Sunday, September 14

Tentacles and Chain (ch. 11)

HUGE apologies for being late getting this up this week. Yesterday sort of slipped away from me. I guess I really do have to get it in gear and set this up to publish automatically  ;-)




Chapter Eleven

Trellen opened his mouth, but…but what was the catch? What was the price he had to pay to be able to wear Master’s trinket? “I…are you sure?”
“Of course, my Pretty.” He pulled wrapped his arms tightly around Trellen’s chest, making Trellen’s heart race—but from what, he wasn’t sure. Fear? Wantonness? “Come,” Master said, breaking the embrace. “You must be hungry. I brought more sagren leaves and some clams, if you like.”
Trellen ran his fingers over the ring again. There must be some catch—mustn’t there?
Master handed him the net and Trellen’s stomach reminded him that it had been some while since he’d last eaten. “Thank you,”
“You are quite welcome.” Master shifted to sit next to him, though his tentacles were still draped over Trellen’s tail.
Preventing my escape. But really, how could Master expect him to flee? Perhaps he just likes touching me? Not knowing what else to do, Trellen picked up a leaf and ate. It was fresh and sweet, just like before. “Where…where do you find these?”
“There’s an island near here. Sagren grows plentifully in the shallow waters of its lagoon.”
“My…I mean. The colony?”
“No, Pretty. We are some ways from your colony.”
“Oh.” He ate another leaf.
“Perhaps you’d like to try a clam?”
Trellen nodded. Only instead of handing it over, shell and all for Trellen to wrangle, Master pressed a tender piece of meat to Trellen’s lips. Trellen started to raise his hand to take it, but before he got far, both wrists were encircled by tentacles and pulled back to his sides. Master’s grip was light and Trellen didn’t fight him. He accepted the morsel from his Master’s fingertips. It was demeaning—but at the same time, it caused his heart to beat a little faster and his cock to twitch again. What was wrong with him?
Master chuckled his approval, and as soon as Trellen had swallowed, he pressed another morsel to Trellen’s lips.
Was this the price for accepting Master’s gift? Or would he have done this anyway? There was no way to know, but the clam meat was fresh and tender, so Trellen accepted the second offering. And the third and the fourth and eventually he was full and instead of a strip of clam meat pressed to his mouth, he felt his Master’s soft lips. He accepted the kiss. Returned it. He took more pleasure in it than he wanted to, but he couldn’t help himself.
With Trellen’s wrists still restrained, Master began exploring Trellen’s body. He ran his hands and then his lips over Trellen’s chest. Each touch caused Trellen’s cock to swell up a little more, so that by the time Master took one of Trellen’s nipples between his teeth, it was standing at its full height.
When Master nipped at the tender nub, Trellen hissed in pain—but his cock responded by straining harder, aching to be touched. Master wrapped his hand around it and Trellen moaned.
“Do you like this, my Pretty?”
Trellen nodded. There was no use denying it. Heat continued to spread through his chest as Master nipped and nibbled, sometimes hard enough to cause real pain—but every time he did, he caressed Trellen’s cock, causing a different sort of fire to spark in Trellen’s nerves.
“Pain can be a powerful aphrodisiac,” Master murmured, as he transferred his attention to Trellen’s other nipple. “It has to be artfully applied, in small doses at first, but it can be very pleasant.”
Trellen couldn’t argue. He arched his back and pushed his hips forward. It was obscene. He was obscene. But he couldn’t stop the wave mounting inside him. “Please.”
“Please what, my Pretty?”
“I….please?”
Master chuckled. “I believe the words you are look for are ‘Please, Master, may I come.’”
Oh Goddess. Master didn’t actually expect him to say that, did he?
He chuckled again. “I can keep you dangling on the edge of orgasm all day, Pretty. I’m in no special hurry. Or if my need does become too urgent, I can always relieve myself while I leave you whimpering.”
“No. Please.”
“Then beg.”
Trellen squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t!
“Open your eyes Pretty.”
There was enough of an edge to his tone that Trellen didn’t dare disobey. He opened his eyes. “Please don’t—”
But Master let go of his cock and Trellen’s arguments died in a disappointed cry. Master pressed a finger to Trellen’s lips; there was a hint of saltiness sweetness to it. It was one of the fingers that only a moment ago had been grasping Trellen’s cock. “It is not my wish to be cruel, my sweet. I only wish you to beg because I enjoy hearing the words,” Master told him. “I will only deny you if displease me. Or if it pleases me to watch you suffer a bit longer before I finally allow your release.” He removed his fingers from Trellen’s lips and trailed them slowly down Trellen’s neck. His chest. His stomach. “You may begin by asking me to touch your cock.”
Trellen swallowed hard. His whole body was enflamed with need, but…. But what is one more degradation? It would get him what he wanted, wouldn’t it? “P-please.” The word thick and heavy on his tongue.
“Go on,” Master encouraged, his fingers slowly circling the base of Trellen’s aching cock. “Tell me where you would like to be touched.”
“My…my cock. Please?”
“Surely you can speak in complete sentences, Pretty.”
Shame heated his cheeks. “I….Please…please touch…touch my cock.”
“Very nice.” Master ghosted his fingertips over Trellen’s shaft and Trellen sucked in a breath. “Tell me, Pretty, are you satisfied with my hand, or would you like me to suck your cock?”
“Oh Goddess.”
He chuckled. “Not the goddess, just your Master.” He used his other hand to stroke Trellen’s cheek. “Tell me what you would like me to do next. Shall I continue stroking your cock, or would you like to feel my mouth around it?”
“Your mouth,” he blurted out before he lost his nerve. “Please, please use your mouth.”
“Ask nicely and I will.”
He shook with fear. Revulsion. Desire. Shame. “Please…please, Master, will…will you suck my cock?” Each word was torture to say, but when Master lowered himself and took Trellen’s cock into his mouth, none of it mattered. Trellen let out a loud moan and would have thrust himself deeper into his Master’s throat if it weren’t for the tentacles restraining him. Molten heat filled Trellen as the wave inside his body rose higher. It was like every nerve was on fire, yet craving more. “Please…please more…please?”
Master wove his tongue artfully around Trellen’s shaft and sucked harder. But just when Trellen thought he was going to lose himself to ecstasy, Master pulled back.
Please!” Trellen sobbed.
“You’ve forgotten to ask for permission to come, Pretty. Unless you ask, I will not bring you to completion. I am perfectly capable of keeping you on the edge all day,” he added in a tone that suggested he would enjoy it, too.
Trellen bit his lip. “Please don’t.”
“Then you know what you have to do.”
He shuddered. But he was too far gone to fight. “Please…please let me…let me come? Please?”
Master licked Trellen’s cockhead again, making Trellen’s eyes roll back in his head.  “Please. Please don’t stop,” he begged.
Master took his cockhead between his lips.
“Please. More. Please, Master… please…please.”
With a satisfied chuckle, Master took Trellen’s cock all the way to the base and Trellen let out a loud, low groan. Master’s mouth was so hot, so soft. Master slid his tongue around Trellen’s shaft while Trellen continued to plead for more.
Then Trellen felt something press against his anal slit. Master’s finger. He sucked in a breath.
“Do you like that, Pretty?”
He wanted to say no. He wanted to hate it. But instead, he nodded. “Yes.”
“Would you like my fingers inside you? Would you like me to fuck you with them?”
He nodded again. He wanted Master to touch that place deep inside him that sent sparks shooting through his veins.
“Words, Pretty. I need to hear the words.”
Goddess, please. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go on forever. “Please.”
“Say the words or I shall leave you like this, with your lovely cock straining, for a very long time. I have many devices to restrain you. I can bind your arms behind your back and continue to tease you without bringing you to completion.”
“Please no.”
“Then tell me what you want me to do.”
It was no use. He was defeated. “Use your fingers. Inside me. Fuck me with them. Please fuck me with them.”
Master chuckled in triumph. “My beautiful wanton.” And he slid his finger deep inside Trellen’s entrance to hit that spot and send lightning shooting through Trellen’s body.
Trellen moaned and writhed and before he knew it, a second finger had joined the first. “Yes! Please. So good. Please!”
Master’s mouth covered his in a searing kiss. Trellen responded, kissing him back with everything he had. Then Master broke the kiss. “Come for me, my Pretty. Let me see how much you enjoy the way I touch you.” 

