if someone comes in?"

"They won't." He showed no remorse. "Nobody's even here anymore, they've all left for the weekend."

"You're impossible." Angus shook his head and attempted to step back, but Ayden wouldn't let him. He needed to touch.

"Yeah, and you like that about me, admit it." His grin returned unbidden and he winked.

"What am I going to do with you?" Angus smiled.

"I have a few ideas..." His grin widened.

Then his damned cell phone rang. Shit, should have switched it off. Not that he ever did, he took his job as hostage rescue support for the small private security company he worked for much too seriously. But he had been tempted, more so recently. Didn't he deserve an occasional weekend off, just like everyone else?
Angus had already pulled back, his happy expression becoming closed. Ayden tried to convey his regret with his eyes, pulled out his phone, and opened it. The caller ID confirmed his suspicion. He took the call, mouthing 

Angus shrugged, walked back around his desk, and started to close down his computer and clean his desk. Ayden turned toward the window for some privacy and listened to what his boss had to say.

As expected, it wasn't good and he had very little time before he needed to be at the airport. He ended the call and stared out of the window, trying to figure out what to say. Talking wasn't exactly his strong suit. His shoulders stiffened with the tension.

"Ayden?" Angus's voice was shaky. "What's wrong?"

He turned around but couldn't look at the man. They'd anticipated this weekend for a while now, and he knew they needed to spend more time together if they were ever going to deal with their differences. But how could he turn down a mission where an innocent life was at stake?

"I'm really sorry, Angus, but something's come up." He still didn't dare look at the man. The disappointment he knew would cloud those amazing eyes would be too much to bear. "I have to go home and pack. They're picking me up in an hour."

"No!" Angus sounded desperate as he jumped up. "Ayden, no. Don't do this to me. You promised we could have the weekend to go hiking."

"Please, sweetheart, don't make this more difficult than it is." He finally looked up, silently pleading with him to understand. "You know I'd keep my promise if I could."

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me." Angus frowned. "I can't believe you're doing this to me again. Why are those 
missions always more important than spending time with me?"

"This mission isn't more important than spending time with you." He raked a hand though his hair. "But I have to go, it's urgent. I can't tell you what it's about..."

"Well, no surprise there." Angus huffed and flopped down into his chair. "It's always urgent and you can never tell me anything. I don't get it. It's not like you're in the Marines anymore. You're working for a private company now. They can't just order you around. But you still jump every time they call."

"I can't tell you anything, Angus. You know that." He bristled at the accusation of being at their beck-and-call, even though he pretty much was. "They're not ordering me around and you know it. But when the team needs me and a life is at stake, I'm not going to ignore them."

"Can't you at least think this through before you jump in?" Angus sounded scared.

"There's no time to think, don't you understand that?" His voice got louder. "My job isn't nice and easy like yours, with lots of time to consider everything for days. There are lives at stake and if we don't act people die. Helpless, innocent people who've done nothing wrong and who've got nobody to protect or help them. Why can't you get that?"

"I do get it." Angus sighed. "I just don't want you to go. I don't see why you have to keep putting your life on the line."

"No, I don't think you get it at all." He hated that Angus always made it so difficult for him. Hell, it was hard enough to leave the man, not knowing when he could see him again. These emotional outbursts only made it worse. Not knowing how to express all of that in a way that Angus could understand, Ayden turned around and walked toward the door.

"Ayden, please don't." Angus sounded close to tears.

Fuck! "You know what?" He turned back to look at him, his mouth a thin line of barely controlled anger. "I don't want to argue with you while you're so emotional. Why don't you cool down and stop being selfish and we'll talk about this when I'm back."

Monday, October 6, 2014

Love on Stage Excerpt by Neil Plakcy

This is the second in Neil Plakcy’s  "Love on" series, which began with last year's "Love on Site." Manny's roommate and fellow FU grad, Gavin Kaczmarek is a golden boy, desired by all. But though he's handsome and talented, Gavin is drifting -- working as a barista at a funky, Fair Trade coffee shop on South Beach and modeling for print ads. But when he sings for music producer Miles Goodwin while serving his coffee, a whole new world of opportunity opens for him.

The obvious attraction between Gavin and Miles takes them to bed, and then on an adventure that leads to performance and YouTube fame--but when insecurity arises on both their parts, can their budding romance survive the summer heat and blossom, or die with the falling autumn leaves? If you liked Love on Site, I hope you'll enjoy Gavin's story -- and there are more stories of these college frat brothers to come.

Love on Stage
Loose ID LLC (September 15, 2014)
  • ASIN: B00NMWBN68

Gavin was relaxing at Java Joe’s, sipping a low-fat fruit smoothie, when he noticed a guy across from him checking him out. The dude was older, at least forty, and wore the kind of suit you couldn’t buy off the shelf. The coal-black jacket was tailored snugly over his shoulders, and the slacks fell perfectly over his black tasseled loafers.

