Friday, January 31, 2014

Weekend Wake-up Call – Clans of Kalquor 5: Alien Slave

            Oh no.  Dani couldn’t even twitch, she was so worn.  “Please,” she whispered.  “I can’t.”
            “You will.”  Wynhod crept over her, his big, muscular body blocking out the brutal glare of the sun. 
            Weak as a newborn kitten, Dani could only lie there as he looked down on her.  His hand cupped her jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb rough on her lips as he outlined her mouth. 
            “I want this,” he said.
            Wynhod moved up, his body sliding over her vision as he crawled forward.  His handsome face, tense with predatory intent, slid from her view to be replaced by his thick neck, wide shoulders and sculpted chest.  Next came the defined ridges of his abdomen, longer in proportion than an Earther’s with eight bumps in place of her own kind’s six.  Then his cocks were there, hovering over her face.  A shade darker than the rest of his mocha skin, the iron appendages pointed at right angles to his body, eager to be serviced.  A pearlescent drop beaded at the tip of the larger one.
            “Open your mouth.”
            The irrefutable command in his voice triggered her immediate compliance.  Dani parted her lips without sparing a thought as to whether or not she should obey.      Wynhod’s bigger organ descended.  Her nostrils were filled with a cinnamon-y sweet smell.  As soon as it was within reach, Dani’s tongue flicked out, nabbing the droplet. 
Sweet-salty-spiciness teased her senses.  She suddenly looked forward to orally pleasuring the Nobek.  She hoped he would let her fellate him to orgasm, flooding her mouth with his delicious fluids.  She was momentarily shocked to find herself newly aroused.
            The tip of his bullet-shaped penis passed her lips, and he slowly invaded the warmth of her mouth.  The careful entrance was at odds with Wynhod’s nearly continuous growls.  Dani fully expected him to go animal at any moment, shoving his need all the way into her throat until she choked on his length.  Instead, the Nobek stopped well before inciting the gag reflex.
            “Can you move either of your arms, little fighter?” he asked.
            His posture with his legs bent at her sides kept Dani’s upper arms pinned against her ribcage.  She was able to bend her elbows though, and she reached up to squeeze his thighs.  His muscles were like concrete under the smooth skin.  She loved the feel of him.
            “Good.  Squeeze again when you feel like you can’t take anymore of me.”
            Wynhod pressed deeper into her mouth, taking his time.  Dani relaxed her throat, enjoying every nuance of how he felt.  The vein on the underside of his cock pulsed against her tongue.  The organ was hot, like coffee at the perfect temperature.  The flesh was pure velvet softness, stretched over the unbending steel of his arousal.  And the cinnamon taste of his natural lubricant delighted her.  She rubbed her tongue up and down his length, swallowing as much of his precious fluids as she could.
            Wynhod groaned low in his throat.  “Dani,” he whispered, her name like a prayer on his lips.
She took more of him than even she thought possible before giving his legs the warning squeeze.  The Nobek immediately halted.  “Good girl,” he rumbled and reversed his course.
He fucked her mouth slowly, taking great care with her.  His smaller cock slid beneath her chin, leaving a trail of wetness down the length of her throat.  The joy of taking him so intimately, along with his obvious consideration, aroused Dani beyond belief.  She reached to finger her avid flesh.  She moaned as her insides melted at her touch.

Available from Amazon, Amazon UK, and Smashwords.  Nook and Kobo no longer carry this title.  Please get your compatible copy from Smashwords.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

WIP Wednesday – Clan Beginnings: Clan, Honor, and Empire

            As soon as their drinks were served and they were alone again, Rajhir said, “Tell me more about yourself.  I already know you’re a brilliant doctor with the makings of a master spy.  How old were you when you decided to become a giant?”
            Flencik snorted.  He put off answering long enough to sip the leshella and made a happy noise over it before setting his glass back down.  Rajhir was relieved to see the Imdiko seemed more inclined to savor the expensive liquor rather than gulping it.
            Flencik gave him a rueful look.  “I was twelve when it hit.  I grew so fast my wardrobe changed every other month.  It was insane.”
            “Your poor parents.  It must have killed their savings trying to keep you dressed.”
            Flencik didn’t brighten any, but he did manage a chuckle.  “I suddenly found myself looking down on them one day.  It was freaky to be the tallest person in the room in such a short amount of time.  Other children my age called me Ronka-Boy.  ‘Ronka-Boy, thundering through the woods, knocking over trees’.”
            Rajhir winced.  “Ouch.  Kids can be so cruel.”
            Flencik nodded.  “Oh yeah.  It could get a little rough, especially since I’ve never been very good at physically defending myself.  Some boys liked to prove their toughness by picking fights with me.  I almost always lost.”
            “That’s awful, Flencik.”  Rajhir felt real sympathy for the other man.
            “That wasn’t the worst part.  At the age of thirteen, a lot of people thought I was a grown man.  I kept getting invited for drinks from of-age Dramoks and Nobeks.  I didn’t understand half the propositions I received.”  Flencik turned red again, ducking his head with a shy and embarrassed grin.
            Rajhir laughed at that.  Maybe those early experiences were what made Flencik get so endearingly flustered now.  He asked, “You aren’t psychologically scarred from it, are you?”
            Flencik sipped more leshella.  “I don’t think so, but there was a period of time I wouldn’t go anywhere without my tutor along to keep my would-be romancers at bay.”
            “You had tutors too?  I was practically raised by mine during some stretches.”
            “Really?  Me too.”
            Rajhir nodded in solidarity.  “That’s the trouble when you have parents with a lot of responsibilities.  Mine did try to spend as much time with me as duty allowed, and I didn’t really ever feel neglected.  Still, there were sometimes periods as long as a week that I wouldn’t see one of them.  How about yours?”
            Flencik shrugged.  “They were busy.”
            Rajhir stared at the Imdiko.  Flencik wouldn’t meet his gaze, and his smile had disappeared entirely.  His tone had gone distant.
            Rajhir put his hand on his companion’s shoulder.  “Are you not on good terms with them?”
            Again, Flencik’s voice was carefully controlled.  “We are not close.”
            He said it with finality, as if the subject was closed.  However, Rajhir saw distress peeking out from the composed expression the Imdiko wore. 

