Monday, December 31, 2012

Wrapping Up 2012

Looks like it’s time to wrap up another year. But there won't be a Best Of list. Why? Because I have a creative memory rather than an accurate one. Retrospectives give me trouble. If I were a witness at a trial, my testimony would go like this:
Attorney: “And what movie were you seeing when the incident occurred?”
 Me: “The one about baseball.”
 Attorney: “Can you remember the title?”
 Me: “Well… it was about money, and was set in California.”
 Attorney: “Every movie set in California is about money.”
 Me: “It had Brad Pitt in it, and he still looks really good.”
 Attorney: “You mean Moneyball.”
 Me: “I told you it was about money.”
Another reason I can’t do a Best of… I genuinely enjoy every book I read or movie I see. I remember plots fondly. I fall in love with settings or characters. I devour one kind of book and avoid some genres completely. So which book makes the list? A book I think is perfectly told and luminous, but took a direction I didn’t particularly like or is in a genre I don’t often read? Or a book with flaws I overlook because it hit all my hot buttons? Furthermore, does my opinion matter to anyone? Probably not. Therefore…

Here’s what I have to say about 2012.

What a great year!

I made some amazing friends… you guys know who you are… and look forward to another year of laughs and deep conversations about guy on guy love, what makes shifters hot, tentacle sex, and the craziness that goes with being a published writer.

I learned a really valuable lesson about protecting my work. [You can read that post HERE.] Talk about being kicked in the nuts. Gee, thanks, 2012. But you know what? My hard lesson has served as a wake up call to other writers and maybe will help prevent the same thing from happening to them. 

I learned how to use Twitter and Facebook. Don’t laugh. My sons have been trying to get me to do this for years. They get a laugh now about how I learned to do it for my writing career. That I have followers at all makes them laugh even harder. Mike the Conqueror now has me using Skype and Google Hangouts. One night one of his brothers was obviously partying when he popped in, saw me, and said, “Holy shit! Mom!” and popped back out. He popped back up a little later minus the girl. It’s been fun.

I saw my work published. I sold four books and three short stories, and have more books out on submission for 2013. Having readers for my stories is a lifetime dream—and I do mean lifetime—for me. I’ve wanted to be a published writer since I was a skinny, scrawny 13 year old girl who preferred writing stories about heroic hunks to hanging out with the neighborhood boys. So thank you, 2012!

So there you have it. What 2012 meant to me. Now... bring on 2013!

Image courtesy of dream designs at

Monday, December 24, 2012

Merry Christmas!

Wishing all of you a happy and joyous holiday season. Wherever you are, I hope you are warm and safe, and spending time with the ones you love most.

Whether it's Christmas or another holiday that you hold dear, there's a special joy in celebrating our blessings. For me, this is that time of year. In the past twelve months, my life has undergone marvelous changes. I have been able to follow my dream of writing, with all the ups and downs that go with it, and I have made so many wonderful new friends. Wishing all of you the best of everything this season has to offer... family, food, shelter, and love. Those are the most important gifts of all. Nice gloves are good, too. :)

And if I don't stop back before it gets here: Happy New Year, too!

photo credit: <a href="">chiaralily</a> via <a href="">photopin</a> <a href="">cc</a>

Friday, December 21, 2012

Unwrapped, Part 3

I'm not going to be around a whole lot between the holidays. Too much family. Too many things to do. A novel I must finish editing... argh! Squeezing in a new story might be rough. This story is a year end gift to the wonderful readers and followers who have made my year so amazing.

"Unwrapped" includes m/m sexual acts and BDSM. I wouldn't want anyone to wander into anything they don't want to visit.

Want to read the first two parts of Unwrapped”? [Part 1] and [Part 2].


* * * * * * *


My nipples became tiny instruments of torture in Sir’s hands. I could swear he created music just by playing with them, pulling my nibs until they were swollen and long, begging to be sucked. Only he didn’t suck them. Not Sir. I felt an almost too perfect pinch when he placed a nipple clamp onto first one jutting peak and then the other. He tightened the clamps just until I said, “Thank you, Sir,” for giving me the new decorations.

Sir’s hand moved to my face and his thumb traced my lips. “Lovely mouth. Gorgeous eyes. You maybe don’t know this, but in addition to blocking certain receptors on the retina and paralyzing the little muscles around the lens, the drug the good doctor gave you dilates the pupils. The Club’s gifts always look sexually aroused, even when they’re not. But you are sexually aroused, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I told him, truthfully. What I was feeling escaped description. Aroused, owned, hung like a bizarre trophy… teetering on some edge and willing to do anything the man wanted.

“Have you been taught how to properly suck a cock?” He moved closer, still holding my face as I inhaled the sharp male musk that was his alone.

Yes, yes… yes! “I have, Sir. Usually I kneel, though.”

“Relax. You’re perfectly positioned to be used.”

He stood over me, all shadows and power and the smell of leather. Even though I couldn’t pull him into focus, Sir filled my sight. His cock’s head brushed my lips with pre-come and silken hot skin and I opened for him. He pushed his pelvis forward and I accommodated his thrust, circling his girth with my lips to shield his cock from my teeth. Every part of me was his to use. 

The top of his cock slid across my tongue, imprisoning it against my jaw and wedging my throat open. The angle was strange to me, new, and I panicked for a moment, but Sir was patient. He let me get used to it, giving me just his tip to suck. Once I had settled and was taking him deeper, he reached up, grabbing something—the ropes, I soon realized—and began to pull me toward him in rhythm with his thrusts. My hair swung against his driving, leather-sheathed thighs.