Wednesday, September 10

Bisexual Awareness Month, Welcome Author Cat Grant!

Please help me give a warm welcome to the incredibly talented Cat Grant, who is posting today as part of Bisexual Awareness Month. Thank you so much for taking part!



In 2005, the New York Times published a controversial article, which stated that people who claimed to be bi were really “Gay, Straight or Lying.”

(Interesting article. Most of it’s pretty laughable now, but it’s a refreshing look at where we stood on this issue only a few years ago.)

While I appreciate the scientific quest for answers, I think this study got it all wrong from the jump. Sure, show a guy a porno and he gets an erection – it’s an automatic response. But falling in love? Choosing a partner? Building a life together? You won’t see that happening in a lab.

Growing up, I remember being horribly confused about my sexuality. I mean, David Cassidy got me all hot and tingly down there – and a few years later, so did Joan Jett. I’ve fantasized about making out with Tori Amos for almost twenty years, but my latest rock star crushes are both men: Jared Leto (who just won an Oscar for playing a transgender woman) and Jonas Kaufmann, a rock star in the opera world.

The upshot (aside from my taste in music improving over the years) – my poor teenage hormones just couldn’t figure out what they wanted. Plus, I spent twelve years in Catholic school. ‘Nuff said.

It took a few years on the therapist’s couch before I realized that, given my upbringing, being confused about my feelings was perfectly normal. And being attracted to people of both sexes was perfectly normal too.

What can we do to raise bisexual awareness? Well, obviously – come out. The tide didn’t start turning for GLBT rights until straight people realized queers were all around them. They’d been living and working with us for years. They’d given birth to us. Raised us.

