Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Wednesday Briefs: Useful Things #3

Welcome to this week's Wednesday Briefs and another 1000 words of my serial flash M/M WIP. I'm having fun with it and hope you will, too. For this week's episode, I used one of the visual prompts.


Useful Things #3

The Aeth had razed scores of human cities; the rest they just let crumble. The remnants of free humanity dwelt in those crumbling cities or huddled in wilderness enclaves, both of which the Aeth now left alone except for incursions by poachers and slavers. Rasvim had spent his childhood in what remained of Wheeling, an inland city far from Aeth colonial posts. After his capture, he’d been taken somewhere else and sold to Osvith, who had run his operation out of the ruins of Baltimore.

Now he stepped out of a transport vehicle and onto a platform in the first unruined city he had ever seen. To every side, dark towers glittered with trails and halos of light. He dared not look down, but kept his eyes on Majak as he walked along a gangway into the maw of an Aeth building. The air smelled faintly acrid, though with hints of musk when an Aeth drew near. Majak gave off his own powerful scent, that spicy trace Rasvim found so intriguing. Ver Majak found reasons to touch him often—on the small of his back to guide him along, at the top of his spine in what felt like an attempt to reassure.

Rasvim was accustomed to being touched by Aeth fingers, having his more delicate skin stroked by wondering Aeth hoof-pads. His usual response was conditioned arousal.

He observed his surroundings as he always did, funneling images, sounds and smells into his body. He would make sense of them later, when he had time to sort through everything. He would assign meaning where he was able and try not to misinterpret the rest.

The corridors became filled with fewer people and more objects: polished displays of art or military objects, alcoves ringed with cushions around tables laden with glittering vessels and strange, bird-like flowers. Living trees grew from the floor. At least there were but two Aeth to greet Majak, Urhal, and Rasvim. Three Aeth and a human.

The human did something strange. He, to judge by the bulge in his form-fitted body wear, which barely covered his torso, folded his fabric sheathed arms across his chest and lowered his body to the floor in a graceful sitting posture. Fabric also sheathed his legs and covered his hair, giving him an odd, sexless look.

To the Aeth, Majak said, “I have brought you a new member of the household. This is Rasvim”—he had learned the name during a brief conversation during their journey—“and you will find him already well-trained and quick to learn. He speaks our language fluently and I expect you to train him to full companion status.”

“Companion?” The Aeth who spoke had a darker nose than Majak and smaller eyes. The higher voice marked her as female. Dark striations marked the hide from her neck to where a crimson robe clasped at her throat. “Not comfort?”

“No. I am reserving him for my personal use. Like Enir here.” Majak dropped a hand so he could press long fingers to the seated human’s head, which bowed to the touch. Blue human eyes looked up from beneath painted eyelids to meet Rasvim’s.

Was this what Majak wanted him to become?

“I want Rasvim and Enir both to accompany me to the reception tomorrow.”

“Such an important event! All the prime holders—”

“I understand, Alaksu. I trust Rasvim’s training will not embarrass me. I also trust your preparation of him will please me.” He turned to his captain and the other Aeth, a squat female wearing what looked like a military sash. “Come Urhal, Damqa… I want to go over what we gleaned from this operation.”

“Yes, Governor.”

Majak walked away, leaving Rasvim with Alaksu and Enir. The human rose as gracefully as he had lowered. He was taller than he had looked, and so slender he looked like a child. Rasvim was taller and broader.

Alaksu raked Rasvim with a critical gaze, then snorted, her flat nostrils flaring. “He’s probably right. You’re almost too crude to be a comfort slave. Pretty, but growing coarse. They failed to neuter you soon enough.”

Rasvim saw no point in volunteering that Osvith had rejected the option because he’d hoped to breed him. He caught a sidelong glance from Enir, but Alaksu commanded his attention again.

“I will see just how well-trained you are. Someone from the den of a criminal is unlikely to have skills sufficient for the house of a son of the Var Sareem. Ver Majak must be attended only by creatures that bring credit to his position. I fail to see the potential.” She huffed again and led the way into a different corridor.

Rasvim and Enir followed.

* * * *

Alaksu gave him to Enir to be bathed. The chamber in which she left them was round and lofty, filled with fragrant steam. The pool at the center was beautiful… round with creamy marble steps leading down into water of a soft, mesmerizing blue-green. Rasvim yearned for the touch of water on his skin. At Osvith’s, he had used only wet cloths and small amounts of medicinal gel. He stripped out of his clothes, which Enir examined disdainfully.

“Old human?” His voice was light and pleasing.

“My master liked the look.”

“You won’t wear that here.”

Rasvim didn’t mind. Naked now, he stepped into the water and sighed happily at the warmth that seeped into his muscles. He had never bathed in warm water, only cold. He looked back to see Enir staring at him.