I had no doubt I was being fucked. Sir’s cock head mastered my tongue, opened a path for the thick shaft that followed. His balls, covered with soft trimmed hair, bounded against my eyes—which I had closed—and nose. I inhaled his scent: clean, virile, and male. His pace quickened and I stretched my throat toward him, opening so he could push deep. God, yes, I could do this! I had practiced, trained… Stewart had used me until I was certain I could deep-throat a donkey. I gave Sir my throat now, swallowing, creating the delicious suction he surely wanted.

He withdrew.

I gasped, not only for air because his balls and groin had been blocking my nose. He hadn’t come. Sir had stepped away… again… and started working with the ropes. I whimpered and licked my lips in hope of capturing traces of his taste.

I didn’t question or resist as Sir rearranged me. No longer tied to my ankles, my wrists reached toward the ceiling and were secured overhead. He also lowered my legs again so my body was once more nearly horizontal and my head slighty raised. Excited by the mouth-fucking, my nipples throbbed within their new clamps and my cock showed signs of revival. A trail of pre-come smeared my belly. Sir was teaching me so much about pleasure… about being helpless.

“You’re a natural for this, aren’t you?” Sir asked with approval. How warm his fingers were, eloquent even, tracing the muscles of my arms and thighs, the less pronounced ridges of my belly. His every touch left another part of me begging to be used. “Swallowing me nearly did the trick. I had to struggle to control myself. I might have indulged us both had I more time.” 

He stood between my legs now. They’d spread apart like before, but I would have spread for him anyway, I wanted him that much. He ran his hands over my thighs and I could do nothing but let pleasure roll through me. 

“You have lovely skin. Pampered. I bet you look spectacular when warmed red by a crop or a cat. Do you?”

My mind tried to fashion an answer. Sir’s presence was enough to push me toward a sensory overdose. I moved, I breathed, I only existed within his web of red ropes, bound somewhere between him and heaven.

“Master Stewart”—I gasped the words “—says I glow—”

“Oh, you do. Glow.” 

I heard sounds I should recognize, but I was too focused on what Sir was saying. My cock plumped even further at the thought of being flogged while hanging like this, spinning before him like some crimson and white human mobile. 

Sir continued to speak. “You should see yourself. Beautiful, really. The perfect toy. But you can’t stay like this forever. Your body wasn’t built for being hung like a decoration, not for hours on end. But it was built for this.”

Sir must have grabbed the ropes again, because he pulled me toward him. Something cool touched my ass and I groaned from the burn, and then with welcome, as he thrust a couple of fingers slicked with lube into me. I’d been stretched for so long I hadn’t completely closed.

“Nice,” he said, as casually as he might praise a glass of fine wine. “Hot, snug, and ready.”

“Oh God, Sir. Oh please.”

“I think you’re looking forward to being fucked.”

My body rocked on the ropes, propelled by his fingers working my ass. I was already in heaven. I had been feeling so empty there. Mewls and pleas mingled on my lips.

“You know what I find most delicious about you? It’s not just that you look like some eastern potentate’s pretty plaything, but you have something rare… the dignity of man who knows what he is.” Sir pushed his fingers deep and leaned his body against mine. His fingers found my prostate and I let loose a cry at the pleasure he sent through my body while his other hand found and tugged one of the nipple clamps. “I didn’t think it possible, given your background. But now I think you really were born for this. Some men are born to fuck, and others are destined to be fucked because they’re weak. But then there are men like you… men who need to be owned because pleasure’s hold on them is too strong. They’re seeking a way to channel all that need.”

His words went straight to my cock. It reared up like a signal flag. Sir chuckled again. He was right about me and he knew it. Being Stewart’s submissive had probably saved me from a string of user jerk boyfriends. That had been my history until he’d taken me in hand.

“Let’s open you up, boy, and see what you’re made of.” 

Sir pulled his fingers from my ass, but his cock took their place. Somehow he had donned a condom first—probably while he was talking or I was dreaming of him—and I felt the cool kiss of lube. His cock pushed at the rim of my hole and then penetrated my body. I barely felt pain at all, just a sweet, unpreventable invasion. Sir's slow, deliberate thrusts as he worked himself into me were the probes of man in full command, taking measure of my responses before deciding how he would proceed.

I was already lost. Sir’s sling of expertly knotted rope encircled my buttocks and held my ass captive to whatever he desired. My eyesight had cleared enough to pick out Sir’s shape against the lights of the tree. He was tall and bare-chested, appeared muscular without being broad. A white man. And he wore a mask. Even if my sight returned, I would never see his face. His arms worked in tandem with his hips, pulling my helpless body toward him with every thrust of his pelvis that reverberated through my captive body. I was being fucked like a slave.

There was nothing left of me now except the part that needed him.

I couldn’t move at all as Sir rode me, cock pounding deep and hard… using my hole for his pleasure. He controlled my body completely and I whimpered every time his cock pushed against my prostate. Pleasure didn’t just jolt through my body, it was a continuous fireworks display reaching a crescendo. Even my unflagging cock swung between us, slapping my body and then his. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sir… Sir, please. Too much, too much, please. Oh God, finish me…”

“But you’re liking this. I think you want more.”

“I do. I want it. God, I really need it—”

“Then tell me, toy… tell me what you need.”

“Your cock, Sir. I need your cock! Please… I’ll die if I don’t get more cock!” I was so frustrated I was weeping. So aroused I was in pain. Only Sir could release me from this state.

“God, Carson! How I have dreamed of hearing you say that!” Sir yanked me hard to him and he plunged like a bull, roaring and grunting something about how good I was and how he’d wanted me for so long. 

He pounded me hard until he’d spurted inside me. His cock felt good, so damn good. I loved being fucked, but Stewart had not let anyone fuck me for the whole last year and now I was sobbing with joy.

Sir's hand closed around my engorged, weeping cock and he fisted me, hard and sure, until I came, spilling semen onto the ropes, his hand, and my belly.