What better way to influence hearts and minds than to say the one thing that I – regrettably – never summoned up the courage to say before they passed: “Mom, Dad… I’m bi.

“I know what you must be thinking - and no, bisexual doesn’t mean sex addict. I don’t want to jump every person I meet. I’m just a girl who fell in love with another girl when I was twenty-something, and a guy when I was thirty-something. A guy who was my husband for twenty years.

“Naturally you assumed I was straight. I never gave you any reason to think otherwise. But I’m not straight. I never was. By remaining silent, I let you go on believing something that wasn’t true, and I’m sorry.

“But I can’t stay silent anymore. I’m bisexual. And I will not be erased.”
 ...........................

Cat Grant lives by the sea in beautiful Monterey, California, with one persnickety feline and way too many books and DVDs. When she’s not writing, you can usually find her watching movies or TV (Supernatural and The Vampire Diaries are among her favorite shows), singing along to her favorite band (30 Seconds to Mars), or fantasizing about kinky sex with Michael Fassbender and/or Jared Leto.

Here’s Cat’s various hideouts on the Internet:


You can contact her directly at: cat@catgrant.com

Subscribe to her newsletter here.

For all the Courtland fans clamoring for the next generation…
Cold and sick, Seth Thompson must fight through a snowstorm to get home. Seth’s unconventional upbringing taught him to always reach out to strangers in need, and Iranian engineering student Bilal al-Mansoori is no exception. Being trapped together leads to an unexpected mutual attraction—and a feverishly hot night under the covers.

But Bilal needs more than simply a rescue from the weather—he’s trapped under lifetime of cultural pressures. His strict Muslim father and fellow Iranian students have no clue about his inner torment. His attraction to Seth isn’t a welcome discovery—instead he’s trapped between the existence he’s always known and the prospect of living and loving openly for the first time in his life.



Monday, September 8

Jamie Fessenden: Murder on the Mountain Blog Tour

Please help me give a warm welcome to Jamie Fessenden, here on tour with his new book Murder on the Mountain.


Day Five of the Murder on the Mountain Blog Tour!

The main setting for Murder on the Mountain, once we get off the mountain itself, is the Victorian Era resort hotel at the base of the mountain—the Mount Washington Hotel.  This magnificent resort was constructed in 1900 by Joseph Stickney, who’d made his fortune in the coal industry.  Unfortunately, he died just one year after it opened in 1902. 

His wife, Carolyn Stickney, continued to spend her summers in the hotel (it was shut down during the winters, until 1999) and added the fourth floor and several other rooms to it for the next ten years.  Then she moved to London, married a French nobleman, and became the Princess De Faucigny Lucinge.  (Which doesn’t have much to do with anything, but I thought it was cool.)  Upon her death in 1936, the hotel passed into the hands of her nephew, Foster Reynolds.


During Prohibition, the hotel ran its own speakeasy in the basement.  That still exists.  It’s been turned into a bar called The Cave.  During World War II, the hotel ceased operations for a few years, but it was reopened in 1944 and hosted the conference between several countries which established the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund.








This is quite simply one of the most beautiful hotels I’ve ever seen.  My husband and I booked a room there last December, combining our anniversary with research for the novel.  As Jesse discovers, it can be rather expensive.  We chose the beginning of December, because by the time I tried to make reservations in November, the rooms were going for over $600 per night!

But December is a great time to stay there if you enjoy the Christmas holidays.  The cavernous foyer had Christmas trees everywhere, and there were fires burning in the two large fireplaces.  My husband felt uncomfortable rubbing elbows with the wealthy, feeling like an interloper, but I had no problem at all stretching out in front of the fire while the ever-present waitstaff brought me fortified eggnog.

For the next four weeks, Murder on the Mountain will be touring the blogs of several MM Romance authors. If you leave your email address in the comments or email me at jamesfessenden@hotmail.com, you'll be entered into a drawing for a free copy of Murder on the Mountain or a $40 gift certificate to Dreamspinner Press! 

Check the other stops on the tour at: 

When Jesse Morales, a recent college grad who aspires to be a mystery writer, volunteers to work on the summit of Mt. Washington for a week, he expects to work hard. What he doesn’t expect is to find a corpse in the fog, lying among the rocks, his head crushed. The dead man turns out to be a young tourist named Stuart Warren, who strayed from his friends while visiting the mountain.

Kyle Dubois, a widowed state police detective, is called to the scene in the middle of the night, along with his partner, Wesley Roberts. Kyle and Jesse are instantly drawn to one another, except Jesse’s fascination with murder mysteries makes it difficult for Kyle to take the young man seriously. But Jesse finds a way to make himself invaluable to the detective by checking into the hotel where the victim's friends and family are staying and infiltrating their circle. Soon, he is learning things that could very well solve the case—or get him killed.

Available from Dreamspinner Press at:  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5335

Friday, September 5

Tentacles and Chain (Ch. 10)

Welcome back! Just a couple of super quick announcements this week.