He was on the phone, but his eyes met Gavin’s. In a flash, the guy ended his call and looked at Gavin, with one of those gazes that said to Gavin that he was being stripped naked. Then the man smiled. 

“I’m Ben,” he said.


“You look very familiar to me,” Ben said. “Have I seen you before?”

Gavin shrugged. “I work the morning shift here.”

Ben shook his head. “No, that’s not it.” He reached for the glossy magazine by his side and flipped through it. “There,” he said, pointing at Gavin’s photo in a group bathing suit shot. Gavin was wearing boxer-brief trunks, and his skin glistened with what was supposed to be either perspiration or seawater from the Atlantic Ocean in the background.

His blond hair was longer then, and the hair stylist had sprayed in some glistening highlights. It was a great shot, and in fact the first one in Gavin’s portfolio.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Gavin said.

Ben looked at his watch. “I was just about to get something to eat,” he said. “Honestly, I’ve been delaying because I hate eating alone when I’m on the road. Can I buy you dinner?”

Gavin’s roommates complained that this kind of thing happened to him all the time – getting picked up by handsome, sexy guys. The truth was it didn’t happen that often, and he was delighted whenever it did. “Sure,” Gavin said. “Where would you like to go?”

“What do you recommend?”

That was a touchy question. The guy dressed well, and he’d already mentioned he was traveling on business, which meant expense account. Most of the places Gavin knew wouldn’t be appropriate.
Ben saved the day, though, by mentioning the name of his boutique hotel. “The restaurant there looks pretty good.”

That was an understatement, Gavin thought. He was no gourmet, but he knew that the restaurants in those fancy hotels were beaucoup expensive and therefore had to be beaucoup good at the same time. And there was an unspoken message in Ben’s suggestion: come eat at my hotel, and then we’re just an elevator ride away from continuing the evening together.

He didn’t mind that at all. The guy was rich and handsome, and maybe Gavin could short-circuit the track that was intended to lead him to Mr. Right.

Not that he was jumping ahead of the game or anything.

It was only a few blocks to the hotel, and Ben spent most of the walk on the phone, confirming a business meeting the next day. That was fine with Gavin; he could flirt like mad but wasn’t much for small talk once the deal was sealed. Ben finished his call as they approached the Collins Avenue entrance to the hotel, and even ushered Gavin in ahead of him as the valet opened the door.
Ben led Gavin across the lobby, to the restaurant entrance. He spoke to the maitre d’, who took them to a table with a view of the beach and the ocean beyond. “Kind of like where you were shooting,” Ben said.

“Just down the beach,” Gavin said. He smiled.

The place wasn’t as pricy as Gavin expected, and he was considering what he wanted when Ben said, “I know you guys are always watching your weight. They have some nice salads.”

“I’m more of a carnivore,” Gavin said, arching an eyebrow. “And I’m lucky to have a fast metabolism.”

Ben smiled. “Then order whatever you’d like.”

Since he didn’t have any gigs set up for the next few days, Gavin decided to splurge on the surf and turf – a petit filet mignon which came with “grilled Ivory Coast prawn, whipped potatoes, rapini,” and a bĂ©arnaise sauce. He had no idea why a prawn shipped in from Africa would be better than a lobster from Maine, and he had only the vaguest idea what rapini was, but it wasn’t the most expensive item on the menu. He announced his choice to Ben. “I’ve got a hankering for meat.” He’d have preferred the twenty-two ounce T-bone but that was a few bucks more, and he didn’t want to seem like a pig.

Ben snickered at the double entendre. “I guess I do, too. I’ll have the T-bone.”

Crap, Gavin thought. He could have waited and then tagged onto Ben’s order. When the waiter came over to take their drink orders, Ben ordered a Manhattan and Gavin a Cosmo. The alcohol relaxed him, and they chatted through the meal about Ben’s job – he was in something called “advertising specialties,” which he assumed Gavin knew all about so he never got specific.

Gavin told some funny stories about modeling jobs. The food was great, and Ben had a salesman’s charm.

The waiter cleared their plates, then asked, “Can I tempt you with our chocolate tart?”

Ben said, “We’re good,” then signed the check to his room with a flourish, adding a hefty tip.

“It’s such a beautiful evening,” Ben said, as he stood up. “Would you like to take a walk along the beach?”

“I’ll bet the view from your room is just as good,” Gavin said.

Ben smiled wolfishly. “I like the way you think.”