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you… thank you…”

I might have passed out then from pleasure or stress. I don’t remember much beyond a delicious sense of floating. My body was bound to the world by rope, but none of it felt particularly real. Except for my softening cock and Sir’s. Even though the air was cool, sweat trickled across my skin and pooled under the ropes.

The bondage had ceased to be comfortable. Gravity and exhaustion coupled with the bite of rope and the fact that nothing about suspension was natural for a human body. Sir pulled out of me and cleaned himself first, then lowered the hoist until I again was upon the ground. He made surprisingly short work of untying the ropes, leaving only those about my wrists. He then pulled me up onto his lap and held me, holding my head to his chest and kissing my hair. When he removed the nipple clamps, I winced.

“You bore that so well. You were wonderful,” he said. “My perfect Christmas gift.”

“Thank you, Sir.” My lips moved against his chest and I smiled. I could tell I had pleased him. That was what mattered most. I had pleased him. Sir had fucked me exactly as he had wanted to fuck me; he had indulged his fetish with crimson cords, dangled me from his ceiling, and made me into his toy for a night. And he had come so hard in my ass I think he might have ignited the skyrockets exploding through my body and head.

“I’m afraid that’s it for me for tonight.” He sounded regretful. His hand petting my hair held me silent. I was no longer bound but for the ropes dangling, untied to anything else, from my wrists. I wondered if he had left them as a kind of lingering claim. For that reason, I cherished them already.

I hoped he would remove his mask, but he didn’t. He had bought gifts before, I reasoned. He knew I would soon be able to make out the details of my surroundings. Already I saw that the room had windows with a dazzling view of the city. Beyond a large, fully decorated tree, the skyline flowed in bold blazes of white. Shapes announced themselves as couches, probably leather… tables… carpets that looked vaguely Oriental and were likely antique. And Sir.

He wore leather pants with an open crotch and a black half-mask that hid most of his face. Blue eyes looked down into mine. His mouth twitched. Perhaps he recognized that I could see him.

“Time to go,” he said. He brushed the hair back from my face and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I wanted more, to know who he was… to ask if we could pursue this further. But my agreement with the Club included no such provisions.

I had signed on to be a gift, a toy. Something to be played with only for one night. 

“You were perfect, too, for me,” I blurted. A toy wasn’t supposed to pass judgment, even if positive, on a master.  

Instead of getting angry, he smiled. “We may meet again.”

Sir eased me from his lap and rose. He left the lights of the tree and skyline-filled windows and disappeared into another part of the apartment. I sat desolate beside the festive tree and stared at the tangle of scarlet rope on the floor below the dangling hoist from which I had hung. This was Sir’s domain, but I had not been invited to stay.

Stewart appeared minutes later. I could not quite bring him into focus, but I knew him by his shape alone and the tread of his footsteps.

“You did well, Carson,” he said. He meant to encourage, but the words did nothing to fill the hollowness I felt. He helped me up, wrapped a coat around me once more, and put slippers on my feet. When he sought to untie the red ropes from my wrists, I stopped him.

“I would like to keep them, if Sir will allow it.” I felt blood warming my cheeks, then added. “They’re his.”

After a pause, Stewart nodded. “I think he left them for that reason. I’m glad it was good for you.”

I couldn’t tell him how good. It had been my choice to present myself as a gift. I had accepted the terms. I didn't want the night to be over, but for me it was. It had been everything I had hoped for... and more. A night of perfection, and now the rest of my life would never be the same.

Christmas dawn glittered at our backs as together we walked to the elevator and the limo that would take us back to the Club. 


* * * * * * * *

Thank you for reading my little holiday story. It has to end here, but I can see eventually writing more. Who knows? Carson and Sir may have opened up a Pandora's box! :D 

photo credit: <a href="">jessibot</a> via <a href="">photopin</a> <a href="">cc</a>

UNWRAPPED © 2012 by Tali Spencer. No reproduction without permission.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Unwrapped, Part 2

I put up the first 1,000 words of Unwrapped yesterday [HERE] as part of my Wednesday Briefs. So you might want to read that first if you haven't already. This is the second part of the story. And tomorrow I will post the conclusion.

* * * * * * * * * *


Sir ceased teasing my ass and ran the flat of his palm up my spine. The touch both soothed and aroused me and I quivered under his control. We both knew I would do anything… be everything… he required. I had no choice in the matter. The Club took every possible precaution, and Master Stewart expected to find me unharmed when he returned, but there was no guarantee. I was cuffed and blind, completely at Sir’s mercy.

“You’re not wearing a collar,” Sir observed. His hand now rested lightly on my nape, caressing my hair. The only collar around my neck was the red ribbon. “Why not?”

He was testing me. Everyone at the Club knew Master Stewart already had a submissive—and partner—he loved. Stewart had trained me, and I was submissive to him and called him Master, but he was not my Master and he had laid down two firm restrictions: I would not wear his collar and he would not have anal sex with me. No wonder I was so damn ready to be fucked.

“Respect, Sir,” I answered. “A collar isn’t a fashion accessory. It’s a badge of honor. A master’s gesture, not a slave’s ambition.”

“That sounds like Stewart. Now tell me what you think.”

I tried to keep disappointment out of my voice. “I haven’t earned one yet.”


Master Stewart had worked to correct flaws that made me desperate in the past. Fear of rejection. A deep belief in my own unworthiness. Part of why I so longed to take part in the Club's Holiday Auction was that gifts were wanted.

Sir took hold of the knob between my cheeks again and this time he meant business, gently working the plug out of my ass. I couldn’t help a grunt of discomfort as the bulge passed my opening, my anus releasing it while the rest of me wanted to hold it in. Master Stewart had been generous with the lube when inserting it and some of that leaked out now. Uncomfortable as the plug had been, I missed feeling filled, occupied. Though Sir had said he would not fuck me right away, I desperately hoped he would still do so.

