I didn't post last week. Bad author/editor -- ten lashes!
(Yes, please!)
I've got no excuses, good or bad. I was working from home for the day so I could talk to the contractor who's working on my house, and I simply forgot.
And today I'm off quick to take my youngest to his kindergarten pre-screening tests, so how about a sampler of excerpts from the collection Lynn and I are putting together?
***
- from
Crisis of Faith:
The cock churned in her and Faith made the noises the cock's owner expected, but in truth, she barely felt it. It couldn't touch the burning, couldn't slake the need.
She'd tried, God witness, she had. The burning had come on her late in her twelfth year, but she'd pushed it from her thoughts, concentrated on her crafts and skills and her lessons, and she'd held it off two full years before her oldest brother had caught her trading kisses with one of his cronies behind the gooseberry patch. She hadn't lied, not quite, but she'd let Thom and their parents think it had gone further than that, and before her fifteenth year was out she'd been wed to Nicholas.
The first weeks had been jolly, but then Nick had seemed to lose interest and Nick's mam had started ordering her about like a drudge, and the next few years had been a misery of scullion work and a burning that never left her, not even when Nick would get drunk enough to remember the wife that warmed his bed and come home from the pub to put his cock in her.
She'd tried to be good, but when Nick's da had died, Faith had taken her best dress and run away. She'd let the man who drove the haycart put his cock in her in exchange for a ride up to the city, and she cut the hem off her dress and took up with Singing Jenny, the two of them selling what they had to sell in the sidestreets and alleys.
***
- from
As If It's Real:
A horse crossed the line. A heartbeat later, two more thundered across, and with a collective sigh, the crowd at the railing broke apart, its noise ebbing briefly and then swelling into another crescendo. Edward's posture relaxed somewhat, though aside from that minute shift in position, Edward did not move, either to seek out winnings or to place a fresh wager.
Davis pushed through the crowd until he drew up at Edward's side. "Here you are," he observed.
Edward looked down at Davis dispassionately. "Yes."
"Come on," Davis said, taking Edward's arm. "Let's go home."
Edward did not immediately move. His head tipped to the side, for all the world as if he was considering other options. "I want to stay."
Davis sighed. "Edward, you can't keep living your life as if it's real."
***
- from
Surrender:
Mistress Masque removed the green and brown leather demi-mask, signaling that the evening's play was at an end. Red marks on her face mapped the territory where the disguise had once lain, pressed tight against her flesh. She sighed, rubbing absently at her temples.
Bradley lifted his head and rocked back on his heels, a graceful movement, much practiced. He didn't speak. Technically, she was no longer his mistress, only his friend and co-worker, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She would dismiss him soon enough – and too soon – and then he could ask questions, talk to her, and figure out just what the hell was wrong. And get his street clothes. Having a mistress was all good and well, but sometimes the outfits she put him in, meant to highlight all those desirable aspects of him, were a bit chilly.
"You should just go," she said. Said. Not commanded. Not demanded. Not even suggested. Just said. Her voice was flat, unemotional. Bradley blinked.
"Mistress -"
"I'm not your mistress!" Her temper flared, as hot angry as the red wigs she usually wore over her normal, sensible business haircut. In her suits, at work, she looked androgynous, even with the gray pencil skirts that showed her shapely legs. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over the elaborate makeup she wore, sending green glittery smears down her cheeks.
"Of course you are. Mistress." Bradly was openly shocked. Never had his mistress revealed any sort of vulnerability. He could not have been more unnerved if the sofa where she sat had stood up and walked away.
"Oh, knock it off," she said. She blotted the tears from her face, leaving her makeup job in tatters. A twist of emotion, lust, longing, wonder, desire, surged through Bradly's chest, a lightening bolt of agony. "You know as well as I do that she set her eyes on you, and you'll go. Submissives always go to her. You all flock to her. I can't compete. The best I can do now is turn you loose on my own, so she doesn't get the satisfaction of taking you from me."