They rode the elevator up to Ben’s room, and he swiped the card in the door then ushered Gavin in ahead of him. The view was disappointing, miles of dark ocean with the lights of a single freighter off the coast.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Ben said, coming up beside him. He put his arm around Gavin’s waist. For the first time Gavin realized the guy was a couple inches shorter than he was.

“It sure is.” Gavin turned toward Ben and leaned down to kiss him. The kiss he received in return was more like a peck, and then Ben backed away.

“Let me get out of my suit.” He stepped back into the hotel room and Gavin watched as he opened the closet door. He took his time, hanging up his suit jacket, removing his dress loafers and lining them up on the closet floor, then unbuttoning his white shirt.

Well, Gavin thought, if my clothes were worth that much money, I’d take good care of them too. He pulled his polo shirt off and toed off his deck shoes. When he turned to go back into the bedroom he saw Ben had put on black leather boxer briefs, and he was fastening a studded leather bandolier over his chest.

Kinky, Gavin thought. And interesting.

He walked back into the room, and Ben looked up at him. “You’re still wearing your pants.”

“Not for long,” Gavin said. He unbuttoned them and they slid down over his waist.

“Shorts, too,” Ben said.

Gavin’s dick was already hard and it bounced against his stomach when he jerked down his briefs. As he looked up, he saw Ben take a pair of leather-lined handcuffs from his backpack. Gavin was surprised he’d been able to get them past the TSA check. Weren’t handcuffs on the prohibited list?

Before Gavin realized it, Ben had locked a cuff on one of Gavin’s wrists, and expertly pulled that arm behind his back. “Hey, hold on,” Gavin said, but Ben already had Gavin’s other wrist in the second cuff.

Ben removed a leather paddle from a backpack and slapped it against his palm. “Bend over.”

Gavin did as he was told, leaning down to grasp the edge of the bed. “Nothing that shows,” he said. 

“I have another shoot in a few days.”

“Like that matters to me,” Ben said, and he smacked Gavin’s butt. It sent electric currents through his dick and the rest of his body. It was kinky, but he thought he could get into it.

“I’m new at this,” Gavin said. “So go easy, all right?”

He felt the edge of the paddle caressing his butt crack, and relaxed. Funny, how the innocent-looking guys turned out to be the weirdest in bed. Ben slipped a leather glove on his right hand, and began fingering Gavin’s hole. He alternated with light slaps of the paddle, and Gavin’s dick began to leak precum. This was getting good.

Ben’s leather-clad finger pushed past Gavin’s anal ring, and he winced. “Take it easy,” he said. 
“That’s not Grand Central Station back there.”

“You know, you’re much better looking with your mouth shut,” Ben said. “But if you won’t shut it yourself, I can take care of that.”

He reached back into his bag of tricks and brought out a ball gag. Gavin had never seen one of those in person, but he’d seen enough videos online to know what happened next. The ball would go in his mouth, with the rubber strap around the back of his head.

“Hey, I’ll shut up,” Gavin said. “You don’t have to use that, honest.”

Ben was surprisingly strong for a little guy. He pried open Gavin’s mouth and stuffed the rubber ball inside, then pulled the strap over his head.

Gavin’s dick had begun to soften. This wasn’t his scene. What had happened to the eager guy who’d wanted to make it with a model? Who’d paid for a great dinner and wanted to take a walk on the beach?

Ben began smacking Gavin’s ass hard. It hurt but he couldn’t cry out, because the ball filled his mouth. Tiny tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

“Not such a big stud now, are you?” Ben asked. “You model types are all alike. You lord your good looks over normal guys. But when it comes to pain, you’re just a wimp.”

Gavin tried to shake his head, but Ben slapped his cheek. Anything Gavin said turned into a garbled mumble, but Ben wasn’t paying attention. He dug through his pack and found a big black dildo, larger than anything Gavin had ever had up his ass.

That was it. He had had enough. He turned around and caught Ben off guard, then kneed him in the balls. “You fucker!” Ben yelped. “You’re really going to get it now.” He clutched his balls and writhed on the bed.

Gavin grabbed the key to the handcuffs from the bureau in one hand, then stepped into his deck shoes. While Ben was still immobilized, Gavin squatted down and grabbed his shirt, slacks and briefs.

“Don’t go out in the hall like that!” Ben screeched.

Gavin didn’t bother to answer. He used his elbow to knock the door open, and then stalked out into the carpeted hallway, stark naked. He used his elbow again to push the elevator button.

When the door opened, the car was empty. Not my day, Gavin thought. He managed to push the button for the ground floor, though it took some contortions. He rode down alone, and when the door opened to the marble he stalked over to the concierge desk. He dropped his clothes to the floor and then placed the key on the desk. He turned around, presenting his hands to the young woman on duty.