“Stand up.” Sir put a hand under my right elbow and helped me stand once I had lifted my torso. I was facing the tree and flashes of multi-colored lights wrapped me in a hazy cocoon.

Sir stood at my back. He wrapped his left arm around my waist and pulled my body firmly against his. The backs of my legs rubbed leather and Sir’s erection pressed into my buttocks. My bound hands crushed against a body just a tiny bit soft, but with muscle underneath. I gasped and tilted my head to one side when I felt Sir’s mouth hot upon the junction of my neck and shoulder. God, that felt good! He sucked on my skin, tasting it. Pleasure rippled straight to my cock.

His erection pushed deeper into the crack of my ass, so damn near my hole I pushed back. He gave a soft chuckle and his right hand dropped down to grip my hard cock. The cock restraint had helped keep me erect at the party, but the fiberglass candy cane ring was no longer needed. I was so excited by the prospect of serving as a master’s toy I would have been hard just standing in Sir’s presence. What was he going to make me do to earn a fuck?

“Now this is a pretty present.” His fingers swept the wet, dripping head of my cock while his tongue massaged the one perfect spot on my neck that made me whimper. My legs went so weak they nearly buckled, and I welcomed his arm tightening just under my ribs.

He was tall, taller than I was, and solid. There was nothing tentative or delicate about the way he took control. He stroked my aching cock as leisurely as a man might pet his cat, coaxing more drops and spreading them over the already slick glans. My cock was cut and thick and he noted this by running his fingers with deliberate exploration around the flaring ridge where the head met the shaft. He did this until I was ready to explode—even though I couldn’t. Feeling his erection pressing thick and hot against my empty, begging ass was pure torture. And it was just starting.

It was only after I heard my own moans and whispered “Oh, God,” that Sir released my cock and pulled me by my cuffed hands away from the tree.

“You’re mine for the night, and I have some very special plans for you.”

He yanked me around and into his arms, then, against his chest. God, how I wished I could see him. But all my open eyes showed me was a shadow framed against the lights of the tree. His hand wound in my hair and pulled my head back even more.

“What is your safe word, toy?”


“You’re blushing. I take it there’s a story behind that word?” Amusement warmed his voice. His cock pushed against mine, its tip touching my belly with a smear of wetness. Had he not held me upright, my knees would have given way.

“I had a bad experience while driving through the state once, and I don’t want to go there again.”

His laugh surprised me, a deep baritone rumble—but it wasn’t mocking. I thought he liked my answer. He released my hair. “That being the case, if you say Mississippi neither of us will go there.”

Reaching around my body, he unsnapped the cuffs and pulled my arms from behind my back. Then he removed the cuffs. My heart dropped. I had liked bondage enough to star it. I had even checked off all the sub-categories. But if Sir was not into that…

“I want to you listen carefully. I chose you for some very specific reasons. You don’t need to know them all. But one is that I have a specialty—a fetish, if you will—and I am going to do some things to you that you may not fully appreciate until I have completed my preparations. It will involve strong red rope, secure knots, and suspension.” So what Sir wanted would include bondage after all. Extreme bondage. I breathed faster and nodded. His voice softened. “None of this will harm you. I am expert at what I do.”

Again I nodded, indicating consent. Sir had not asked me a question or said I should speak. And I had agreed to this beforehand, when I had checked off suspension as Nice. My only experience was having seen a few demonstrations at the Club. All of those had involved leather harnesses and big metal frames. Of course, I couldn’t bring even the Christmas tree into focus. For all I knew, there was a metal frame right behind me.

Sir’s expertise became clear as soon as he began tying his rope. By the pressure on my skin, I could tell the rope was thick and had a nice flat weave and smooth finish. Sir had said it was red and I could envision the scarlet strands against my fair skin. He wrapped the rope securely—neither too loosely nor too tightly—three or four times around my hip bones, and then another three or four times right below my buttocks to create a kind of sling. He also worked it around my chest, creating wide bands which he knotted into a harness that would support my upper back and torso. After that, he wound rope around my upper thighs one by one, then my ankles and, lastly, my wrists.

It took him a few minutes. Not that I counted. As a matter of fact, I lost myself within a swirl of new sensations, of rope pulling snug and fingers sliding under, against my skin, to create knots. What helped me relax were Sir’s movements. Every pass of the rope and tug on a knot felt crisp, experienced, telling me he was in command of his craft.

The shivers traveling up my spine were not of fear at all, but of pleasure. I loved how the rope informed my body of Sir’s intentions. It was Sir’s will that I be rendered helpless, become a plaything of pretty red rope and hard, aroused male flesh. His Christmas toy.

“Very nice,” he said. I hadn’t realized he had stopped working with the rope and stepped away. “Now lie on the floor, on your back.”

He helped me, and I gingerly lowered my upper body. He took a moment to fashion something like stirrups for my feet. His shadow fell across me again and that’s when I heard a mechanical hum. I must have stiffened, because Sir placed his palm on my belly and pressed down slightly. The touch calmed me. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. Sir knew what he was doing. I trusted him, and in emotional terms I was nowhere near Mississippi. Just thinking that made me smile.

“I’m attaching the harness and lines to a hoist. It’s safer than trusting me to haul you up. I had this room constructed to my specifications. The overhead beams could hold a semi-truck, and this equipment could lift a football team with ease.” He was done within another minute and again he stepped away. I saw his shadow rise.