“You’re beautiful,” the other human said.

Rasvim shook his head. “I don’t feel beautiful.”

“But you are. I see why Majak wants you.” Enir peeled off his leggings and arm wear, then his single piece torso covering. Rasvim studied him openly. “I’ve been neutered, but I think you guessed that.”

“Did Majak—”

“No. Processors. I was being raised as food. The Var Sareem found the operation and shut it down. I was rescued.”


Lily Sawyer      m/m 
Elyzabeth VaLey     m/f
Nephylim    m/m
Cia Nordwell    m/m
MC Houle      m/m
MA Church     m/m

Monday, October 29, 2012

Halloween Violin Zombies!

Just a little something fun for Halloween. :D Violinist Lindsey Stirling rocks it out with zombies... [MOON TRANCE]

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Gertie the Duck and the Tobermory Cat

This post is part of the Holloween Blog Hop and any reader who wishes to comment can win a free ebook copy of one of the books on my sidebar. I'll be drawing three winners, so just leave your email in the comment so I can contact you if you win. If you comment on any of my posts during the blog hop, yes... you get more chances to win. :D

Now, what or who is the Tobermory Cat and what does that have to do with Gertie the Duck?

Well, yesterday I read about what happened to this writer, Debi Gliori, and the bullying and trolling she suffered because she wrote a book about the Tobermory Cat. It just floored me. I really suggest every writer read Debi's blog post. I suggest every reader who has ever thought another writer ripped off their favorite author's "idea" read it also. Writing, my friends, is not a profession for the easily intimidated.

For the record, the Tobermory Cat seems like a perfectly nice cat. He takes a lovely picture and Tobermory looks charming. Places breed stories and this town's stories include the Tobermory Cat.

I grew up in a city filled with stories. Milwaukee has its share, and one is the story of Gertie the Duck.

Gertie the Duck (1945)

In April 1945, near the end of World War II, a young boy pointed out a mallard duck had built her nest atop one of the wood pilings under the Wisconsin Avenue bridge in downtown Milwaukee. Wisconsin Avenue is one of the busiest streets in the city and at that time was lined with stores and offices. Soon, shoppers and passersby were thronging on the bridge to look at the nesting duck. A newspaper reporter, Gordon MacQuarrie, began writing daily reports about the duck, soon named Gertie, and the city adopted her as its own. Gimbels department store even provided a window for Gertie and her six ducklings to live in (complete with nurses to tend to their conditions) when fire destroyed nearby pilings and threatened them. Two million people stopped by to see the famous duck and her family. The ducks were later relocated to one of the city's park lagoons, where Gertie continued to draw visitors for years.

The main point of Gertie's story is that no one later prevented--or even tried to prevent--children's book writers Nicholas Georgiady and Louis Romano from writing the story of Gertie the Duck in 1949. Or any of the several other books released over the next decades. Reporter MacQuarrie or the newspaper, the Milwaukee Journal, could have claimed the story was theirs... but they didn't. Gimbels Department Stores could have claimed they "made" Gertie famous through their store window. Gimbels simply gave the authors permission to use their store name in the book. The people involved with Gertie realized that Gertie wasn't a product. Gertie was an idea, a part of the culture and tradition that is Milwaukee. Gertie the duck is long gone, but Gertie the Milwaukee Duck lives on in statues, books and fond memories.

The artist in Tobermory who believes he owns the idea of the Tobermory cat because he started a Facebook page about the cat is mistaken about the nature of copyright and intellectual property. I know what it's like to have intellectual property stolen. I blogged about my books being stolen: that thief stole my stories word for word and pretended she had written them. Read Gliori's blog, and read what the artist in Tobermory is doing, and tell me that's the same thing. It's not.

The brouhaha surrounding the Tobermory cat is ugly. That ugliness is now part of the story of the Tobermory cat. And that's a shame. The cat could have been as lovely a part of humanity's sometimes graceful relationship with nature as Gertie the Duck. Now it's mostly a sordid tale of humans at their worst.

photo credit Tobermory Cat: <a href="">Bruce Stokes</a> via <a href="">photopin</a> <a href="">cc</a>

Friday, October 26, 2012

Dreams of an Evil Witch
This is my entry for the Howloween Blog Hop and I hope you have fun reading it. I’m offering prizes to people who comment: each of THREE winners gets one free book of their choice from my published books. The books are featured on the sidebar. Captive Heart is M/F and the others are M/M. Just leave a comment and an email so I can contact you if you win. Easy as that!

As to my dreams of being an evil witch…

The first Halloween I remember, I knew what I wanted to be when I set out on Trick or Treat: Malificent, the Evil Witch from Sleeping Beauty. She was everything I wanted to be: powerful, devious, answerable to no one and nothing except her own magnificent desires. Yep. That was my dream costume.