She didn’t say a word, just unlocked the cuffs for him. He immediately removed the ball gag from his mouth and laid it and the cuffs on the concierge desk. “These belong to the asshole in twelve-ten,” he said politely. He pulled on his briefs and his slacks, then tossed his shirt over his shoulders. “Thank you for your help.”

He walked out of the hotel bare-chested, daring anyone to stare at him. He was a fucking model, and they’d just gotten a free show.

Monday, September 29, 2014

Patchwork Heaven excerpt by Jaime Samms

In Patchwork Heaven by Jaime Samms, singer Coby Kennedy and his drummer twin, Bruce, have a band called Patchwork Heaven. They have been rising steadily up the country music charts, but unfortunately, that rise has attracted unwanted attention. Faced with anonymous letters, sinister gifts, and the wanton destruction of their personal space, they hire The Detail, a specialized security firm. Coby never anticipated Gregor, The Detail's owner and his personal guard, would be quite so intriguing. 

As the stalker gets closer and more violent and questions pile up, Gregor fears his past might get in the way of him finding who is threatening his client when he becomes suspect number one. Even though Coby is convinced Gregor is not behind the threat, Gregor is not sure he's the right man to keep Coby safe, either from the stalker, or from his own interest in the singer.

Patchwork Heaven
DreamSpinner Press(9/28/14)
ISBN-13 978-1-63216-407-0

“Thought you weren’t going to get your rocks off with your boss,” Coby murmured as he leaned back and rested his head on Gregor’s shoulder. It was nice to have someone he could do that with. Most guys were inches shorter than he. Gregor was thin, lanky, but as tall as Coby. He liked the feel of that.
“Three things,” Gregor replied, dropping a kiss on the side of Coby’s neck. “First, I’m off duty, so you’re not my boss.”
“Okay.” Coby was willing to agree to that slight stretching of the definition.
“Second, I admit, more than a couple of my own guys are breathing a sigh of relief right now, watching this. Apparently, I’ve been a little… tense lately.”
“Really?” Coby resisted the urge to glance around the room at the cameras he knew were there. It would hardly be the first time he had an audience for a couple of kisses. Sometimes, you compromised privacy for security in his line of work. Closed-circuit cameras in the public portions of his home were a necessary precaution. Especially now. The private areas, however, were nonnegotiable and his staff knew it.
“What’s the third thing?” he asked, tipping his head away to give Gregor more access to bare skin. He reached back to find purchase for his questing hands on Gregor’s legs behind him.
“Third?” Gregor licked a trail up the side of Coby’s neck to his earlobe, kissed it, then nipped it. Hard, and held on.
Coby barely resisted the instinct to pull away despite the pain and surprise. He went very still, and a tingle travelled down his body..
Gregor released his earlobe to whisper. “Third, this isn’t about getting my rocks off at all.”
Coby swallowed. “It isn’t?”
“Put your hands on the counter, Coby.”
Heart speeding up, brows drawing down, Coby slowly did as he’d been instructed. The splint clicked lightly against the countertop in the quiet room. He wasn’t entirely sure why he obeyed. “What is it about?” Coby asked. Heat prickled across his skin under his clothing.
“Maybe this isn’t the place to find out,” Gregor said as he stepped back. Coby remained very still. Chill replaced the heat and he hesitated, rethinking the motion that would have turned him to face Gregor. He remained where he was, not even swiveling his head to see the other man, and waited, wondering what was stopping him moving.
“Upstairs?” Gregor asked.
Was it an invitation? Or was he asking permission?
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me?” Coby asked, confusion undermining the earlier relief.
“Needing it and wanting it sometimes aren’t the same thing,” Gregor said. “You need it.” Gregor’s breath was loud in the stillness that asked for permission in place of his words.
Gregor traced a path down Coby’s spine, and he held back a shiver. Barely.
“It can be a difficult thing to accept that you also want it,” Gregor went on. “So I am asking.”
“I’ve never… done it before,” Coby said. “If by ‘it’ you mean….” How to word it?
Coby swallowed. Incongruously, in that moment, he thought of Bruce. He’d never submitted in his life. He was up against Bruce. Always. Submission meant letting his twin’s bolder temperament swamp him. And if some days he wished he could let that happen, the greater part of him knew he didn’t want to be the lesser brother. His strength came from the constant battle not to let Bruce take over their lives. They vied and bantered and teased, and Coby thrived. But it was tiring. He was so tired. Now here was Gregor, offering a sort of surcease if he dared take it.
“I don’t know,” he said. His sweating palms slipped against the countertop. Tell me what to do! He closed his eyes.
Bruce. He was there, and then he wasn’t. A spray of red, his feet flying, and gone.
“Fuck!” He snapped his eyes open again, and nothing he did could stop the way his arms shook with tension or the way his good fingers gripped the counter edge. His breath hitched. Nothing he did opened his lungs enough to pull in sufficient air.
“Upstairs,” Gregor said. Calm radiated off him as he took Coby’s arm and placed a hand on the small of his back. “Come on.”
Coby allowed himself to be led. He followed the direction because the numb, frightened part of his brain kept eclipsing the rest. He had to control it, fiercely hold on to the immediacy of every moment to keep that vision at bay.