The mechanical sound returned. Sir stood at my side, somehow controlling the rate of my ascension, checking the ropes, making adjustments—I couldn’t exactly tell and my mind was too swamped to sort out anything except the sensations of the ropes lifting my ass and torso from the ground, gravity pulling my head backward as my arms and legs dangled. Only rope supported my weight. If I resembled anything, it was some kind of puppet. My body hung upon strings, completely at Sir’s mercy. My safety depended on the ropes he had tied and the accuracy of his calculations. If he had tied them poorly, or miscalculated, I could fall.

I hoped Sir would be careful with me. I didn’t say it, wouldn’t dare. But I thought this was what it must feel like to be caught in a predator’s well-laid trap. Even if I tried to escape, it was too late. I was truly Sir’s toy now, an ornament upon his very special tree.

“You should see yourself, the way you look. Such a beautiful present.” Sir caressed me, his hand skimming my skin, admiring either his handiwork or me. More likely it was the combination of the two. From time to time his touch would linger on an expanse of skin, or test a knot. As I lay on my back, supported by strands of rope and with only air beneath me, he took position between my legs. I could not tell if it was because of the ropes, or my innate submissiveness—or simply gravity—but my thighs had fallen open in a kind of invitation.

I gasped when he took hold of my balls and cradled them. He flicked open the catch on the fiberglass ring, freeing my genitals from their candy-cane striped prison. My cock flooded with pain but remained engorged and stiff as it filled his hand. I groaned as Sir tightened his grip and began to stroke.

No… oh, no… I was too hard! I was going to come.

“Sir!” I warned. Or begged. It was a little of both. All I knew for certain was I could do nothing to stop my orgasm.

“It’s what I want, little toy. Give yourself to me. Do it now.”

My pre-come welled so copiously, Sir’s hand was slick with it. Blind and bound, I tried to buck and couldn’t even manage that very well. All I succeeded at doing was cause my body to sway a little. The one anchored thing in my world was this man with my cock in his hand, celebrating his power over me. He fisted me with a powerful down stroke and I was done. On the upstroke I howled like a rock star and my cock erupted in his fist. I continued to come in spurts, and then dribbles, as Sir gently milked me dry. 

“Well, I would say you are officially my Christmas gift… and I just popped the cork on a nice bottle of champagne.” He did something with the ropes and my torso tilted so my pelvis and thighs were higher than my head. Sir released my wrists and eased my arms down, then I felt him loop my wrists to my ankles. My fingers and thumbs brushed my calves. Bent over backward like that, suspended in mid-air, I had to look like a fallen angel. My head dropped and my spine arched, presenting my chest. Sir removed the gumdrop nipple jewelry.

“I’m going to be giving you some new ornaments,” Sir said. “I believe you would welcome new decorations.”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

My head was at the level of his groin now and Sir’s erection was hot and rigid against my cheek. It was all I could do to resist mouthing it. He had not given me permission. I yearned for him anyway. His cock felt thick and long, and he smelled of male arousal and leather, the most arousing scents in the world. I saw a lot of black silhouetted against the tree light and figured the black to be leather. Leather with an open crotch, which meant he would want attention to his cock. 

My mouth watered at the thought of sucking him.

Sir rolled my nipples between his fingers and I wanted to push my chest toward him, but the ropes continued to thwart me. Moving in any meaningful way was impossible. I could do nothing to achieve my own ends. 

I really was his puppet. 

* * * * * * *

(Continue to the next part...)

photo credit: <a href="">jessibot</a> via <a href="">photopin</a> <a href="">cc</a>

UNWRAPPED © 2012 by Tali Spencer. No reproduction without permission.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Wednesday Briefs: Unwrapped - A Seasonal Story

Welcome to the Holiday edition of Wednesday Briefs. This week's prompts all pointed to the holiday, besides which I am absolutely overflowing with goodwill toward men. So in the spirit of the season, my muse and I wrote this little story using the prompts red, darkness, and heat... there's also a surprise.

If you're wondering about Majak and Rasvim, they'll be back in two weeks.

Please stop by the other Wednesday Briefs bloggers linked at the end of this post to read more fun holiday tales!



Fir needles tickled my left buttock and I fought the urge to scratch. Who in their right mind would bid on a fidgety  “gift”?  I kept my eyes lowered, though my cock stood straight up and probably rivaled Rudolph’s nose for glowing with excitement. Even had I tried, I couldn’t have put names to the men circling the big Christmas tree, examining this year’s selection. It wasn’t just the shadowy lighting. The drops placed in my eyes—by the genius pharmacology tycoon whose company had invented them—had reduced my vision to a soft gray blur.

The human gifts arranged around the tree were volunteers. I had signed up weeks ago and filled out the questionnaire, checking off a list of Nice and Naughty I would or would not allow. In exchange for a guaranteed minimum bid of $50,000 to go to my designated charity, I would be some mystery man’s early Christmas present to himself.

I had belonged to the Club for a year since securing sponsorship by a family friend who was also one of the city’s most respected dominants. Stewart had introduced me to the Club’s BDSM-minded patrons, trained me, and showed me off. The Christmas Party Auction was my formal debut as a submissive.

So there I was, kneeling on an oversized red velvet tree skirt with a candy-cane striped cock-ring tight around my package and gum-drops adorning the bars through my nipples. My ass displayed a twinkling jewel-knobbed butt plug that filled it and already had me desperate to be fucked. Top that off with a big red ribbon and glittery bow and I was gift-wrapped. On the other side of the room, near the bar, a string quartet contributed a cheery rendition of “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen.” Every so often one of the guests would stop to stand over me and my cock would ache and bead pre-come with anticipation that maybe the mystery man was the one. The auction itself was silent, anonymous bids written down on numbered sheets.

I quivered when a hand cupped my shoulder and someone leaned near to say, “Come with me. You did well, Carson. Someone bid a cool half million to sample you for one night.” Master Stewart’s voice was warm and approving. I could barely wrap my head around the number. The Gay Alliance Health Fund was going to be singing Hallelujah at the donation.