  1. I was over on the lovely Raine O'Tierney's Hat Party yesterday. Check it out here; I had a lot of fun and am running a giveaway.
  2. Don't forget that Bisexual Awareness Month continues next week with an awesome guest blogger: Cat Grant. I'll be putting her post up on Wednesday. 
  3. Also next week, Jamie Fessenden is scheduled to come by and talk about his new release.  I can't wait; I absolutely adore Jamie's writing (and he's pretty awesome, too!)
  4. This is the last week before AIDS Walk Detroit. I'm still looking anyone who might want to chip in a buck or two.
  5. In purely, silly, personal news: I've gone shorter!  No, not my height. My hair. I wasn't too keen on the first short cut I got (last year, sometime, I think.) I mean, it was fine. It was cute. But there's something about this cut that I'm totally digging. Maybe it's my stylist, who encourages me to totally rock it out, because the first time I sat in his chair, he saw right through my suburban housewife disguise to the real me underneath. I swear, there's nothing like an awesome new hair cut to make me feel like a million bucks  :)
  6. If you haven't signed up for my newsletter, I'll be putting that out next week, too. Get in on the fun! Recipes, news, book reviews, and the occasional, special subscriber-only giveaway. 




Chapter Ten

Trellen woke alone, surrounded by darkness. He reached out to see if Master had shifted away from him while they slept, but the bed was truly empty.
“Master?” he called out.
No answer.
Trellen’s heart sped up. Had it taken so little time to earn enough trust to be left unguarded? “Master?” he called again, a little louder. Perhaps the other male was only testing him, hiding in the dark.
But he said he wouldn’t play games with me. Trellen snorted. What made him think he could trust the word of an Unspeakable One?
What makes me think I cannot? It wasn’t as if he knew anything about Master or his kind. Just what the Elders tell us, that they are monsters who lurk Below and eat their own young. But what if…? He shook himself. It didn’t matter if the Elders were right or wrong. It’s not I’ve ever believed half of what they say, anyway. The Elders used fear to keep the colony together, Trellen’s own father said as much. And he had been on the Elder council. But that was a long time ago. Whatever had happened, Father was bitter about it. Which only means I can’t trust his words any more than theirs. Not that Father ever spoke of the Unspeakable Ones with anything other than fear in his voice. They were vile, filthy creatures, cruel, and untrustworthy.
Tellen shuddered. If that’s what the Unspeakable Ones were, what was he, to have so easily lain with one?
Not wanting to think about it, he eased himself from the bed. He couldn’t see, but he could still smell, still taste the water. There was a hint of Master’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as it had been before, when Master was in the chamber with him. Perhaps he really had gone? But Trellen doubted he would be gone long. He couldn’t go home, but….But perhaps I can find a way out of this wretched dark place. There had to be a home for him somewhere out in the Blue. Had he not planned on leaving the colony anyway?
Trellen followed the contour of the rough rock wall. It seemed that part of Master’s home was made of the same material as the leviathans, and part of it was natural. Interesting. How had Master accomplished that? Or maybe he found it this way?  
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding the way out of his dark prison. Trellen made his way slowly and carefully around the room; perhaps if he was lucky, he would find a glow orb tucked away somewhere, shielded so as to not give off light. If he found one, he could escape easily.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he bumped up against something in the dark. He skittered back from it—but when nothing attacked him in the dark, Trellen reached out to try and figure out what he’d bumped.
It was made of leviathan-material, hard and rough, weathered by age and salt water. Slowly, he felt his way around it…a box? It was as wide as both his arms spread out, but only about half that tall. Atop it Trellen found…shells. He easily recognized the large conch shell in the middle for its shape and spines. Around it were lain clam shells…an abalone shell? There were others, both large and small. Trellen inspected each in turn to see if there was anything tucked away beneath them—but there was nothing. He was about to give up when his hands came to something new. Another box? It was much smaller, and it seemed to have a hinged lid. Hope rose in his chest again and he opened it.
No light poured out. Maybe Master really didn’t light his chamber.
Why would he? He seems perfectly able to see in the dark. Disheartened, Trellen sank to the chamber floor. It was no use. He could never escape if he couldn’t see where he was going.
“Enjoying yourself Pretty?”
Trellen jumped. He’d been so absorbed in his task that hadn’t noticed the change in the water’s taste. “I…I was just….”
But Master chuckled. Trellen felt his movement and a moment later, Master settled onto the chamber floor behind him. He rested his hands on Trellen’s shoulders and spread his tentacles around Trellen’s waist and over his tail. The contact was at once frightening and…and why did Trellen’s cock have to have a mind all its own all of the sudden? It wasn’t jutting out, yet, but he could feel that infernal wave starting to build inside again.
Master ran his hands gently down Trellen’s arms and Trellen gulped in great mouthfuls of water—water that tasted of Master’s salty-sweetness. Heat flushed through him. “I’m sorry. I was just…just…I’m sorry.”  
“No need to apologize, Pretty.” Master rested his chin on Trellen’s shoulder; his cheek felt smooth against Trellen’s skin. With gentle hands, he took the box from Trellen’s grasp.
“I was just curious. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No apologies,” Master repeated, his voice soft in Trellen’s ear. “You haven’t offended me at all.”
Trellen felt movement. Master lifted his hand and put something into it. Genuine curiosity took over and Trellen felt the object. It was a ring made of hard metal, encrusted with hard, smooth rocks. It was from the world Above; Trellen had found a few similar trinkets in wrecked leviathans, though of course had to keep his treasures a secret. The Elders said that if you brought Men’s treasures into the colony, Men would come looking for them. 
“Do you like it?” Master asked.
“It…it must be lovely.” Of course he wouldn’t know. He couldn’t see, but he kept running his fingertips over it. There were five jewels of about the same size laid across the top of the band. “What color are they?”
He Master’s lips curl into a smile against his cheek. “The same as your eyes.” Master plucked the ring from his hands and Trellen had to fight to curb his disappointment. None of the treasures he’d ever found were so ornate. Mostly, Trellen found metal coins, cups, a few plain metal bands. But nothing truly beautiful.
“Here,” Master said and slid the ring onto Trellen’s finger. “For you.” 

