I am way behind! But I have a better reason than writers block, sick kids, and hangovers– could use a few nights that lead to hangovers, actually… without the hang overs….
Den, my darling hus-bear, My Viking, My Rock was in a motorcycle accident. His ribs are borken near the spine, his back is broken, his tail bone is broken… and I am blue.
I got to spend a horrific week in Shock Trauma– huge hugs to the trauma team there– hoping that he would be able to walk again, thanking God that he was alive, and screaming at stupid people.
After that, it was a week in Kernan’s Rehabilitation Hospital, best on the east coast, and watching him struggle to get back on his feet.
You haven’t known hell until you see your pillar of strength screaming and tearing up in pain, something that usually never happens.
But he is home now and getting better every day. WOO HOO! Go Go Viking Power!!!
And while he is recovering at home, therapy is going to be a bitch, I have been taking some time to catch up and use my angst for a purpose. What purpose, you may ask? Writing. Hey, it’s what I get paid for! *g*
So here are a few clips of some things that I have finished and I am working on… and yes, I am getting a lot done on the next Dragonish book, Dragon’s Clutch. *g*
So without further ado…. Here’s our heros from Broken Wings Part 1
NC 17 Excerpt, people! Gay Men Masturbating! Run for your lives! LOL
Klintic was no fool. He could tell when someone desired him and the scent of arousal that these humans put out were hard to miss—as was the bulge in the jeans that the human wore.
Angel was say, maybe, he decided as he watched the male—man, re reminded himself, walked over and slid back the thick glass door that separated him chamber. He reached on the shelf and plucked a green and white bottle, handing it over after popping the top open.
The rich smell of musk and herbs drifted from the bottle, making him inhale deeply. It smelled slightly like his human, causing him to believe this was the product he himself used.
“Body wash?” he asked. “Is there a separate one for hair?”
Angel had hair that was a fair length, considering that he wasn’t a warrior– it hung in red brown and gold waves to the center of his back and shined with vitality and health.
What of his body that he could see thought eh damp clothing, for he pulled noting off before reaching into the shower, was fit, muscular and though not a warriors build, was very promising.
And there were his eyes– the same shade of freshly spilled blood. For some strange reason, those eyes called to him.
He had no clan or lineage markings, though he seemed to be living life very well for someone all alone.
“This one is for hair, shampoo,” he explained, pulling another bottle off the shelf. “Wash your hair first and then your body. But don’t get any of it in your eyes. It stings.”
“Soaps usually do,” he nodded sagely. “Or have a hot of sand.”
“Pumice, I assume,” Angel offered him a grin before backing out the shower, shaking the water from his body. “I think I can get some if you want.”
“I am content with these,” he muttered, placing the body wash on a shelf, convenient little things, and poring some of the shampoo in to his palm. It was rich and creamy and smelled faintly of Angel’s hair.
He slathered it into his hair, turning to smile at Angel and held in a laugh as the man choked.
The shampoo made lots of white soft foam that made his scalp tingle, but it easily stripped the grime from his hair.
He rinsed carefully before he began to soap up his body. He ran his foamy hands over his chest, closing his eyes and inhaling the rich scent. Once every inch of his upper body was covered in foam, he lifted his legs one at a time, scrubbing them clean of dirt and muscle soreness form flying thought the portal and his rough landing. He stood up, glanced at Angel before gripping his cock, closing his eyes and groaning as it began to fill out, sending tingles flowing through back, making his stomach tighten and his wings to flutter.
A hacking cough caught his attention as he heard the words shouted over Angel’s shoulder as he raced from the room.
“I—I’ll find you some clothing…” The slamming door cut off the rest of his comments and Klintic had to bite his cheek in order to hold in his belly laugh.
So the human found him very attractive and yet did nothing about it. Odd. It had been a while since he had any kind of sex and right now, it would be a welcome distraction.
But it was not his way to force the issue. Maybe they had a sex taboo; thought he had not began to seek enough information to give him proper mode of behavior.
He would look into it, but for now, he would concentrate on relieving his own bent up frustrations.
Another handful of that body wash and then he was closing his eyes as he slowly strolled the thick length of his cock.
He didn’t bother to hide his moans of enjoyment.
The hot water, the slick soap, Mother Magic it was perfect.
He shuddered and tightened his fist around his shaft, just a little. The tugging pain was delicious.