Despite my jubilation, I knew better than to speak. The man who had won the bidding for me might be watching.

“He wants you in these.” Master Stewart wrapped fleece-lined leather cuffs around each of my wrists and buckled them, then moved my arms behind my back and snapped my wrists together. I strangled a groan of pleasure. Bondage had been on my list of Nices. I’d even put a star beside it. “Good boy,” Stewart murmured. His hand pressed on my back, lending reassurance. I wondered if he knew the man and decided he probably did.

Master Stewart wrapped a warm coat around my shoulders and helped my feet into slippers. Guided by his sure hands, I walked out of the Club and was bundled into a limo. He rode with me, then walked me through a garage and up an elevator. He left me kneeling on soft carpeting in front of another tree. By the smell, I knew this one was real. Spots of red, green, blue and gold danced before my eyes—Christmas lights winking through my blurred vision.

Moments after Stewart departed, a door opened and my benefactor approached. I was prepared when he stopped beside me and ran his fingers through my hair. I have my mother’s hair—dark brown, thick and wavy—and my father’s blue-gray eyes. With my arms bound behind my back, my chest pushed out, offering gumdrop bejeweled nipples. He found one and wiggled a gumdrop. A cascade of pleasure rolled through my chest and down my spine, prompting a whimper from my parted lips.

“You like that?”

“Yes, Sir.” I had agreed I would call this man Sir for the night.

He must have reached down his other hand, too, because now he gave both nipples a tug. I gasped and my cock strained against its candy cane restraint. Perhaps he noticed, because he did it again. “You’ve been looking forward to this, too, I see.” He sounded older, his voice smooth and educated, like a professor’s, each word spoken with such precision I melted on the spot. My cock was leaking, hot, and hard.

He put his hand between my shoulder blades and gently pushed. I obeyed the silent command, leaning forward until my face rested on the floor. The position presented my cuffed arms for his perusal, I had a bow tied around my neck, and my bare-naked ass was on display. My cock had been hard since the doors had opened at the party and now ached like never before. I was this man’s gift… his present… and the anticipation had me vibrating like a guitar string.

Pleasure jolted me again when Sir found the glittery knob of my holiday butt plug. He took hold, moving it slowly in a circle that tested both my preparation and my ability to keep from howling like a queen in heat as the bulb within stimulated my prostate. I didn’t even know this man and I wanted him. I had put myself up for auction just so I could experience the delicious servitude of being a slave, a gift, something to be played with and used.  

Like the way Sir played with my ass, deliberately rotating the plug while his fingertips lightly stroked my balls and drove me straight to the edge. I was primed to be fucked, now and hard… and he knew it.

“Not yet,” he chuckled, and I held back a sob at being denied release. “I’m going to savor every minute of my time with you, little toy.”

photo credit: <a href="">jessibot</a> via <a href="">photopin</a> <a href="">cc</a>

UNWRAPPED © 2012 by Tali Spencer. No reproduction without permission.


Because this is a Wednesday Briefs story, I am constrained by the rules to post no more than 1,000 words. Yes, someone actually counts them. But I don't see the point in posting the rest of a Christmas story after Christmas, so... I am putting up the rest of the story in two more installments: one at midnight tonight and the other at midnight the following night. Merry Christmas!

Also, do take a peek at all the other Briefer's stories. Better believe I'm checking them out.

Thanks for reading!

Victoria Adams
Lily Sawyer      m/m 
MA Church     m/m
Cia Nordwell     m/m
MC Houle      m/m

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Winners of the Holiday Blog Hop!

Thanks to so many people participating in the Giftastic Blog Hop! I had the most participants ever this time, so the poodle had her work cut out for her.

The poodle thumps her tail and the winners are...

$20 Amazon Gift Card: Nancy
$10 Amazon Gift Card: Rissa
Your Choice of Book (3 winners):  Ceagles, Whitney, Ashley Applebee

Congratulations guys! I will be sending emails to the winners. Just get back to me to let me know the address is good, and I will send the gift cards. If you won a book, I will send you links so you can check them out and tell me which one you want.

If a prize isn't claimed by Saturday morning, I will draw another winner.

A big thank you to everyone who took part. You guys are the best. Oh, and a few lovely people asked about my poodle. Yes... that's Cate! She's a standard poodle and I swear she understands everything I say (and if you know me much, that's saying a lot). She's been my best friend for nine years and is getting a little gray, but I wish I had her energy.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Monday, December 17, 2012

Frango Mints

Looking for my Purrfectly Giftastic Blog Hop post? Go HERE.

Winter holidays are great for food. I grew up baking Pfeffernüsse, stollen, and gingerbread. Now I live on the East Coast and holidays come with pizzelles, panetonne, and cannoli. Nothing symbolizes a holiday like food.

Even in Philly, one of my holdout Christmas traditions from my family roots in Wisconsin is that there must be a holiday plate of Frango chocolate meltaway mints. Just the name... Frango... sounds festive.

If you're not from the Midwest or Pacific Northwest, you may not be familiar with Frango mints. The luscious chocolate candies were a hallmark of the old Marshall Field's department store chain that had its flagship store in Chicago. And what a store it was! Until 1999 hordes of Milwaukeeans made annual Christmas treks to the Magnificent Mile and the Marshall Field's store there. For kids and grownups alike, one of the favorite stops was the 13th floor, where we could watch Frango mints being made behind the big glass windows.

Manda from
There were other Marshall Field's stores, of course, including a couple in the Milwaukee area. Eventually, though, as economic hard times took their toll, there was just one. It was still a great store with top quality merchandise—and, of course, our beloved Frango mints. All the years my kids were growing up, we had a few boxes at hand. Just ask the boys sometime and they'll tell you they remember the Frangos. Even when I moved out to Philadelphia and married again, I would go back to Milwaukee to visit and return with my luggage full of Frango mints for myself and for gifts.