Thursday, September 4

Bisexual Visibility Month

Well here it is the fourth I'm only just getting around to welcoming y'all to Bisexual Visibility Month here on my blog. *sigh*  I can see September is off to a rollicking good start!  ;-)  

I'm going to start with my story, but then I've got a bunch of awesome writers who have volunteered to guest blog with me this month. You can look for Cat Grant here next week. (And let me tell you, I'm excited to read her new book!)  

But okay, it's only fair for me to go first.

When I was a senior in high school, I was reeling over being broken up with (I'm talking to you, Don! --and yes, we're still friends). He was my first real, heart beating in my chest, can't quite breathe right, love. I was 17. It was short and it was sweet, and best of all we still talk once in a while because high school silliness aside, he's an awesome human being. 

But when I was 17, he crushed my heart. And then, there was this girl. My heart had beat double time for a *girl* before. Not ever. And I was SOOOOOO confused. It took several months for me to figure out the name for what I was (bisexual--or really, I am pansexual, because gender is a fluid thing and I'm not hung up on it, but I've been living with the label of bisexual for a lot of years and don't feel like changing it.)

What is it with labels? Are they a bad thing? I'm not sure. I mean, for me, I like having a box I can put myself into. And take myself out of. Because I'm using the label to describe myself (much like I use the labels "mother" "wife" "woman" "author") I don't think that they're a bad thing. But remember, I'm a Capricorn (there you go, another label) and I like lines and boarders and definitions. I may color outside the lines sometimes, but I need to know where those lines are.

Bisexual is one of the labels I have for myself. But it's not one that most people realize. After all, I'm married (to a wonderful man). Before him, I had two very visible marriages--after all, marriage *is* visible. Most married people wear a ring and have a big ceremony and party afterward. Chances are, everyone we meet knows we're married. And if you're married to a person of the opposite gender, people assume you're heterosexual. But getting married doesn't change who you are inside. I'm *just* as bisexual now as I was the day I said "I do."

Probably the worst thing anyone has ever said to me (besides all the stupid boys I ran into when I was younger who wanted to know if my girlfriend wanted to hook up with us too--um, no, honey, if I had a girlfriend I wouldn't be on a date with your sorry ass, and oh, look at the time, gotta go! *shudders*)

Anyway, the worst thing that anyone has ever said me was that he (a gay man) wished he was bisexual like me, so he could "get married to a woman and have a normal life." 

I didn't quite know how to respond to that, except to feel incredibly sad for a gay man who was obviously incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin. Later, I realized I was a little insulted at the underlying assumption. I married the man I married because I'm no love with him, not because I crave society's idea of "normal." If I did, I wouldn't make such a big deal out of, "no, actually I'm not straight, I'm bi." 

So I'm curious, if you're bisexual (or pansexual), what's the worst thing anyone has said to you? 

Saturday, August 30

Tentacles and Chain (ch. 9)

If you'll bear with me, I have just a few quick announcements:
  1. I'm still raising money for Aids Walk Detroit; lots of people have said "I'd buy this story if it was for sale" -- so how about pitching in those couple of bucks on my Donation Page? Because even though, yes, I will eventually make this available as an ebook (still sorting out technicalities--as in literal "how do I format this...??"), it will still be FREE. I'm a stubborn Capricorn, remember? When I say I'm doing a free story, I mean free forever and always.  :)
  2. September 23 is Bisexual Visibility/Pride Day! As you most likely also know, in addition to being a stubborn Capricorn, I'm also bisexual. (Or maybe you didn't know, in which case you'll really understand why Bi Visibility Day is important to me!) All September long, I'll be featuring books (and their authors) that include bisexual characters (as well as a couple of other feature authors I signed up earlier in the year), essays, articles, and fun stuff. Who knows, there might even be a give-away involved! So make sure you check back all month long. So far, I've managed to sign on quite a few of my favorite authors!
  3. And while I have your attention: Thank You! Thank you so much to everyone who is out there reading Tentacles and Chain! I appreciate you guys so much. :)  Writing this was so much fun and posting like this, as a serial, brings me back to my fanfiction days. (I wrote fanfiction? Yes, I wrote fanfiction. It's still up too, although I make no claims to the quality of the editing! My fanfic.net name is Helen Pattskyn, if you ever want to look me up.)