He thought of no one, not of any past lovers or his lost fiancé. No, this was purely for Klintic, his time to be selfish and give into what his body desired.
He speed up his hand, his gasps echoing in the steamy air that surrounded him. His toes tingles and his wings went limp as his cock grew to its full length. His stomach tightened as his hips began to pump, sliding his cock faster thought is slick fingers.
“Oh yeah,” he panted, one hand traveling to his right nipple ring, twisting it and sending a shaft of pain shooting down his chest.
Pain was such a delicious accompaniment to pleasure and it brought him closer to the edge.
His breath caught in his throat as the tension within him tightened. He could feel his magi tingling, sizzling his blood as all thoughts and cares slipped away.
Faster he pumped hi hands, nearly falling to his knees as the pleasure began to overwhelm him.
He threw his head back gasping for each and every breath as the how water rained down on him, adding heat to the fire that burned within his desperate mind.
“Yes,” he groaned, as hi body tinged, as his wings wrapped tightly around him. “Mo—mother yes!”
His ears tingled, his toes curled, his ass clenched as suddenly a pair of odd green and white eyes peered at him.
Then it was Angel who was on his keens before him, Angel with his small tight body and his perfect ass made for fucking, with his full lips reddened for being wrapped around his shaft—
He would feel so hot and tight… Did humans lubricate? Would he have to slick up his fingers to stretch him out good before he—the human would was fuck… yeah, he wanted to fuck him.
He wanted to part his thighs, slide his cock in that perfect ass and pound him until he screamed his name.
He could picture the smaller body squirming beneath him. Had he ever had such a small delicate male before? No, and taking him would be novel.
And there was no doubt that he would be taking him. Angel was panting for him, his rich arousal scent flooding his nose whenever he passed by him.
And he could scent no other in the dwelling, meaning that his rescuer had been alone for some time.
His ears twitched at the thought of having him beg for his pleasure, those lips parted, those tiny ears wiggling, his whole body heaving as parted his ass to allow him entrance, as he plowed into him–
“I am there!” he bellowed suddenly, the mental images too much for his control as his wings sapped open, as his eyes widened, as pleasure flooded his body, shooting his seed in thick pale blue spurts. His hot seed slicked his palm as his inner muscles clenched sending more sensations thought is rear passage.
“So good,” he panted, dropping down from his release. Orgasm had not felt that good in ages.
He gave himself an all over shake before rising to his feet and continuing to wash, grateful that the hot water seemed endless.
“We have plans, you and I, Angel,” he muttered as his cleaned the reams of his seed from his sensitive cock. “And you will enjoy every moment of them.”
He had to doing it on purpose. There was no way that level of sexiness could be casual.
Angel raced form the second floor landing to his third floor loft. He threw himself onto his bed and ripped his wet pants form his body.
“Fuck!” he gasped as his hard cock popped free of the confining material.
His fisted himself, his knees raising as he thrust upwards into his hands.
Oh God,” he moaned, his head whipping back and forth on the mattress.
There was no time for lube, no time for teasing. He had to get off now!
His right hand gripped his cock, rubbing his thumb over the swollen head while his left hand went to his balls, tugging them just so the pleasure in his groin intensified.
Damn that winged menace, he thought, biting his lips in an attempt to hold in the whining sounds that were coming from his mouth.
Damn him and his wings and his perfect body and for being his fantasy made flesh. A man who was large enough to hold him down, to take what he wanted? Oh yeah.
Angel, when it came to men, was an unabashed bottom. He liked having his ass stretched and filled. He loved the feel of a body holding him down, dominating him, controlling his sexual needs. It was something delicious and wicked about being at the mercy of a man.
And this man had wings.
God, he was perfect, Angel thought, his fist speeding up as fire built in his veins.
And that hair, it would feel like smooth silk all over his body. That Klintic had picked him up and carried him to his house without breaking a sweat even after being injured said something about his strength.
And his cock—there were no balls but the pale pillar of flesh had a delicious looking flared head and rounded ridges running form the base to the tip. It was a might fine cock for reaching al of his nook sand crannies and he wanted to feel it burning within him as Klintic forced himself inside.
His moans were pure whines now, his hands flashing as they pumped.
“So good, so good so good,” he panted, his bed rocking as his hips thrust up and slammed down in an attempt to force his orgasm.
