Darkness Veiled Across a Scarlet Moon…Death

Death. Evil. Destruction. Murder. Curse. Werewolf. Do any of these words terrify you? For me, the dark and rather ominous child who grew into a flesh eating woman (in books of course), they fascinate me. I am drawn to the world of good versus evil. I’ve always been. I quite frank can’t stand the HEA where the hero and heroine ride off into the sunset, their golden retriever following like a good little soldier. Somewhere in there a white picket fence will appear. The scene, the setting, the sickeningly sweet version of life makes me nauseous.

If you hard in a darkness lurking our heroine, one that will eat them both alive, then you might picque my interest. Well, now that you know my dirty little secret, how about a terrifying tale on this All Hallow’s Eve? Is there a better time to bring you a dark curse set in the Bayou, three werewolf brothers, one human woman hell bent on solving a case, and a sinister red moon. Now what could be better? Tasty in my opinion. Something I can take a bite out of… Oh but I digress… Enjoy one of my favorite pieces.


Death. You’re already dead.

The words had remained in Scarlet’s mind since the horrific nightmare. The ugly images of torture and dismemberment she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind. Scarlet Dumane was drawn to the edge of the forest, could swear she’d heard a hoarse whisper. Swallowing hard she knew instinctively a wicked storm was kicking into high gear. The air was charge with current, unlike anything she’d ever felt hung thick in the air, humidity off the charts. red moonShe squinted and scanned the tree lines. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and goose bumps popped all along her arms. There was no doubt she was being watched. “Who are you?”

She could have sworn she heard a single growl coming from the shadows. Refusing to be terrified, she lifted her chin in defiance. She snarled hearing the clattering of the house phone just inside the door. Who in the world could be calling her now? Everyone in town knew her grandmother had died and her work would only use her cell phone number. The interruption had to be a sales call. Her nerves on edge, she was already having difficulty concentrating. Sales jerks she didn’t need to add to the mx. Well she was ready for their asses.

Panting, she glared at the ringing phone and hissed. This day was turning out to be a pain in the ass. Her lack of decent sleep wasn’t helping her mood or her motivation. “Damn it.” She managed to drop the wet bag of groceries onto the small hall table and grab the phone on the forth ring. “Scarlet Dumane.” A loud clap of thunder forced a screech to erupt from her mouth. “Shit! Hello?” Through the crackling of the phone lines she could swear she could hear someone breathing. “Hello?”

“If ya know what’s good for ya, you’ll get out before ya end up dead.” The sinister male voice reverberated through the phone.

She was used to her share of innocuous threats given her profession as a crime reporter in the bowels of Chicago. For some reason there was something about his ominous tone that rattled her. Maybe the dream was making her anxious. Either way, she refused to succumb to bullshit or fear. “Excuse me you asshole? Who the fuck do you think you are?” Hang up. But she didn’t. Instead, she egged him on. “Who the hell are you, you freak?” If there was one thing she hated, it was an asshole hiding behind phone or Internet lines.

“You heard me. We don’t want your kind here.”

“My kind? Just what kind is that?” Okay this wasn’t going to be accepted.

Exhaling slowly, he dropped the level of his voice. The tone that remained was guttural and very threatening. “You heard me. If you don’t leave, you’ll end up like the rest of them. We don’t want you here.”

“Is that a threat buddy? You cock…shit!” Realizing he’d hung up, she slammed down the receiver resisting the urge to rip the phone out of the wall. God knows she had no idea if her cell phone would work all the way out in the boondocks. The ancient push-button Scarlet Darknessphone was stained and worn, and she wanted to rip the plastic piece out of the wall but was afraid she’d actually need it one day.

Another sharp clap of thunder followed by a too-close sizzle of lightening reminded her that she needed to get the rest of the groceries in before the raging storm hit.

“Ah!” Crap. Crap. Crap.

Racing outside, Scarlet snagged the two bags of groceries just as the skies opened up. She couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at the trees and could swear she saw a pair of glowing golden eyes staring back at her. You’ve been reading too many horror stories. Scarlet dashed inside as the screen door slapped her in the ass and headed for the back of the house. Her skin remained covered in goose bumps. “Whew!” She stood for a second and sucked in her breath. No asshole was going to bully her. After a hard clap of thunder echoed in the sky, she realized she was dripping wet and the air was stifling.

It was hot as hell inside the house. Turning on the kitchen light, the dull fluorescent bulb accentuated the drab space, dingy from years of neglect. Her grandmother certainly hadn’t updated much in the place over the years. She set the bags down and moved back to grab the other one from the hall. Why she hadn’t left earlier she didn’t know. The term ‘dumbass’ floated in her brain. It had been a long drive and she was exhausted.