All right, now on with our regularly scheduled programming. I think this is one of my favorite chapters...




Chapter Nine

Well done, Pretty!” He leaned in and covered Trellen’s mouth with another savage, wonderful kiss. “Oh, so very well done. But come.” He released Trellen and slid away from him, dragging his hard cock over Trellen’s skin as he went.
Trellen shivered and his hips bucked upward again.
Master chuckled. “A wanton indeed.” He took Trellen’s hand in his and gave a gentle tug. “I believe this will be more comfortable for you if you were to sit in front of me.”
How could lowering himself to the ground in front of another male possibly make him feel comfortable? But he didn’t argue because he wanted this. Maybe not the part where he had to suck his Master’s cock, but… but he said it. I am a wanton. His cock was standing at its full height and his body ached with the need for release. So he allowed his Master to guide onto the chamber floor and lowered himself obediently to the soft, sandy ground to wait for whatever came next.  
A pair of heavy tentacles draped over his shoulders and an image began to form in Trellen’s mind. If he’d remained lying beneath his Master, he would have been all but smothered by the massive tentacles. Sitting on the floor before the Unspeakable One allowed Master to spread them out, putting Trellen in a considerably less vulnerable position.
Not that he couldn’t still hurt me if he wanted to. It was an unsettling thought, but one Trellen had little time to consider it, because suddenly something hard pressed against his lips.
Master’s cock.
He swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t—
“Do not be afraid, my Pretty,” his Master said gently. He reached down and stroked Trellen’s hair. “Taste it. Touch it. You may use your hands if you like—but I do expect you take my cock into your mouth. After all, you did ask to suck it, not merely fondle it.”
“Was that an option?” Trellen couldn’t believe the audacity of his words. The question had simply tumbled out of his mouth.
But his Master seemed unperturbed. “No, Pretty. I will never play games with you—at least, not that sort of game. I will never lie or trick you and you will always know both the rules and the consequences of breaking them.”
Trellen nodded. There was at least some small comfort in that. If I can believe him. Who knew how an Unspeakable One’s mind worked? But did it matter? Unless—until­—he found a means of escape, he was at his Master’s mercy.   
With trembling fingers, he reached up and touched the tip of Master’s cock. Master’s skin was unexpectedly soft, like fine warm sand. If only he could stop at this, at touching. But Master had voiced his impatience once already. He’d explained the rules and the consequences. If Trellen wanted to have his own achcing need met, if he wanted to be allowed to climax again, he had to do this. And above all, he didn’t want to hear Master’s sharp tone again, especially not after Master’s gentle words of encouragement and his promise not to play mind games. Trellen gripped Master’s cock, just below his cockhead, and leaned in. Even though he couldn’t see anything in the eternal blackness, he squeezed his eyes shut and darted out his tongue to lick the tip of Master’s cock.
He tasted sweet and salty.
Heat rushed to Trellen’s cheeks. He truly had tasted his own seed in his Master’s mouth before.
“Keep going, Pretty.” Master skimmed his knuckles lightly over Trellen’s cheek.
Still shaking, Trellen swiped his tongue over Master’s cockhead a second time. It wasn’t bad it was just…strange.
But males weren’t supposed to….
He did it to me. And it had felt so good. Even better than when he did it with his hand. Trellen sucked in a deep breath and put his mouth around the tip of Master’s cock. The sound Master made in response, a low throaty groan—Goddess how could a mere sound make Trellen’s cock twitch and ache to be stroked? Trying to remember what Master had done to him, Trellen swirled his tongue around the tip of Master’s cock.
“Very nice, Pretty.” Master growled out the words. “I want both of your hands on me, now. You may touch me however you like, but you must not touch yourself—pleasure yourself—until I give you permission.”
Pleasure…himself?
But he was too full of need to argue, so he kept hold of his Master’s cock with one hand, and rested the other on the first tentacle he found. He gasped when the tentacle was wrapped around his wrist—but it wasn’t like before. Master didn’t so much restrain him as…hold him. Who was this odd creature Trellen found himself belonging to? Master he could restrain him one moment, force him to say vile things another, and then show kindness, tenderness, only a moment after that?
“Let instinct guide you, Pretty,” Master told him gently. “Explore. Enjoy. There is no shame in bringing pleasure to another male.”
He wasn’t sure he believed that but he let his tongue wander over the tip of Master’s cock some more, seeking out the places that made Master groan with pleasure. He got the strongest response when he caressed the long vertical slit in the center of Master’s cockhead with his tongue. Master groaned and the tentacle wrapped around Trellen’s wrist tightened—then Master loosened his grip again and twined the tentacle further up Trellen’s arm.
Encouraged and only a little bit afraid, Trellen took Master’s cock further into his mouth.
Very nice,” Master groaned louder.
Trellen relaxed a little. He stopped shaking. It was strange, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He pulled back and let his lips wander over Master’s cock, kissing and caressing, as Master had done to him, and trying to imagine what the other male looked like. The skin on his arms had seemed light, but what color was it? Trellen’s scales were bright blue, like the lagoon waters—his eyes were the same color, just as Luce’s eyes and scales were both dark green. Were Master’s eyes dark because his tentacles were dark? What color was his hair? Trellen knew it must be long, like his, because he’d felt it brush against him. He knew Master’s shoulders were broad and his arms muscular—but none of that helped to paint a clear picture in Trellen’s mind. Are you handsome or truly a monster?
And what does it matter, anyway?
All that mattered was that Trellen was a slave and his Master had the ability to grant—or deny—him pleasure. More than that, Master could easily hurt him….But he hasn’t.
At least not yet.
Trellen sucked Master’s cock back into his mouth and couldn’t help the burst of pleasure he felt when Master let out another low, throaty moan. Encouraged, he slid his tongue around the shaft, taking it almost to the base.
“Yes—oh! Just like that.” Master slid two tentacles around Trellen’s waist and ran both hands through Trellen’s hair—but he continued to allow Trellen to set his own pace, to take as much or as little of his cock as he was able to. “I’d like you to suck harder,” he said and slid another tentacle around Trellen’s body, caressing his skin, making him ache.  
Goddess, if Master would just touch Trellen’s cock—but that was the one part of Trellen’s body he seemed determined not to touch. Trellen’s hips swayed and he sucked harder, pulling Master’s cock as far back into his throat a he could without choking on it.
“You are so incredible, my sweet Pretty.” He released his hold on Trellen’s arm at last. “Grasp hold of your cock. Fuck yourself with your hand.”
Trellen was too far gone to disobey. He moaned when he touched himself and the sound seemed to please his Master.
“I want to hear you come, Pretty. Imagine my mouth around your cock and fuck yourself hard and fast.”
Trellen moaned again and his eyes rolled back in his head; he pumped his hand furiously back and forth as his Master had done, but never stopped sucking his Master’s cock.
“Come for me, Pretty.”
Maybe it was Master’s words or that throaty growl, or maybe it was the fast and furious way Trellen fucked himself with his hand, but he came so hard he nearly screamed out his pleasure as the orgasm crashed through him. In nearly the same instant Trellen’s mouth was filled with something thick and salty-sweet. Instinct made him swallow it down and only afterward did he realize what he’d done.
But what was the use in being ashamed of swallowing his Master’s seed? Hadn’t Master swallowed his?
Master hoisted Trellen up to him, encircling him fully with arms and tentacles, causing Trellen’s heart to skip a beat in fear—but then Master pressed a fierce kiss to his lips.
The fear vanished and Trellen kissed him back.    