So what did my mother make me? Cinderella.

That's right. Subservient, ash-sweeping, bullied by her step-sisters Cinderella. The best reason she could give was that I was a blonde and evil witches are brunettes. I didn’t see what hair color had to do with it. I was evil, darn it! But that Halloween, I was a smiling-through-my-clenched-teeth Cinderella.

The next year, I was determined. I would be a witch. Malificent wasn’t the only witch around. The Evil Witch from the Wizard of Oz was… brunette, my mother informed me. I simply glared. That year, my mother sent me out as a fairy complete with wings and a sparkly star-tipped wand. I wanted to turn everyone into mice, especially my brunette little sister, who went as … you got it. She was a witch. A cute bright-eyed witch with a moon and black cat on her pointy little hat. Only the fact I found my sister useful for doing her share of the dishes spared her from my wrath.

A year later, I was still plotting to be a witch, but I decided to be devious. I took a pair of scissors to my long blonde hair and came out looking like a boy, not a princess. My mother cried.  That year, she made me Peter Pan.

I was getting older and decided to broaden my horizons. My mother clearly was set against me being a witch, but there were other equally attractive forms of evil and power. Morticia Adams was creepy. There was a vampire queen on Dark Shadows. And Elvira was strangely alluring. Evil sorceresses and vampires were within reach.

But no… that year my mother had her heart set on seeing me as Supergirl and my sister as Wonder Woman. I didn’t even like Supergirl. At least Wonder Woman had cool bracelets and a lasso. My mom argued that Supergirl was blonde. My sister, she explained, made a much better Wonder Woman.

I gnashed my teeth for another year… and the year after that. I gnashed my teeth until I was too tall and gangling to carry off childish costumes and could be relegated to chaperon duty for my terminally cute dark-haired sister and two younger brothers. I officially hated Halloween. But then it happened…

My freshman year in college, I got invited to a Halloween party. My mother suggested I go as Princess Leia… but I said no way. I was going to choose my own costume. Accompanied by my sister and using money I had saved for a rainy day (it was sunny, but what the heck), I went a local Renaissance Faire. I bought the coolest faux leather bustier and barbarian skirt. A black cloak I trimmed later at home with fur from an old coat. A cool belt and fake sword. I had a skull necklace at home, and a few other accessories to complete my look. I was a surly, powerful, not-to-be-messed-with blonde barbarian bitch!

I was a total hit with the guys. Turns out men like barbarian bitches. (For the record, the picture is not me, but Callisto from Xena.)

Over the years, I refined my look. I bought real leather: Roman-style skirt, kick-ass boots, lace-up bustiers with studs and chain mail cups. Hot antlers. Real swords, daggers, and maces. I can be a barbarian or a sorceress in a long, flowing dress with a neckline that would appall dear old mom, though she’s long since come to terms with my wicked side.

In my mom’s eyes, I’ll always be her pretty blonde princess, like the one on my Captive Heart cover. That’s how she sees me. She framed that cover.

But at heart, her little girl is an unrepentant witch.


Visit the other blog hop participants [HERE] to enter their contests for more great prizes! If you’d like to enter my contest, just comment below and leave your email. My trusty poodle and I will pick a winner by random drawing on the morning of November 1st, right after Halloween!

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Wednesday Briefs: Useful Things #2

It's time again for Wednesday Briefs, weekly flash stories of 1000 words or less. I'm contributing serial chapters of a science fiction story I'm playing around with. The pairing is m/m, with one of the males being an alien. There may even be a menage, but I'm not sure yet. That's the fun of a WIP... it keeps evolving.

This week's prompts were "You make a better door than a window" or use: spice, intense, cargo or "Falling in love again is like..." or use: secret, balance, radiation or "Look into my eyes..."; or I could use one of the visual prompts.

I decided to use this visual prompt:

Useful Things #2

Rasvim looked up. If he did not, he would be branded as untrained and useless, which was bad, or terrified, which was worse.

The Aeth was tall, hairless, and gray-skinned as were all his species. Oval, pointed ears neatly bracketed a narrow face, less protruding than some, with a powerful jaw and pronounced orbital ridges from beneath which peered large intelligent eyes. Aeth eyes lacked whites, consisting of a mauve taupe orb with enormous irises of shades from red to purple, at the center of which the black of their pupils were almost diffuse. The nose was wide, with open nostrils, and the mouth appeared almost lipless when closed, as this one’s now was, concealing its teeth.  Rasvim found Aeth faces difficult to read.

“Very pretty,” the Aeth said. He reached his hand under Rasvim’s chin, tracing the line of his jaw with two fingers. Aeth hands had three fingers and an opposable digit like a thumb, all long, jointed and graceful. Evolution had reduced the hooves on the ends of the fingers to tips useful for tapping and prying, while the undersides deployed sensitive, exposed cores. The velvety touch caressed Rasvim’s jaw, rasping over his two day growth of beard. “A young male, yes?”