But it was the image of Klintic, teeth bared as he bore down, as he bent his body in half to get deeper, as he threw back his head and screamed in release that slammed him into orgasm.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” Angel screamed, his seed shooting out, a few ambitious spurts striking his chin before the rested dripped across his fist.
“Oh man,” he panted, collapsing back into his bed fighting off the lethargy that swept over him.
Yeah, that was fast, thought. But with such beautiful fodder for his span bank to urge him on, it was a miracle that he didn’t come in his jeans.
He had to get it together. He listened and heard the water still running, so he had an opportunity to clean up a little and find his new friend something to wear.
Pity he couldn’t just run around naked—
Maybe he could convince him to be more than just friends, at least while he was here.
With thoughts of a winged lover dancing in his head, he stumbled to the bathroom, tossing his clothing into a hamper, and began cleaning himself up, wondering if his visitor swallowed? The thought, much to his dismay, renewed his erection.
Man, I love a good shower! LOL
But that is not all that I have been up too. Let’s talk about the upcoming holiday season…. bright lights… shopping… Satan… I mean Santa Clause…. Do you recall a cheerful little number I did last year called Santa’s Claws? You do! Awesome! Cause the Godfather of the Holidays is back! Only this time let’s talk about his main bodyguard… Jack Frost!
Jack is not your typical elemental… really. In this BDSM romp, he is the sadistic badass I always knew he could be! LOL And poor Peter… This is what you get when you pay too much attention to Santa and North Pole Industries.
Hard R excerpt… Gay Interracial BDSM Naughtiness Ahoy!
“Mr. Winston,” Jack purred as he walked into the room, staring at his newest toy. It had been years since he approached a job with such anticipation. “You’ve been a naughty naughty boy.”
“Who are you?” Peter Winston, aged thirty nine, of African decent, stared up at him with huge liquid brown eyes. He wanted to see them overflow with tears.
“I am, at present, your keeper.”
“I don’t need a keeper.”
“Then consider me your executioner.”
That made those large eyes grow even wider. Jokul smiled as he inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of fear and growing desperation tinged by a budding desire. So the files were not false.
“You are s curious man,” Jack walked deeper into the room, flicking the riding crop against his thigh, watching as the sound made the naked man jump. “And curiosity can get you killed.”
“Demand?” Jokul grinned, showing his sharpened teeth fully. “You don’t have the right to demand anything of me. Now what I can demand of you—“
“You have no right to hold me!” Peter was shouting now, Jokul noted, his cock stiffening as the man’s humiliation grew.
“Oh, I think I have the right,” With flourish, he threw out his right hand and in a flash of cold wind; the papers Peter had signed in the hospital flowed into the room. Dropping his crop, which floated in the air behind him, he gathered the papers and began flipping thought them. “Here we are,”
He walked over to Peter and held the page over his face so he could read. “Says here that I have social, medical, and financial control over you and these papers were signed and witnessed by two upstanding officers of the law and a very competent doctor at University.”
“That can’t be legal,” Peter breathed.
“You were not coerced into signing.”
“I was not my self!” Peter bellowed. “You and your freaky cold smoke—“
“Did nothing but calm you. My freaky cold smoke only affected the people in the room. There was no magical malfeasance used against you, Mr. Winston.”
“You threatened the hospital filled with people.
“Only if you didn’t cooperate with my husband ruse, Mr. Winston. And you are a reporter too. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to pay attention to the words you use?” With a wave, the papers disappeared and Jokul was staring down into shocked brown eyes. “I own you.”
He smiled again as the brown skinned man mentally chewed over his words.
“I screwed myself, didn’t I?”
And he was as honest as his file had stared.
“The moment you began digging into North Pole Industries, you fate was sealed.”
“So,” he sounded resigned to his fate. “They are mafia.”
“Oh no, Mr. Winston,” Jokul took great delight in informing him. “We are much much worse than that.”
“Do you believe in the supernatural, Mr. Winston? Because you are about to get a crash course in the elvish.”
Peter stared at the creature that now owned him and wanted to laugh—or pass out, whichever would get him out of this situation.
Santa Clause was real. Jack Frost was not the cute little boy of myth, but was a ruthless killer, a punisher of the wicked as named by Chris Cringle—Santa Clause himself—and was the leader of something called Santa’s Slay. And Santa’s Slay killed people for their leader. This was so fucked up.
“You are much larger then I was led to believe.”