Once they were inside the private sanctum of Coby’s bedroom, Gregor eased his hand away and stepped back to look around. The warm woods and plush carpet seemed to meet with his approval, if his nod was anything to go by. He gaze fell on the bed and he smiled.
“Bruce has a quilt like that in the trailer.”
Coby nodded. “Mom made them for us. Long time ago.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” Coby gazed at it himself and felt a bit of his tension ease.
“Okay.” Gregor’s hand was back, palm firm against Coby’s lower spine. “Sit. On the bed.”
Coby did. He also removed his shoes, socks, and shirt at Gregor’s command, as Gregor circled the room drawing curtains closed, checking the bathroom and walk-in closet, and flicking on a few small lamps.
The room was warm. The clammy sweat covering Coby’s chest and back made that fact less noticeable, and he trembled, every so often losing control of the spasms that shook him and sent slivers of pain radiating out from his bruises and stitches.
He kept careful track of the other man as Gregor knelt at his side and traced light fingers over his bandages.
“Not bleeding, though,” he confirmed with a quick peek behind them. Gently, he plastered the peeled tape back in place. He pulled in a deep breath as he considered. “Okay.” He placed both hands on Coby’s knees and looked up at him. “I know you trust me with your life, or you wouldn’t have hired me.”
Coby nodded.
“Like I said, we’re not going to have sex.”
“Oh.” Coby couldn’t decide if that was disappointing or a relief.
“You’re not up to it until that’s more healed, for one thing, and you’re freaked the hell out. I know how to help with that, but you have to trust me.”
“We just established that I do.”
Gregor nodded. “Really trust me, because this might actually be scary.” He squeezed one of Coby’s knees. “And you have… some quirks, I noticed. About touching. And tidiness.”
Coby bit his lower lip. “I guess.”
“So I’ll be touching you, and I need to know that’s okay. I need you to know it’s okay.”
Coby nodded. “It’s you. The touching thing is more with strangers.”
“Okay. Good to know.”
They were quiet for a few minutes.
“The tidy thing doesn’t really come into play here, does it?” Coby asked, and congratulated himself when he didn’t even glance at the shoes and socks Gregor had left strewn on the floor next to the bed.
“Probably not, but if there’s anything else I should know about, you need to tell me.”
Coby shook his head. “No. Well. The confined-spaces thing, I guess. Sometimes. And….” He shivered. “I thought I was over it, but the dark, where I can’t see if there’s anyone around.” He did glance around the room then, noting there were none of the usual opaque corners. Lamps were lit to reveal everything, muted, but enough so no inky shadows covered the recesses by the closet and window seats. “But you already figured that one out,” he said, bringing his attention back to Gregor.
Gregor smiled. “I told you. I pay attention.”
Gregor pulled in a deep breath and held Coby’s attention. “Just so we’re clear before we start, the enclosed spaces might be a problem. The dark, definitely. If they’re hard limits, you have to say so now.”
“Hard limits?”
“Things you absolutely can’t handle. Can’t do.”
Coby stared at him a long time. “What are you going to do?”
“Ultimately, help you relax.”
“By pushing me into situations that make me tense.” He frowned.
“Not if it’s going to make you so tense you can’t do them. But maybe we can keep this discomfort in the dark from becoming another thing for you.”
“You can do that?”
We can. If you trust me.”
Coby had to swallow a few times to keep the nerves from clogging his throat, but finally, he nodded. “Okay. But what do I do if it’s too much?”
Gregor smiled softly. “Tell me you want Bruce, and everything stops. Promise.”
“That simple.”
“Coby.” Gregor touched Coby’s cheek. “This is about you. I think I can help. I’d like to try, and if it works, it’ll be good. If it doesn’t, we find another way.”
“Normally, people who find me attractive just want to fuck me. They want my money. Or something….” Gregor was petting his cheek. Okay, that was distracting and sweet and hot all at once. Coby lost his train of thought somewhere in the caress and the depths of Gregor’s gaze.
“If you want me out the door, I’m gone,” he promised.
Coby shook spasmodically. Uncontrolled. “No. Stay.” “Okay. Then yes or no?”
Coby nodded.
“Okay then, close your eyes,” Gregor instructed, standing before him. The tie he’d been wearing dangled from his hand, and he’d opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Letting his gaze travel down from those elegant fingers, past his flat stomach and narrow hips, along muscled—if lean—legs, right to his toes, Coby had to appreciate the vision. Even his feet, Coby noticed, were strangely beautiful, narrow and long-toed.
Coby logged that fact, along with the view of long legs in tailored pants, tailored shirt over broad chest, narrow chin, pursed, pretty lips, and finally, deep, liquid eyes, the brown nearly black in the dim light. Coby fixed his gaze on Gregor’s gorgeous eyes. He didn’t want to be deprived of the sight, he convinced himself. It wasn’t because he was afraid of what might flash through his brain if he voluntarily let the darkness close around him.
Gregor’s gaze held reassurance. His smile held something harder-edged. “I’ll do it for you if I must.”
Coby frowned. It didn’t even occur to him to move until the tie was actually across his face, and then it was too late.
Gregor was pressed right against him. His head, held tight to Gregor’s chest, was beyond his control to 
move, and the tie was fastened in place all in less time than it took Coby to process what had happened.