“Yes, Ver Majak.”

Rasvim shivered as the fingers moved to his mouth. Not knowing what was wanted, he parted his lips, allowing the hoof tips to enter. Hard and smooth. He kept his gaze fixed on Aeth Majak and tried to interpret subtle shifts in expression.

“Did you know, Urhal”—said Majak, leaving his fingers against Rasvim’s dry, open lips—“that humans are an intelligent species?”

“Haven’t seen many… or much sign of it.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen many. No one has. They never developed space travel beyond this one planet and its lifeless moon. They had the misfortune to be discovered first by exploiters, mercantile opportunists who slaughtered them for their valuable protein. Most were processed before humans could be studied and categorized. When humans were outlawed as food, the mercantile cartel adapted their exploitation by selling humans as a comfort species. Many of those who buy humans ostensibly for pleasure still end up eating them.”

“Good blood meat is a temptation.”

Rasvim was used to such talk. Osvith’s guests had often tried to cajole the smuggler into serving him up as food.

“So why did Osvith not succumb?” Majak moved his thumb around Rasvim’s yielding lips, exploring their potential. “Can you tell me, human? Why didn’t Osvith eat you?”

Because Aeth Majak seemed to know that he could speak, and because he did not want to end up as food, Rasvim answered. “I’m too useful, Ver Majak,” he replied, using inflections perfected through years of training.

“Beautiful,” said Majak. He removed his hand. His facial expression shifted again. Rasvim thought the Aeth was pleased. “And he has learned our tongue.”

“Slaves learn the language of their masters.”

“True. But food… does not.”

He was in the presence of a predator unlike any of the conquerors he had thus far encountered. Osvith had been cunning and cruel, a creature given to indulgences and excess. Aeth Majak’s body was lithe and fit, sheathed in fine fabrics embellished with glittering details Rasvim recognized as indicating high status. Many of the symbols meant nothing to him, but he had seen the neck detail before. Riss vith ch’isk. High wing star. He did not know the meaning of the word grouping.

“There are only a few pockets of feral humans left on this, their native world.” Majak had not ceased his monologue to Urhal. “Most come from off-world farms, of course, but the majority are genetic cretins manipulated to be food or mindless comfort slaves. This one bears no vendor mark. He appears to be native stock and was probably captured in the wild. Yet he speaks our language almost perfectly. This human may be the rarest prize of all.” The eyes that bored into Rasvim’s were not Osvith’s horrible red, but more resembled the color of storm skies he barely remembered.

Though he sensed no cruelty—no suggestion that this Aeth thought of him as food—the scrutiny only reminded him of his proximity to danger. It took his every nerve not to run, which would only trigger the prey instincts of the soldiers. Majak’s fingers smoothing the red tips of his crest calmed him.

“How did Osvith choose you, young one?”

“There were several of us. He showed us a number and asked us to repeat it.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, Ver Majak.”

“Can you repeat it now? Do it.”

He drew a breath, then began. 

Urhal lifted a gray, pebbled eyebrow. Majak’s lips stretched enough to part, revealing a glint of teeth in his smile. “Osvith kept you at his side. You attended meetings with him, didn’t you, young one?”

Fear pulled at his organs. “Yes, Ver—”

“Do you remember the details of those meetings?”

Rasvim could not look away from the ferocity of Majak’s interest in him. The Aeth already knew the answer. “Yes.”

“What do you remember?”

“Everything. Every word spoken, what they did, what they ate, what they wore.”

Urhal grunted. “Clever Osvith. The human is a recording device!”

His expression cloaked again, Majak pondered Rasvim anew. “The rarest of the rare. Beautiful, intelligent, and it possesses eidetic memory. Who knows how many of these amazing creatures the protein scavengers rendered into pulp? This one is now mine.”

“But it may have valuable information about criminal activity, including what happened to Tuth Arux—”

“I will get that from him, but not here. I want him in a secure location. Bring him with us.”

He obeyed and followed the Aeth out the warehouse door. For the first time in years, he stood in open air. The risen moon burned white in the sky above hills thick with incandescent night-flowering trees. Aeth-ruled territory burned bright as day.

Rasvim had a new master.


Thanks for reading. :)  The other briefers also have some wonderful stories to share, so check them out.

Lily Sawyer 
Nephylim     m/m
Michael Mandrake     m/m
Cia Nordwell    m/m
Michael Barnette     m/m    flash virgin!!!!!!
Elyzabeth VaLey      m/f
MA Church     m/m

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Visiting Author: M.A. Church

Razor's Edge Press A Changeling Press LLC Imprint

The perfect mate for a cold-hearted human with no redeeming qualities? A prince of hell, who else?