And then in 2005, Marshall Field's was gone, bought out by the chain that owns Macy’s, and the remnants turned into Macy’s stores. I was sad, but also hopeful. Philadelphia had no Marshall Field's stores—in my opinion this made the region sadly lacking—but we do have Macy's. Surely Macy's would now stock Frango mints! I would be able to buy them on a whim, just because, as a gift for a friend I was visiting, just as I had done in Milwaukee. And, especially, I would be able to buy them simply for the nostalgic joy of it at Christmas.

Macy's turned out to be a Grinch. Though the candies are still made (ironically, they are now made in Pennsylvania by Gertrude Hawk), they are not sold in Philadelphia area stores. I can buy them online, but that's simply not much fun and the shipping cost makes me grumble. The mints are still carried by the Milwaukee Macy's, however. Aisles of the candies happily beckon and I happily go on my annual Frango hunt. I fly to Milwaukee, visit Mom and my siblings, my son who still lives in Wisconsin, and a few friends. Sometimes we all pile over to Macy's and buy shopping bags full of Frango mints.

This year on my return trip my carryon luggage held a second pair of jeans, a sweater, pajamas, some socks and underwear... and ten boxes of Frango mints. I gave one box to my dentist, who sometimes charges me nothing for visits, I think because I bring him Frangos. One of my husband's 94 year old Italian aunts looks forward to her box every year since I started bringing them in 2001 hoping to ingratiate myself with the family. But I save the bulk of the Frangos for myself and my house.

Because Christmas isn't Christmas without holiday-decorated Frango mints on the table.

So what's your favorite Christmas candy?


Also, this is the last post for which comments also count toward my giveaway drawing for the Purrfectly Giftastic Blog Hop! Have a joyous holiday.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Fun with Snowblowers

Looking for my Purrfectly Giftastic Blog Hop post? Go HERE.

I like snowblowers. They exemplify the season in so many ways. Snowblowers come out with snow, after all, and there's usually snow around the holiday. Not only does a snowblower make moving the white stuff easier, they give men a challenge worthy of their manliness and are a potent aphrodisiac. Ask any man who has successfully started one.

Snowfall on my street brings out the men in force. A few inches of snow and soon the roar of snowblowers fills the winter air. Up and down the street, the guys not only blow their own walks and drives but most generously do those of their neighbors as well, all for the pleasure of watching plumes of white fly through the air. 

I shovel. First off, I'm afraid of machines that chop off body parts. Second, I need the exercise. Shoveling snow is old school for a girl from Wisconsin and I built up some serious snow shovel skills and muscles over the years. It's nice to trot them out and Philadelphia only occasionally gets snowfall significant enough to warrant hauling out a machine. But we have one.

We bought a snowblower last year because the winter before we had a blizzard that dumped 36" on us. Naturally, after we bought the snowblower it didn't snow at all that year. So it just sat there. It's still in the garage, but this week we started it up just to be sure it would run. The surest guarantee in the world for heavy snow is to have a non-functioning snowblower. No sooner had we started up our machine than, sure enough, two of our neighbors hauled theirs out and made sure they too would be up to the job should the opportunity arise. The menfolk got together and spent an hour talking about whatever men with snowblowers talk about. It's a seasonal ritual right up there with cookies baking.

Gosh, I love winter!

 Just a reminder... any comment on this post counts toward the Blog Hop. Enjoy your holiday season!

Friday, December 14, 2012

Purrfectly Giftastic Christmas Blog Hop

Hi, I'm Tali, and make no mistake about it, Christmas is my favorite season. I love Christmas music. I love Christmas cookies. I love decorating and hosting parties. And I love giving gifts! So I joined the Purrfectly Giftastic Christmas Blog Hop because it’s all about giving.

From now until midnight on Monday, December 17th I will be taking names and checking lists. And what am I giving away? Not just copies of my books—though I’ll be handing those around—but a couple of gift cards, too.

So what are the prizes?
  1. A $10 Amazon gift card.
  2. A free book of your choice from my backlist
  3. A free book of your choice from my backlist
  4. A free book of your choice from my backlist

And if you are a follower of my blog or would be so kind as to follow my blog, you will be eligible to win my special “Extra Nice” prize:

  • A $20 Amazon gift card

How do you enter? 

~ Leave a comment on this post. Tell me a holiday memory (if you don’t celebrate this one, choose a holiday you love).

~ Include your email. I need the email so I can notify you if you win.

~ Comment on any other posts I put up here on this blog between now and the end of the contest at midnight Monday. Every comment (one per post, please) means another chance to win. 

My loving poodle and I will draw winners at random on Tuesday morning. It’s that easy!

And to start things off, here’s what I love about this holiday season:

I was reared a Christian, so Christmas is what I celebrate. For me the holiday has always been about giving. I truly believe that the more a person gives, the more they will receive. My childhood was magical because of giving.

My memories don’t consist of what I unwrapped or what I found under the tree on Christmas morning—though a particular doll does hold a special place—they sparkle with the magic of that morning, which my parents created with so much love and effort, and with frosty nights of caroling to neighbors who returned hot chocolate and laughter, and with always buying one or more extra gifts so each of us could give to the less fortunate. There was a time when we were those less fortunate people, and the only gifts we had were those given by strangers.

Christmas is a century-old fruitcake sneakily foisted from one family onto another.

Christmas is cookies prepared with love and shared with neighbors and friends.

Christmas is driving or flying cross-country or from another continent to be with each other.

Christmas is plotting the perfect gift. The perfect way to say “You’re important to me.”