Tentatively scheduled to release March or April 2014

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Is It Just Me?

Am I the only writer who doesn’t care much for social media?  I notice that other authors seem to spend a large amount of time posting about how much they need to get off Facebook and write...then half an hour later they post they are NOW leaving FB to write...then, like an hour later, they’re back on posting how much they’ve written.  Then one or two hours later, according to the timestamp thing that FB has to let you know how recent the post is, they comment they are going back to write a little more.  But first, they have to share an adorable cat picture.

I’m left wondering how they manage to get anything done.  I also wonder if I’m the big oddball here.  For a writer, I spend what seems like such a small amount of time hanging out on Facebook.

I check in first thing in the morning with my morning cuppa.  I’m back right after lunch with my midday cuppa.  Then post-dinner cuppa.  After the kid’s in bed, I take one more look around.  Just to catch up and see what, if anything, I need to respond to.  Once that’s done, I’m outta there.  I’m a hit-and-run Facebook user.  Wham, bam, thank you spam.  I’m in quickly and out even quicker. 

I often wonder what people think when I post something or reply to a message and they get right back to me.  Then I don’t respond for several hours, because Tracy has already left the F-book.  I hope they don’t think I’m being rude.  It’s just that I’ve got stuff to do, you know?  That writing thing, in fact.  Nobeks in particular get cranky and stop talking to me if they don’t get tons of attention.  Imdikos pout.  And Dramoks...well, you never keep a control freak Dramok waiting for anything.

Sure, the memes are fun to read.  The autocorrects make me cry from laughing so hard.  And touching base with my friends and readers is the main reason I sign on.  Yet I don’t see the appeal of hanging out and watching the newsfeed for hours on end or showing up every few minutes to check on it.  If I spend half an hour at a time on FB, I’m really indulging in it.  This is not a stab at those who enjoy Facebook, by the way.  If you’re on social media, then I feel I can safely assume you’re not committing war, hosing down grandmas, or eating puppies.  Carnage and chaos is at a minimum, so it’s all good.  Carry on and enjoy yourselves.

I acknowledge that I’m not the most social creature in the world.  I hate talking on the phone, I find texting a monstrous headache, and don’t get me started about going to a crowded party.  Even my closest friends and family can go for ages without hearing a peep from me if they’re not on Facebook.  Once in a great while I’ll have a few days or weeks of being a social butterfly with one or two people...then I’m back in the writing cave, being a hermit again.  Don’t ask me why; it’s apparently just the way I am.  I seem to be missing the gregarious gene in my DNA.

Facebook is as close as I get to a lot of interaction.  As I’ve described, it’s a limited thing.  Even the small amount of time I’m on there, I’m lurking more than anything else.  So again I have to ask – is it just me?  What is the attraction for everyone else that they can spend ages on that site?  Especially the writers, who can easily fritter away precious writing time?  What am I missing out on?

Anyway, if you want to enlighten me on that matter, I’ll be back to check in a few hours.   Meanwhile, I’m back to the writing cave.  I’ve got work to do.  But first, here’s a cute cat picture (just so I can pretend I’m part of the gang):

Friday, January 24, 2014

Weekend Wake-up Call – Netherworld I: Drop Dead Sexy

 He stepped out of the way, and a very naked, very ready Dan stood before me.  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.  Sexy Marlboro Man had me in his sights.  He stepped close, his front touching mine.  His beard stubble rasped against my cheek as he rubbed his jaw against my face.  The crinkly-crisp hairs of his chest were a delight to my peaked nipples, his belly warm against mine and his long, thick sex probed right where I wanted it most.  He cupped my buttocks in his hands, pulling me even closer.  Oh yessir.  This was right where I wanted to be.
“Now this has real possibilities,” he growled, sending my skin into gooseflesh.  He licked my ear, setting off shudders down my spine.  Next, he kissed his way across my jawline to my chin.  He traveled down my throat, licking and nibbling a wet path down to the hollow, then farther down to the valley between my breasts.

Dan nuzzled his face deep into my cleavage, his light growth of beard sandpaperish on my soft skin.  I caught my breath at the rough sensation, even more so at my helplessness to move away from it.  With a devilish glint in his brown eyes, Dan scruffed his way up one mound, nipping until he reached the summit of my breast.  He caught the rosy tip between his teeth, and I trembled at the growing pressure.  A pleasurable dart of pain sizzled from the hard nub to my sex, making me mewl.  My inner thighs were slick with honey.

Dan’s tongue darted over the captured nipple, sending hot excitement through my flesh.    The chains holding the cuffs to the wall jangled with my shaking.  Then he released the taut, reddened peak to lick a slow circle over the areola.  He dragged his rough chin all over my breast, reddening the tender mound.  Then his mouth closed over it, sucking as much as he could draw into his mouth.  I groaned to be so hungrily consumed.

Once the nipple of that breast had been teased until it blushed fire-engine red, he repeated the whole routine with the other.  The entire time Dan mauled my orbs, his hands clutched my buttocks, digging his fingers into the pliable flesh.  I felt beyond possessed.  I felt owned.

There is nothing like a strong man to make me feel all woman.