My latest release, Lust and Ice, is a M/M Dark Desires novella and out now from Razor's Edge Press, a Changeling Press LLC Imprint. Yes, this is one of my dark stories. :) And yes, lol, there's a HEA—of a sort. When dealing with a Prince of Hell things can get twisted. So, there's HEA... then there's this kind of HEA.

Two more novella's spin off this book and the Bad Boys Club. In Lust and Ice you'll meet Kain's friends—Hugh, Jordan, and Allen—and they're as bad as Kain. Jordan and Allen's book will be next in the series.


They call him Ice. Kain's a spoiled rich man's son with money to burn. An endless parade of men through his bedroom has left him empty and wanting. When he and his friends meet at their usual nightclub and place bets on who'll score for the evening, Kain eyes a sexy stranger. Electricity jumps between them, and Ice decides the handsome man will be in his bed screaming out his pleasure before the night is through.

Dark and deadly desires are Asmodeus' calling cards. Those that fall to his wicked ways are doomed to an eternity of unfulfilled lust in the second level of hell. This is no man to be played with... because this is no man. He's the Prince of Lust, one of the seven princes of hell. And he's been granted the right to take a mate by his master, Lucifer. He's searched through the ages for the one that will satisfy his sinful needs, but none have made the cut.
Until now.

The Bad Boys club has picked the wrong targets this time -- hell's come to claim its own.


Asmodeus toyed with his straw as he glanced over the crowd on the dance floor. There were a few that caught his eye, but nothing that got his blood pumping. His appearance not only fit in at Night Moves, but called certain types to him, preferably men. For the last hundred years he had taken to seducing the males of the human race.

“Mmm, there’s something about taking a strong man and bending him to my will, having him first beg not to be fucked…” He ran a hand down his chest, drawing several pairs of eyes, and shivered. “Then later beg to be fucked.”

Frowning, he glanced over the dance floor again; he damn sure wasn’t going to get lucky sitting on his ass up here. He smoothed his hair behind his ear and a brilliant, sizable ruby stub flashed, as did the ruby in his signet ring on his left hand. He looked down at the tribal tattoo that started on his right wrist and extended up his arm. Thanks to the shirt, no one could see the tattoo snake over his shoulder and unto his neck. It also meandered down from his shoulder and covered the right side of his chest, then continued to his groin.

His dick was thick, but not overly long, and covered in small knots. There the tattoo crossed over his body and continued down his left ankle. Those that saw the tattoo in its full glory were already doomed, although they didn’t know it. Once his prey submitted to him, the end was never far behind. The fear in their eyes and the frightened begging that came from the lips of his prey as he drained them always excited him, made his orgasm much more intense.

The problem was that once he finished feeding the pleasure was gone, and loneliness bombarded him.

Now the mindless pleasure, the thrill of the hunt and his prey’s fear were no longer enough. He wanted -- Satan help him -- he wanted a mate. Someone who would belong to him ‘til the end of time. He’d made his wishes known to his lord and was granted the right to take a human, if he found one that fit his needs. So far no such human had been found, and he had looked -- extensively.

A perfectly shaped eyebrow raised above wickedly sinful eyes. Several men and women had played the game and fallen for his dark looks -- they regretted it eternally.

He was no man to be played with… because he was no man.

Shifting in his chair, his eyes landed on a group of humans across the openness of the second floor. A new mortal joined them, another male. There was a restlessness that shimmered around him that snagged Asmodeus’s attention. This one appealed to him, very much so. Even with the noise of the crowds and the thumping bass of the music, he could hear them. The longer he listened to the one named Kain, the more his dick swelled.


M.A. Church lives in the southern United States and spent many years in the elementary education sector. She is married to her high school sweetheart and they have two children. Her hobbies are gardening, walking, attending flea markets, watching professional football, racing, and spending time with her family on the lake.

But her most beloved hobby is reading. From an early age, she can remember hunting for books at the library. Later nonhuman and science fiction genres captured her attention and drew her into the worlds the authors had created. But always at the back of her mind was the thought that one day, when the kids were older and she had more time, she would write a book.

By sheer chance she stumbled across a gay male romance story on the web and was hooked. A new world opened up and she fell in love. Thus the journey started. When not writing or researching, she enjoys reading the latest erotic and mainstream romance novels.

Where to find me:

Twitter @nomoretears00

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Devil's Night Winner Is...

This morning I got up, dropped the coffee twice before I finally was able to make a pot, and enlisted the poodle to help draw the winner from among the wonderful people who entered the Devil's Night giveaway.

The poodle thumps her tail and the winner is... Adriana! I'll be sending Adriana an email so she can claim her prize.

Thanks to everyone who entered this giveaway. I love reading your answers and hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and Halloween, too!