So, dear blog followers—and visitors, too—you are important to me. I can’t afford to give a gift to every one of you, but I'm thrilled to be taking part in this hop so I can give back. And please take a moment to check out all the other authors who are taking part HERE.

Merry Christmas!

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Wednesday Briefs: Useful Things #9

Welcome back to Wednesday Briefs. For this week’s episode of “Useful Things,” I used one of the visual prompts… and also an animal. Majak believes he is making strides, but Rasvim is just getting more confused. Believe it or not, there is romance in the air… it just doesn’t look like it yet.

At the end of the post you will find links to more free blog stories by the rest of the Wednesday Briefs authors.  Enjoy!


Useful Things #9

The darkening of the solar shields upon the habitat presaged another cycle of night. Even after millennia in space, the Aeth remained diurnal, bound physiologically to their home system and Nin’s longer rotation. Majak watched new colors blossom as the wavelengths filtering into the room shifted.

Each day Majak spent time in private with Rasvim.  The young human continued to progress in small ways, revealing facets of a personality. Rasvim took correction docilely, but it was only appearance. He had learned at the knees of cruel masters that docility bought freedom: freedom from pain, from suffering… from death. That docility had the polish of a mirror; it reflected back what Rasvim’s keepers wanted him to be. Majak sought quietly for clues as to what waited under the shell.

They had made much progress with the illustrated book, though the land of Oz remained puzzling. Upon being shown a map, Rasvim had pointed to the land known as Kansas, which was situated in a location favorable to large-scale food production. Surveillance showed nothing at all like the pictures in the book. The planet, perhaps, had changed too much since its occupation. But the topography interested Majak less than what the pictures revealed: humans interacting, apparently as equals, with several other species and what looked like a robot. Rasvim, however, did not appear to grasp the importance of locating the other species.

“Where are these flying ones? In Kansas?” Majak asked. He touched the depiction and was pleased to see that Rasvim no longer tensed at his every movement.

“The flying monkeys?”

“Mong-keys.” His poor pronunciation earned a slight smile he treasured. These brief glimpses of Rasvim pleased him more every day that passed. “We have not seen the winged ones.”

“They don’t exist.”

“The species is extinct?”

“They… never lived. They are not… real.”

Majak considered. Rasvim possessed at least a rudimentary understanding of such concepts. This in itself was exciting. He paused, reluctant to yield on the matter. If the monkeys did not exist, how had the humans known to illustrate them in such exquisite detail? Qatiyya was new to the Var Sareem. Exploited, yes, but little known. One of Majak’s goals was to prevent further erosion of the planet’s lifeforms. To do so, it was helpful to catalogue those lifeforms, seek out their habitats, and protect them. Could he trust a child—for Rasvim had been captured young—to know the truth about every species native to his world?

“Enough for today,” he said, still thinking about which xenobiologist he would assign to the task of tracking down the flying monkeys. Majak was about to take the book from Rasvim’s hands when he caught a new hesitation in the way Rasvim relinquished the object, his slender fingers releasing the worn cover with suppressed longing and remaining extended for a moment. Majak continued to hold the book between them. “Would you like to keep it longer? Read the book alone?”

Their eyes met and Rasvim did not look away. This too was new. A swallow bobbed the supple line of his throat. “Yes, Ver Majak.”

Good. It was the opening Majak had hoped for. “I like this book. For security, and other reasons, it must remain in this room. But you can read it here. I will prepare an alcove for you—like the one Enir uses when he stays with me.” He had not yet found an occasion to have both young humans in his quarters together. Alaksu had kept him abreast of their interactions, however, and he was confident Rasvim would refrain from interference in Enir’s training. “You can read the book tonight while I spend time with Enir. I will not require that you serve me.”

Rasvim nodded and continued to meet his gaze so that they shared a tenuous but important understanding. Majak released the book to him, pleased by the exchange. It had been his design all along to move Rasvim from the slave quarters into his chamber.

* * * *

Rasvim curled against the cushions of his alcove, not sure how he was to behave. He had grown accustomed to the stark comfort of the slave quarters, where he had been given a tiny cell and his own mat on which to sleep. This alcove in Ver Majak’s private suite was… luxurious. Alaksu had programmed a half moon concavity into one of the walls and laid down a thick mattress upon which he now reclined. The front of the alcove opened to the bedchamber, but the low ceiling had lighting and the walls behind him were smooth and secure. He had a fine blanket and cushions and a book, but none of these things held his attention.

He could not take his eyes away from the way Majak held Enir.

The other human had run into the room and all but leapt into the Aeth male’s arms. Now, clasped by powerful gray limbs, held close to Majak’s chest, Enir gazed up at his master with clear adoration. Majak was petting the pale youth and speaking words too soft for Rasvim to overhear. It didn’t look like Enir was afraid, or in danger.

Enir had said Majak didn’t hurt his humans. Rasvim forced his eyes away for what felt like the hundredth time, but he was gripped by unreasoning terror. Always before when he had watched an Aeth enfolding a human in its limbs, the human had died. Osvith had never embraced him. The sexual use had been straightforward. Bend over… offer hole… pretend to enjoy it until it was over. And pray his master wasn’t in the mood to beat him or test his endurance.

He looked up again, drawn to what he was witnessing. Majak stood, looking relaxed, while Enir unfastened the collar of his formal robe. The robe and its underlying garment opened, revealing a broad chest rippling with alien muscle. And still Enir smiled, unafraid of what was to come.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this bit of flash, why not stop over at the other Wednesday Briefs authors’ blogs and check out their stories?

Lily Sawyer 
MC Houle     m/m
Elyzabeth VaLey      m/f
Michael Mandrake     m/m
Cia Nordwell    m/m
Elizabeth Morgan    m/f
Victoria Adams   m/f