Thursday, August 28

Welcome special guest A. Morell talking about Famous Birthdays~

Have you ever come across someone else with your birthday? Did it make you think “hey, cool”? Did you ever wonder who else in the world might share your date of birth, especially in the realms of history and celebrity? Or is that just me? Well, I got curious, anyway. For the record, I have met one other person in real life with the same birthday as me, and it was nice never needing to mark it down on the calendar. But here are some famous people I can blow out candles with: Jack Black – Actor, comedian, bizarre song writer Shania Twain – Perhaps the only country pop star everyone likes Billy Boyd – Fool of a Took and a lovely crooner Jennifer Coolidge – The original MILF and best part of Legally Blonde Scott Hamilton – Figure skating Olympian and professional backflipper Roxie Roker – Star of The Jeffersons and mother of Lenny Kravitz Leo Tolstoy – I think he wrote books Johann von Goethe – I think he did too It was also the day that Pepsi-Cola was invented, Dr. King gave his I Have a Dream speech, and Japan got its first official television broadcast via Nippon Television. I seem to be in good company. How about you? For an exclusive sneak peek of my upcoming release, Puncture Wounds, check out the Birthday Bash below. Join the scavenger hunt for a chance to win your own copy!
James is at the end of a long crusade for vengeance against the vampire clan that destroyed everything he held dear. He has Ren, the final and most dangerous of them all, cornered at last in London. But victory remains just out of reach when Ren sets a feral vampire on James and makes his escape. With no other leads, James is forced to take in the feral until he can use its connection to its sire to track down Ren. But in caring for the vampire, James sees they might not all be the monsters he thought them to be. Faced with an ugly truth, his quest for revenge becomes a war for retribution, and the discovery of what it truly means to be human. Twitter | Blog | Dreamspinner | Birthday Bash

Wednesday, August 27

Goals: Not Always Helpful

Well that's an odd thing to say, isn't it? Shouldn't writers (or artists of any kind, really) have goals?