Next week's giveaway... any of my books, your choice. Look for the announcement for the Halloween Blog Hop. I'm getting excited already. :)

Friday, October 19, 2012

The Devil Inside

This will go down as the year I went to the devil.

Let's see, of the stories I've written this year (meaning wrote, not published), all but one of the free stories has had supernatural villains. Sorcerer's Knot has a very dark and evil god. Blood Red has creepy ghostly horror. Even Thick as Thieves, light-hearted romp that it is, has Madd and Vorgell battling horrific otherworldly fiends commanded by evil wizards. 

And the “The Seventh Sacrifice” is all about a demon.

The Devil's Night anthology is available today from Storm Moon Press. [HERE] AND I am conducting a giveaway... with the winner to be drawn tomorrow morning. The giveaway is HERE.

And here's an excerpt where a bit of my sexy dark side comes out to play:

“I want all of you, Spaniard.”

The prickle of warning he’d been fighting all day made him jerk with alarm.  “My name is Beltran—”

“Your name doesn’t matter.  This does.” 

He gasped, and a shiver traveled down his spine when he felt Katari’s lips on the nape of his neck.  God, yes!  Wasn’t this what he had come here hoping to find?  Well, maybe not a sorcerous cock-ring, but the pure, hot celebration of cock mastering cock.  The man was teasing his cock again, prodding his balls, sending pleasure ratcheting through him like beats on some infernal drum.  He threw his head back, hair spilling over Katari’s shoulder, as his knees threatened to buckle.  Overhead, the moon shone white and shimmering and three-quarters gone. 

Katari rubbed a thumb over his cock head, swiping at his leaking pre-come and smearing it over the sensitive glans.  He nibbled the rim of Beltran’s ear and teased the lobe with the tip of his tongue, causing Beltran to try to wriggle out of his grasp.  “Do you know what an amaru is, Spaniard?”

“No.”  Something was happening to Beltran, something he feared but didn’t want to stop.  Don’t let this end, please don’t let it end... I need this too much.  Those dark fingers handled him expertly, caressing his rigid dick with firm control to the rhythm of silken words.

“The amaru are great serpents, children of the earth itself.  The gods could not order them, the Incas worshipped their powers.”

“Snakes?”  Though he managed the word, he was barely able to think.  Snakes?  With every stroke of those strong fingers, Katari was finding new ways to own him.  He bent forward, intent on watching.  What he saw made him moan.  His cock was now wrapped with a serpentine band of gold, twining around it from root to engorged tip.  A ring of the same shining metal encircled the base of his glans, which protruded, dripping, from the cage.

“Yes.  Sacred, powerful snakes.”  Katari licked the side of Beltran’s neck.  “Do you like my handiwork?  Your legs are getting weak, Spaniard.  Kneel.  I have a snake for you to worship.”

Oh, and here's a cool picture of an amaru... thanks to the beautiful art of Genzoman.  He's from Chile, so knows his llama-serpent demons!

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Wednesday Briefs: Useful Things #1

After a one week breather, I’m back with a new series of weekly flash fiction for the Wednesday Briefs. This time I used one of the week’s photo prompts because it, well, prompted this story to mind…

Let’s see where the journey goes. I welcome comments.


Useful Things #1

Rasvim focused on a floor smooth as water, gray as Aeth skin. He crouched and kept his arms folded over his thighs, head tipped in submission. He studied the floor because it represented safety. Beheading was the usual punishment for looking without permission upon one of the conquerors. The creature soon to enter the room would not be a thief and smuggler, as his master had been. Neither would it be a soldier such as those standing in darkly armored ranks along the walls of the warehouse that had served as the smuggler’s base, or lined the corridor to this room in the sumptuous living quarters from which Osvith had ruled his clandestine empire of rebels, criminals, and mercenaries.

Osvith had thought the Aeth would have trouble tracing his operation to this filthy hole on a planet as corrupt and post-colonially messy as Earth.

Footsteps echoed through the warehouse now, still distant, heard through the hidden, slitted windows from which his master had kept paranoid watch on the comings and goings of his operation. Rasvim studied the floor, his ears tracking the progress of the Aeth entourage. They would surely end up here. His hearing was just sharp enough to pick up a light drone of Aeth voices, but not yet the words. Because words were not for him in any case, he abandoned the effort, wishing his mouth were not so dry and hoping that when the time came he would be able to speak.

Don’t croak! His master had delighted in perfecting his speech. Slowly! Prettily!

He had been groomed to be pleasing to a monster.

A blast of spice-laden air preceded the Aeth commander into the room. Rasvim shivered and reminded himself to show no fear. The Aeth considered fear to be a sign of weakness. Weak things were sport, or food. Rasvim had watched many feral humans eaten post-hunt. He’d seen Osvith serve up human meat at his table, tender pink meat purchased on the black market. He’d eaten it himself, chewing while gazing into his master’s gloating red eyes.