Scarlet thought about the call and tried to put his ugly voice out of her mind. Her grandmother’s house was nestled smack in the middle of Bayou country after all. In the various discussions she’d had with her grandmother over the last few years before her death, Scarlet had heard all about how suspicious the entire town was of strangers. Sighing, Scarlet tugged her iPod and travel speakers from her bag, clearing a space on the counter. As the soft strains of Kenny G floated into the room masking at least some of the raging storm, she willed her rattled nerves to calm down. Thoughts about the sound in the trees bothered her more than the jerk on the phone. She was no one. Why was she being watched?

Opening a bottle of wine, she hummed softly as she put the groceries away, thankful the electricity hadn’t been turned off. Her grandmother’s death hadn’t surprised anyone, but Scarlet hadn’t anticipated being the one to deal with her grandmother’s estate. As she poured a hefty glass of wine, Scarlet knew why her family refused to have anything to do with her grandmother. Viola Dumane believed in the occult and voodoo, carrying her beliefs to the grave. Glancing around the perimeter of the stuffy space, Scarlet realized it was going to take her the entire four weeks of her leave of absence to deal with getting the house ready to sell. Thank God her boss was a wonderful soul.

So many thoughts milled about in the back of her mind. Worried about the unknown, Shannon put the rest of the groceries away and stood back gazing at her surroundings. Her grandmother had obviously thrown little away over the years. Clutter was everywhere. Hard work she was used to, but this was going to take some serious effort. Still, if she sold the house for a decent amount of money she’d have a tidy little nest egg.

Crack! Slam!

“Fuck!” Screeching, she gazed out the kitchen window as the trees swayed back and forth. Her grandmother’s home was surrounded by hundred-plus-year-old trees and Scarlet realized just how isolated the setting was. Too many thoughts about voodoo and creatures of the night rattled her brain. The realization made her shiver to her core. The blackened sky was swirling with dense clouds and the rain pelted against the side of the house, pinging off the aluminum trim. Scarlet laughed softly, chastising her silly fears. Grabbing her wine, she moved back toward the front of the house. It was time to look around.

As the phone rang again, she shook her head. Should she not answer it? No, being afraid of anything wasn’t like her. She was tenacious and sometimes bulldozed into situations blindly. Her relentless balls were one reason she got the best and the worst of stories in a crime-riddled town. Chuckling, she put on her singsong voice as she answered the phone. “Hello. How in the world can I help you, sugar?”

Heavy breathing was followed by a husky chuckle.

“Hey sexy. You want to come over here so we can perhaps take a tumble? I like my men all Black wolfdark and dangerous. Yummy. I might just find your small cock somewhere. Might.”

“Hmmm… Be careful Scarlet Dumane because we know where you live. We know who you are and what you are. More importantly, we know what we need to do.”

“What you need to do? Look… Shit.” As the receiver went dead, a trickle of fear raced down her spine. It was one thing to have a mysterious caller, but for him to know her name and to use the term “we” meant she was being watched. She swallowed hard and placed the receiver back into the cradle. Gliding toward the entryway, she closed the door, locked the deadbolt and turned around. What had she dropped into the middle of?


The wind whipped around her as she moved into the shadows, the full moon allowing her to see the ragged terrain crisscrossing her path. She was being hunted, pushed deeper into the forest. A quick look at the glowing orb reminded her why they were in this predicament. The warm red hue wasn’t easily seen, but she knew. They all knew. The time was near, the moment when all of them would be judged. She should be terrified of the unknown, but she was exhilarated by the possibilities. The future wasn’t set in stone. What the wretched men couldn’t understand was how comfortable she was in the protection of the trees. She slowed by a stream, her throat parched. As she lowered her head, the luminescent light sparkled against the rippling water, illuminating her face.

There was no real surprise, no fear of what or who she was. She’d been forced to admit what she was a long time ago. Saying the words wasn’t needed. The coppery taste of blood remained in her mouth and even after several swallows of cool water, the bitter flavor persisted. Some savored the taste of blood and gore. For her, even the thought disgusted her. She wasn’t like them—not completely. She was the unwanted. The damned.

Yet she was the very reason for the chase and drawing them away from her people was the only thing she could do. No, this was the honorable thing to do. The sound of a snapping twig a half mile behind her made her growl. The monsters were closing in. She had little recourse but to run for if they followed her, then her people might be safe. Might be. There was no way of telling. Unable to trust her instincts, she drank until she was full then turned and sniffed. They were far too close for her comfort.