Yes.

But goals need to be both reasonable and flexible

I have a goal of writing 2000 words a day. Most day I make that and a little over, but it wasn't so long ago that I was struggling to even make 500 words a day. There were a couple of days when I barely got 100 words down on the page. 

I spent the day after, beating myself up--which isn't a terribly good way to keep the Muses dancing in my head. 

A few years ago, I set my goal at releasing 6 titled in the following year. I released 1. There are a bevy of reasons, most of which you all, already know about. (For those who aren't regulars, I had a major bout of depression last winter, but even before that, I was dealing with it off and on and it is *very* difficult to be creative when all you want to do is sleep all day. And my depression isn't server. Even last winter, when the past few years finally caught up with me, when we realized we were losing our house, and when the weather was just *awful* I was definitely depressed--but there are far worse cases out there. Which I don't say to lift myself up or tell myself that "see, it's not so bad." I'm saying that because you might know someone suffering with depression and you might not even know it, because most of the time it's invisible. It isn't taken seriously. It should be, because it's real.)

Okay, PSA over. 

But in all seriousness, depression of any level of severity is nothing to be brushed aside. Even though most days I did eventually get out of bed and get dressed, I still didn't seem to be able to get anything done, especially writing.

And I love writing.

It became this viscous cycle of not writing because I just couldn't find the mental and emotional fortitude to put words together, then beating myself up for not being productive (because one of the habits of happy, productive, successful people is to write or produce their art whether they feel motivated or not--only amateurs wait for "motivation"). And of course, the more I beat myself up, the deeper into depression I sank, the more difficult it was to string words together on the page, the fewer words I produced, the more I beat myself up. 

On one of my worst days not so long ago, one of my Facebook friends (and I am so sorry I've forgotten who it was, because it was another author) said to my complaint about taking so long to write so few words that "any progress forward in the story is progress" (or something incredibly similar). For once, I took the simple (true) encouragement to heart and since then have been doing better. There will still be days that are better than others. I still have a house full of boxes to unpack and drywall to tape and "mud" (which thankfully has nothing to do with actual mud, but is going to be a heck of a job, because there are a *lot* of seams in the drywall and they're not all real even and...and yeah. There's a lot of work to do.) I still have to sand and stain my office floor. 

So I had to lean to be flexible. My goal is 2000 words a day, but if I don't make it, that's okay. I put *some* words on the page. Or maybe I unpacked some boxes or tackled one of the kajillion projects still waiting for me around this place. I've also learned that, at least for me, "writers' block" is just my subconscious telling me that something isn't right with the story and keeping me from going forward until I fix it. Sometimes it takes time for my subconscious to figure it out and let me know what needs to be fixed. While I'm let it chew over the problem, I can do other things. I can do anything but beat myself up over taking the day off from writing.

So I'd like to encourage you to stop reading all of those "habits of happy, successful, wealthy people" memes and figure out what works for YOU. Sure, some of the advice is pretty universal (the more time you spend on Facebook, the less time you'll have to produce art; spending time with people who actively discourage you--or even not-so-actively discourage you--is totally counterproductive to an artistic career), but "just smile and do it anyway" doesn't always work in life. Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to miss a goal, build a blanket fort, or go hang out with your best friend. 

My (flexible) goals:

  • Finish and submit A Place to Belong and Bound: Damaged Goods by the end of the year. 
  • Keep up with my monthly newsletter and weekly (or more) blog
  • Write 2000 words a day (more when I can)
  • Spend 2 hours a day reading (instead of farting around on Facebook)
  • Work on meditating every day (or at least every other day) and get back to working out

Next year:
  • I will write and submit 4 novel-length books for publication (which involves promotion, blog tours, marketing...heck, it involves editing and a lot of hard work above and beyond 2000 words a day!)
  • Keep up on my newsletter and blog (which count toward my writing word goal)
  • Attend Rainbow Con (I'm already booked in as an author)
  • Attend Dragon*Con (which is really a family vacation, but it's a monetary goal of staggering proportions! I'm also going to submit my name for the author track and see if I can get on a couple of panels)
  • Have a vegetable garden (good for both the pantry and my emotional well being)
  • Finances available, remodel kitchen (because you know, stuff always comes up when you least expect it and something else might become more important)
  • Work on some other artistic endeavors I bought the supplies for but haven't gotten around to doing anything with (oopsie!)  
  • Continue making time for my spiritual life
  • Continue working on my body, not because of anybody else's idea of what I should look like , but because I just plain feel good when I work out 4 or 5 times a week and make healthy food choices (at least most of the time. According to Bill Cosby, chocolate cake is food, right?)
  • Join a professional organization--but it probably won't be RWA (Romance Writers of America). I'm looking at AG (the Author's Guild); I may or may not blog about my reasons in an upcoming post. 
  • Above all, remain flexible (except w/ Dragon, because oh boy were those hotel reservation terms scary!)

Have any goals you'd like to share? Or any anything else you'd like to say? Leave a comment!