Rasvim had hated his master. He had lost count of the days of his slavery, but vaguely knew not quite five years had passed since he had fallen to a poacher’s dart. That Osvith liked younger meat except to screw was the only reason he still lived. He had shown plenty of fear.

The spice of an Aeth of high rank assaulted his nostrils and he quivered to know they flared to gather the scent. Osvith had been of low rank and had smelled nearly putrid, as if corruption had permeated even his stench. This scent… enthralled Rasvim. Now, at last, he had lost his mind. He must be suffering the effects of two days of hunger and deprivation. The soldiers who’d slain Osvith had spilled water on the floor and allowed him to lap it. Other than that, he’d had nothing to drink or eat. By comparison, Osvith’s daily rations had been generous.

The Aeth leaders entered the room to the regimented stamp of shod feet. Aeth feet more resembled hooves than paws. Cloven, elegant. They were shod for utility or according to rank. Rasvim wore shoes modeled after traditional human garb. Sports shoes and pants and a shirt bearing Osvith’s mark. His hair rose stiffly above his head in a crest that marked him as a pleasure thing. The Aeth were attracted to color and displays. Rasvim kept his eyes open to demonstrate his alertness, though he did not break his concentration on the floor.

Two Aeth stood before him. He recognized the captain by the martial plate nailed to the underside of his foot and extending in front to encase his hoof with a display of martial rank. The other hooves were sheathed even more elegantly; the plate tooled with gold and displaying two brilliantly cut gems on each hoof. Not a commander… an aristocrat. Osvith had held such as captives, though Rasvim had seldom been allowed to see them.

“What is this, Ulhar? A human?” The Aeth sounded surprised, and male. It was hard to tell by hooves alone, but male Aeth voices were deeper.

“Osvith the criminal kept it as a pet,” said the captain. Ulhar, then, was the captain’s name.

“A sexual indulgence, I assume. It’s pretty enough, but too thin.”

“Yes, Ver Majak.”

Rasvim hoped the Aeth would find him attractive. Osvith had taunted him often that pretty humans were desirable as servants… or for sex. Either was better than being food.

“It looks well-trained.” With even steps, the Aeth circled him.

“It isn’t feral,” Ulhar said, “and it’s given no trouble. Absolutely biddable. Seems clean and the physician has pronounced it free of diseases. Osvith took some care with it, but abused it for his pleasure. It had whip and bite marks when we found it, but the marks have faded. It was wearing these when we found it.”

Jeweled feet appeared in front of him again. Rasvim hoped this Aeth would think him nothing, just a pleasure thing. A pleasure thing, or a human who could be salvaged as a servant. He would make a fine servant. Osvith had taught him to be unobtrusive, perfection. He could kneel for hours without moving a single muscle.

“They were in his nipples,” Ulhar explained about his findings. “They contain video and audio transmitters.”

“Clever Osvith. His visitors were unwary and let him look down their throats.” The throaty chuckle deepened to a growl. “But I think he might have been cleverer still. Did you question this creature?”

“A human? There was no—” Ulhar for once sounded unsure.

A staff of what looked like yellowed bone—not human, but longer and thinner—pounded down right in front of Rasvim. He flinched and immediately regretted it. The bone lifted, knocking him lightly under the chin.

“Look at me, human!” The Aeth employed words soaked in command, such that Rasvim could not disobey even by accident.

He looked up.


And look at this list of Briefers for this week… so many fun free stories to be sampled.

Cia Nordwell
Sara York     m/m
LM Brown    m/m
MA Church     m/m
Nephylim     m/m
Michael Mandrake     m/m
Lily Sawyer      m/m  

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

It's a Haunted Hotel!

M.A. Church is here to tell us about her story in a spooky new anthology about... well, she will give all the juicy details. But it doesn't get more Halloween than this!


Does your relationship have more cracks than a witch’s cauldron?

Want to put the magic back into the bedroom? It’s couples therapy weekend at hotel BJ, a vacation resort that’s so far South that you can’t help but hear the banjos dueling! And it’s Halloween weekend…

Will more than damaged relationships be brought back from the dead?

Anything’s possible on this magic night! Let the authors of the Haunted Hotel anthology show you how it’s done!

A Multi-author M/M anthology from the writers of Wednesday Briefs, who bring you prompt induced Flash fiction every Wednesday. Bigger Briefs is an anthology we began to showcase our slightly bigger briefs. Er, flash fiction. We invite you to take the journey with us!

Hey guys! Guess what’s out in time for Halloween? That’s right, the Bigger Brief anthology Haunted Hotel. And guess who’s returned this time too… Zane and Neil! Yay, my boys are back for another story.