Monday, September 22, 2014

Deadly Dreams excerpt by Victor J Banis

In this excerpt from Deadly Dreams by Victor J Banis - #3 in the Deadly Mysteries series - Stanley’s sociopathic brother, Andrew, has Stanley and Tom come to rescue him. A painful past. A mysterious stranger. Footsteps vanishing in the fog. All Stanley wants is just to hear Tom say, "I love you." All Tom wants is Stanley safe. And the stranger? Ah, there's the rub--what exactly is it that he wants?  
Be careful what you wish for, fellows. You may get it. Dreams can be deadly.

Deadly Dreams
MLR Press (April 24, 2009)
ISBN: 1608200388

Andrew was saved from answering. Stanley's voice came weakly from beyond the screen in the corner: "Tom? Is that you?"
* * *
Stanley was dreaming. He was in some plague-infected city, London, perhaps, or maybe only a city of dreams. He heard the rumble of the death carts, the voice calling, "Bring out your dead…"
Then, suddenly, another voice superimposed itself, a voice that brought him back in an instant from the swirling, smothering darkness of his nightmares.
He opened his eyes, blinked. "Tom," he called, "is that you?"
* * *
Tom turned automatically, took a step in that direction—which saved his life, at least for the moment. Andrew fired his gun just as Tom turned. Andrew was a fairly good shot; if Stanley hadn't spoken, if Tom hadn't moved, Andrew would certainly have killed him with that one shot. Instead of the chest, right in the heart, the bullet caught Tom lower, off center. Tom staggered and fell, pain piercing his side where the bullet had entered. But not dead.
Andrew struck all of the matches in his hand and threw them at the trail of gasoline on the floor. He would have shot Tom again, intended to shoot him with a more careful aim, but the flames surprised him, leaped up faster, more violently than he had expected. The heat was instantly intense, growing rapidly worse and still worse. It felt as if any second his clothes might ignite spontaneously, or his hair, even.
He hesitated for only a heartbeat. Tom was wounded, perhaps mortally. In any case, it would take no more than a minute at the most for the gasoline to reach the pile of propane canisters, seconds more for the tanks to explode. Wounded, there was no way Tom would escape in time.
A living dog is better than a dead lion. The instinct for self-survival that had served Andrew so well in the past came to the fore. He fired one more shot, wildly, and made his own escape while he still could, bolting upward, the metal stairs clanging as he ran.
Already, the metal was hot to the touch. He ran harder.
* * *
Tom staggered to his knees. The fire was spreading rapidly, the flames racing across the open space. When it got to the propane tanks…
"Stanley," he shouted. High above, a door opened and banged shut. Smoke blew into Tom's face, making him cough. He made it to his feet, clutching at his side. Blood seeped through his fingers. He held his hand tight over the wound and lumbered toward the wooden screen. Banged into it, knocking it over with a crash.
Stanley was sitting on the edge of a cot, shaking his head groggily. "Tom," he said. "I heard a shot. I…"
"Get up," Tom ordered him, "we've got to get out of here."
Stanley's eyes went wide, tried to focus. "You're hurt."
"Just a scratch. Come on." He got Stanley to his feet, his arm around him. "No, save your breath, we'll talk later." Staggering feebly, Tom managed to get with him to the main part of the warehouse. Already, the room was an inferno, the flames lapping at the tanks of propane. Tom's gut was on fire, the smoke stinging his eyes and his lungs. His knees felt like jelly. Behind them, the wooden partition burst into flames with a small explosion, like a popgun going off. Tom could see the open door—a thousand miles away.
He suddenly knew he wouldn't make it. He could only hold Stanley back—and if he did, neither of them was going to escape.
"Run, Stanley," he said, shoving a hand hard at Stanley's back. "The door. Go, fast as you can. Don't worry, I’m right behind you."
For a second, Stanley hesitated. "Go," Tom bellowed, shoving harder, "God damn it, Stanley, do what I tell you. Run."
Stanley ran. The flames were a flickering curtain. He could see Tom's pick up through them, and the open door beyond that. He put his arms up over his face and ran through the blaze, past the truck, out the door…and found himself, astonishingly, in Edward Hannibal's arms.
"Easy," Hannibal said, brushing at the smoldering sleeve of Stanley's jacket, "We've got you. Take it easy."
Stanley's laugh was just short of hysterical. "My God," he said, "Did you ever see…Tom, look, it's Mister Hannibal, talk about Johnny-on-the-spot. Whoo-eee, talk about…"
He looked over his shoulder. Cars were parked everywhere, police cars and dark government sedans, and already in the distance he could hear sirens. People were milling about; it looked like an army of them, men in dark suits and men in black SFPD uniforms.
Only…he didn't see Tom among them.
The warehouse exploded suddenly, a blast so violent that it shook the ground like an earthquake. Great tongues of flame burst out the door and flung the glass from the windows, scorching the sparse grass that ran along the side of the alley, driving the people closest to it back, to take shelter behind the vehicles.
"Where's Tom?" Stanley demanded, of no one and everyone, his voice ascending. "Tom? Where are you?"
"Take it easy," Hannibal said again.
Stanley looked into his face, back at the fire now leaping skyward, and into Hannibal's face again. "He didn't make it?" Hannibal said nothing. He didn't need to. His expression said everything.
"Let me go." Stanley struggled with the arms that were suddenly tighter around him. "Tom's still in there. Damn you, let me go."
"Hold him," Hannibal said, and all at once there were more arms, it seemed dozens of them, holding Stanley back when he would have rushed into that conflagration. Would have rushed into Hell itself if Tom were there. Didn't they know that? Couldn't they understand?
Stanley fought against them furiously, cursing and kicking and punching, but there were too many of them and they were too strong. His strength failed him then, and he surrendered to the arms, felt someone lifting him off the ground, carrying him away from the fire.
"Tom." It was a scream of pain, of anguish. "Tom!"