It was all Peter could say to the overly large overly muscular man who was casually making ice whips out of the very air and casually denuding snow roses—also created by him—with a causal flick of his wrist.
“The proper visual façade can work wonders,” he purred, waving away his creations with a flick of his fingers before walking over to him once more.
“And the visual aids are remarkable,” Peter agreed. Unless he was dead or in a home for the mentally deranged, Jokul Frosti– Jack Frost–was calmly telling him that he had been marked for death for researching a story about a technological monopoly owned by North Pole Industries. If he had the smallest inclination about what would have happened to him, he would have done a nice safe piece about puppies in sweaters or celebrity holiday hook ups.
“Aren’t they just,” Jokul grinned at him, showing off those horrific teeth. How could the man chew and swallow? He shuddered and looked away.
“And because you wanted to know the truth,” he added, reaching out and tilting his head so that he had to stare directly into those eerie silver gray on black eyes, “I have granted you a gift. Never again will any of these façade’s affect you. From now on, you will see and know the truth.”
That didn’t sound so bad, Peter thought—but then recalled Jokul’s words about taking things at face value.
“And that means?”
“And that means you will truly see us for what we are. None of our tricks will ever work on you again.” He tilted his head to the side and grinned,
“I am not sure if that is a curse or a blessing,” Peter muttered, his mind automatically going to all of the legends he learned when he was a child. The preternatural creatures of myth were hardly human friendly.
“Oh, consider it a blessing when you are at my side,”
He blinked again as he recalled rather abruptly that he was now owned by this man.
“And I suppose the Emancipation Proclamation won’t apply in these circumstances?”
“Lincoln lynched thirty-eight Dakota Indian POW’s in cold blood the day after Christmas in 1862. Not a good example of altruism.
“Point.” Peter conceded without argument. “So… are you going to kill me?”
He was naked and chained to a padded bed and only now was he thinking about being killed. He put his obvious lack of priorities up to shock.
“If I wanted you dead, I would have allowed The Slay to handle you, Mr. Winston.”
“So I did get the shit kicked out of me by elves.”
“Highly trained elves, Mr. Winston. If I had not called them off, then you would have been the next torso found floating in the waters of the Inner Harbor.”
Well, there was nothing he could say about that but—“Thank you?”
“No need to thank me,” Jokul smiled widely, showing off those teeth again. “I always protect what is mine.”
“And I am yours?”
“By your own signature, Mr. Winston. And now that we have covered all the where’s and why’s, I believe it is time for us to begin.”
“Begin?” He felt his hear began to race at the thought of what such a creature had planned for him. He was tied buck-naked to a bed after all. He had few illusions about what he was going to be used for. The idea horrified him yet at the same time there was a distressing tingle of awareness growing. Jokul Frosti was a creature of magic that openly admitted he killed, but there was something about the man that the sensual side of him noticed.
Jokul, despite his truly fucked up teeth, was sexy as hell. With his silver/white hair flowing about his bare chest, he was a being of recognizable power. The tight pants covered a form that was visibly strong and with the causal use of his magical powers, he was a dominant thing that many would fall to their knees to worship.
And honesty being very important to him, especially honesty with himself, Peter had to admit that he was a little turned on.
He knew he had a small submissive streak and a sexual ambiguity that others found confusing, but Peter found powerful authority figures hot.
Maybe he would get a really powerful orgasm out of the deal before he was offed, his pragmatic said offered. Oddly enough, it served to calm him a little. Besides, if Jokul wanted him dead, he had already stated that he would have shuffled off this mortal coil some time ago.
“Why your training, of course,” Jokul rose to his full height above him, his hair floating on an unseen wind, his eyes sparkling with power. “I am going to turn you into my perfect little bitch.”
One part of him was horrified, but another irritating kinky part of him was jumping up and eager to pay attention.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Later,” Jokul sneered, suddenly the affable almost friendly personality disappearing. “But first, I believe you ass needs a good paddling.”
He waved his hand and a silver paddle made of ice and snow formed above his hand.
Just that quickly, Jack Frost—he recognized the façade for what it was now—was gone an in his place stood, Jokul Frosti, high Lord inquisitor of elementals.
Somehow, he knew that from this point on, his life would never be the same.
I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it! LOL
Thank You, Loves, for checking me out and there are more excerpts to come all week…. Just check back and see what I have been up to lately!