A Ghostly Whisper
By M.A. Church

“Surely you’re not saying you think this place is haunted? There’s no such thing as—”

“Oh my God, don’t you dare say it!”

Neil shrugged as he walked back to the kitchen.

“All this can be explained, babe. The lights flickering from the wind, faulty wiring on the hot tub—and isn’t that a nice thought—plus this is Halloween weekend. Maybe the owners of this place thought it would be funny to rig up one of the cabins. Did you check those brochures to see if they planned any activities for the holiday? Maybe a haunted cabin type thing? Bet this is nothing more than that. It’s all for fun, a joke.”

“Do I look like I’m fucking laughing?”

“That’s not your happy face?” Neil held up a hand. “Sorry. How about we go back to the lobby and ask to be moved. Would that help?”

“I’m all for leaving.”

“Come on, babe. We’re on vacation. Let’s just ask for another cabin.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’m still not laughing.”

“So I see. And babe? There’s no such things as ghosts.

Before Zane could open his mouth the lights flickered in the cabin, flashed back on, then went out. Off in the woods something howled—a long mournful cry of loneliness that was answered by another call. Zane was across the room, flinging himself at Neil before the last wail ended. A soft laugh echoed through the cabin.

“Stop laughing at me!” Zane reared back to glare at Neil.

“Um, that wasn’t me—”

A sharp, low mournful cry echoed around them.

“Shit! Shit a brick! Fuck this, I’m out of here!” With a screech, Zane flung himself away from Neil. “Explain that! That was some sort of ghostly laugh!”

Neil grabbed at Zane’s wrist. “Would you just wait a minute? Dammit, Zane. You can string fishing line, strum it, and it’ll make that exact type of noise. Trust me, I pulled that stunt on my roomies in the past.

“I… am…. leaving.” Zane jerked his hand away from Neil. “Right fucking now. If you care for me at all you’ll get your ass in the truck.”

 “Damn.” Neil rubbed his hands over his face. “All right, babe. Let’s go upstairs and pack—”

“Only place I’m going is to the truck. Leave the damn clothes... They’re just clothes. We’ll buy more damn clothes, tons of clothes, but I’m out of here.” Zane glowered at Neil, then turned and left the cabin. The truck was close enough he could see Zane clearly in the moonlight as he opened the door and sat down.

“Well, alrighty then. Guess I’m doing the packing and then we’ll be leaving. And I didn’t even get to finish my sandwich.” Neil shook his head at how Zane had reacted. He spied a rechargeable flashlight hung nearby and clicked it on.

 “Ah well, as long as there’s a bed somewhere along the way we can still have a nice vacation.”

Neil turned back to the kitchen. He placed the flashlight by the sink and picked up their plates. He’d clean up then go upstairs to pack. He’d just finished dumping his food when the air temperature dropped suddenly. The air turned frigid—he could actually see his breath.

“What the hell?”

As he reached for the flashlight, the battery went dead.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Devil's Night Giveaway

Just in time for Halloween, I'm giving away a book with four sexy tales of M/M fun, fantasy, and demons. The Devil's Night anthology from Storm Moon Press is being released on Friday and includes my Andean serpent-shifter story, “The Seventh Sacrifice,” along with three other tales of dark demonic fun. To enter my giveaway, just answer the question at the bottom of this post in a comment and leave your email. I need the email to contact you and send you the book if you win.

Here’s a little blurb from my story just to give you a taste of what you’re in for. J

Plucking from the shelf a life-size penis fashioned from black wax and setting it on his worktable, Katari proceeded to touch it, his brown fingers caressing the mushroom shape of the tip.  “What does she wish the charm to do?  Has she a punishment in mind?”

“Can you make the bastard’s cock fall off?”  Beltran surprised himself by the vehemence in his voice.

“No.  But I can work an affliction upon it.”  From a curtained niche, the sorcerer brought forth a box of glossy black wood, which he set on the table and opened with a filigreed key.  “Would you like the man’s penis to become discolored or misshapen?  Or made so that, even when fully erect, it is no bigger than his little toe?”

“Can you do that?”  The image was amusing, and a cold part of him wanted to believe it could be done.

Katari gave him an icy look.  “Yes.”

Devil's Night is now available for pre-orders through Storm Moon Press. Right now it's up for 20% off the normal price, and when you pre-order titles from Storm Moon Press, you get double the reader rewards points, which you can collect and redeem for free books. So get your copy now while it's discounted! :D The pre-order sale ends on release day, October 19th (this Friday), so I hope everyone will take advantage and pre-order their copy now! 

Or you could enter my giveaway. The poodle and I will pick a winner at random on Saturday morning, October 21st. For a chance to win, leave a comment, your email, and answer this question: 

Which do you find sexier… angels or demons?