For other excerpts from this series:
Deadly Nightshade - 4/20/09
Deadly Wrong- 3/1609
Deadly Slumber - 8/1/11, 10/7/13
Deadly Kind of Love -5/30/11
Deadly Silence - 12/10

Monday, September 15, 2014

Forbidden Fruit: stories of unwise lesbian desire - Edited by Cheyenne Blue

“She’s off limits but the attraction burns so bright it’s impossible to resist” describes Forbidden Fruit, this collection of seventeen stories that chart the spectrum of unwise lesbian desire, gathering tales of women you should resist—but can’t. In Jean Roberta’s Shelter the bad girl’s back from prison. An upper-class lady seduces her maid in Laila Blake’s poignant story set in Regency England, while a Catholic nun is beguiled by a hooker in Lisabet Sarai’s powerful The First Stone.

These women are cops, slave owners, doctors, Dommes, and horse thieves, and you’ll find them at the pool, being seduced by older women, putting their job on the line for lust, or seducing the salt-and-pepper butch.

With stories from writers at the top of their game, including Sacchi Green, Erzabet Bishop, Beth Wylde, Harper Bliss, and Allison Wonderland, this collection is sure to thrill.

Table of Contents:
Our Woman by Rebecca Lynne Fullan
Hands Off by Ava-Ann Holland
Shelter by Jean Roberta
Ungodly Ours by Allison Wonderland
The Rules by Rachel O. Esplanade
The Further Adventures of Miss Scarlet by Emily L. Byrne
Sunset, Sunrise by Sacchi Green
The Clinton County Horse Thief Society by Axa Lee
Freedom by Harper Bliss
Ascending Amelia by Erzabet Bishop
Bachelorette Party by Beth Wylde
Thanks to Irene by Nicole Wolfe
Ash by Niki Crow
The Law of Reciprocity by Laila Blake
The Shallow End by L.C. Spoering
The First Stone by Lisabet Sarai
Out for the Count by Cheyenne Blue

Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian Desire
LadyLit (September 5, 2014)

  • Excerpt from the story Bachelorette Party by Beth Wylde:

We spend the next three hours drinking and dancing and having the time of our lives. Linda invited all of my friends in the community and, judging from the big stack of sex toys I got as presents, their credit cards really got a work out. Every time I look at the gift table I blush. I’m not a prude by any means but I have no idea what some of the items are used for and the size of two of the dildos are seriously intimidating. They must be meant as a gag because I’m not sure any woman can stretch that much. Some thoughtful person even included a huge pack of batteries. I may not need Mark after all.

I forgot how much fun going to a lesbian bar could be. No expectations, no judgment, just a building full of women looking to enjoy themselves without recrimination. It’s been months since I’ve been to Anna and Eve with Linda. Mark threw a holy hell fit the last time I went with her so I’ve ignored her recent invitations, preferring to avoid another big fight with my fiancĂ©. I bet he’d be really pissed off if he knew where I was and who I was with right now. Tough shit. I don’t care. The more I think about the situation the madder I get. Why should I have to leave my friends, especially Linda, behind because my future husband is a homophobic asswipe? It’s not fair.

Linda slides in beside me on the dance floor, takes one look at my face, and frowns. “Oh no. No, no, no! None of that little missy. Tonight is all about having fun. Wipe that scowl off your face this instant. You can think about whatever has you so pissed off tomorrow.” The lights go down as a slow song comes on and Linda grabs me around the waist, pulling me close as she starts to sway to the beat. “Dance with me, babe.”

She smiles down at me as she wraps her arms around my neck. In reply I move my hands to her hips and hang on tight. Her eyes are glassy and her moves are kinda sloppy. She really wasn’t drunk earlier but I can tell she’s well on her way now. I’m pretty tipsy myself.

We kind of shuffle in place, turning slowly because neither one of us is very steady on our feet. Maybe it’s the situation we’re in, or the fact that the liquor has really loosened my tongue, but I feel the need to tell her exactly what she means to me and how thankful I am that she came to drag me out of my house today.

I plant my feet in place and our movement stops. She starts to pull away but I clasp my hands behind her back to keep her in place. Her eyes widen slightly and her breathing speeds up the barest bit. “You’ll probably never know how much this party means to me. Despite everything, you’ve hung in there by my side. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I just can’t. I don’t even want to think about it. I need you.” My hands clench in the back of her shirt as the first tears start to fall. I crush my face into her shoulder and start to weep. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

She squeezes me, her glorious muscles enfolding me tight in her embrace. I’ve never felt safer or more loved. “Hey. I’m not going anywhere. Mark can kiss my ass.” She strokes my hair and rocks me gently. “Look at me. Jenny, I’m serious. Look at me.”

Her voice sounds shaky at the end and I find myself obeying her request instantly, wondering if the wavering sound means she’s as upset over this as I am. I lift my head and look into her face. The expression of fierce determination lights an answering fire inside of me. Suddenly the whole situation seems crystal clear. I know now why I said yes to Mark. It’s not because I’m in love with him. I’m not, and I’m not sure I ever was. It’s what he represents that made me accept his proposal.

If I marry Mark my parents will be happy, my life will be simple. My family expects me to marry a guy. To have babies. To do what society finds acceptable. I don’t want to settle for acceptable. Been there, done that, got the ring to prove it. There’s so much more out there that I refuse to settle for mediocre. I want adventure, excitement. I want to fall into bed with someone that can rock my world and everyone else be damned if they don’t find my choice proper.

I want Linda.

The realization is shocking in its clarity, but I finally decide to take the chance. I know I won’t regret it. I’ve made my decision, now I need to help Linda make hers.

Linda is still staring at me, the barest hint of hope and trepidation on her face. I hate the fact that I put that look of worry there, but I’m going to do my best to erase it. I lean forward, keeping my eyes open the whole time as I close the miniscule gap between us. Linda’s eyes go wide when she realizes my intentions and for just a second the look of shock is almost comical. Her gaze drops lower, locking on my lips and the fear is replaced instantly by a lustful look that makes my insides twist and my pussy wet. I want this. Oh God, how I want this. “Kiss me. Please just kiss me.”

Her lips finally touch mine and the kiss is horribly chaste and brief. Nothing like what I want, and I let her know it. “Kiss me for real.”

She licks her lips before she speaks, leaning her forehead against mine until we’re so close she only has to whisper. “Are you sure? Don’t do this with me if you aren’t one hundred percent positive because I don’t think I can take it. Losing what I never had is one thing, but if we do this, really do this, and you decide you can’t handle it, it just might kill me. I’ve wanted you for so damn long.”

“I’m sure. I’m sorry it took me so long to recognize what’s right in front of me. Now please, just kiss me. I want you so much it hurts.”

Linda doesn’t hesitate any longer. She gives me what I’m asking for and more. Her lips press against mine. There’s nothing chaste about what she’s doing to my mouth now. She uses everything at her disposal. Lips, teeth, and tongue. It’s brutal, primal, everything I expected and beyond.

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