Taking off at a jog, she made enough noise they would turn away from the village and toward her, their need for a kill remaining in the forefront of their minds. She was the lone solider tonight, the only one who had the strength left. Tonight was a new beginning for her, perhaps for all of them.

Hearing the sounds of the men, their banter of the hunt pushed her forward. She stopped and turned. There was an interesting smell in the air, something she wasn’t used to. A new man had joined them, one who seemed to be their leader. Was he kind? Was he honorable? There was no way of telling. She smiled and licked her lips before taking off at a full run. As the cool night air rushed past her, tingles swept down her spine. She was taken by the intensity of her emotions, dazzling sensations. She’d never felt as alive as she did tonight.

Are you terrified of the night? You should be…

Kisses and…keep the lights on.




Posted in Booktrope, creatures, creatures of the night, curse, Entice, horror, paranormal | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Serving Her Master…the Effect of Social Media on the Relationship

Social media is often the bane of my life. Yes, the culture is certainly here to stay, but I can tell you that the lack of direct human contact is often debilitating. We have so many sources out there to concentrate on. From Facebook to Instagram, Pinterest to Twitter, the list grows daily. There’s no way as an author that I can keep up with the various methods. There’s not enough time in the day to be able to sort through the messages and emails, the tags and likes. UGH. It’s frustrating. I also know that you can beI am the shadow anyone you want hiding behind a computer terminal or laptop – including an asshole. It’s much easier to chastise someone you’ll never have a chance of meeting. You know exactly what I mean.

I’ve spoken to many couples living the D/s or M/s lifestyle and they’ve been criticized for their type of relationship as if they’re less than human. Too many people, who either don’t or refuse to learn about D/s, think they know better. They jump to conclusions, writing nasty emails, blogs, tweets or give comments just because they realize they can without fear of retribution. No longer do you have to simply worry about your friends and family, your boss and co-workers. Now, anyone who has a different opinion or God forbid lives what they consider a ‘normal’ lifestyle can openly ridicule anyone and everyone.

A bit disgusting. Don’t you think? Some say it’s the way of the world and it’s only going to get worse. Really? Is this what humanity has come down to? Is this where we’re going as a supposedly intelligent society? Hell, my dogs act better and more respectful than the majority of humans I come into contact with. I’m a chick who has no issue speaking her mind. I also don’t hind behind many masks – that is I haven’t until I decided to explore D/s in more than just my stories. Any of you who’ve read my blog know why and while I don’t mind taking the heat and have a damn thick backbone, I certainly grow weary of the bullshit. If you don’t understand D/s, M/s or DD (and the varying forms of BDSM play, I get it. Ask questions. See if we’re all still normal human beings. You don’t have to try anything. No one is going to force you into accepting or embracing, but respecting is something else entirely.

I think many Dom’s and submissives hide behind the change they’ve made in their lifestyle. There are certainly enough blogs on the Internet to suggest many enjoy sharing their experiences with others, but there are many more who close the doors and blinds and never tell a soul. I certainly appreciate when I receive messages on my blogs or the few select emails from couples thanking me or asking questions. I love hearing from them. I can tell many feel like they’re on an island, unable to talk to close friends or relatives. What a shame. This isn’t a whole lot different than those sharing a gay relationship. The D/s lifestyle is lived by many more than you might choose to believe.

I am dominantWhere the Internet can be a trying place to meander through with the many twists and turns and people bashing, it’s also a wondrous source of information. I will always encourage anyone interested in or moving through stages of their D/s journey to seek out advice. JP and I have found many sites in which open discussion are encouraged and nurtured. They’ve given both of us a place to talk about concerns and worries, techniques and even locations to purchase implements. It’s fascinating what’s out there! I’ve learned so much and I’m grateful to those who take the time to educate. However, it seems you have to maneuver through the twisting path in order to find useful information. BDSM is often grouped together with basic aspects of pornography. Much like erotic writing is still even today akin to penning porn as well.

How many blogs have I written about the difference? Too many. What can you do as a couple? I have a few thoughts with advice, but I encourage you to explore and find your own, even creating a source for others if you’re willing.

One. Know what you’re looking for. This of course involves discussions between the two of you. What are you trying to find? What is the purpose? Can you temper the advice, knowing that your relationship is special and very different? You must truly understand that you are unique in many aspects of what you want and need to achieve.

Two. Navigate the sites with some caution. There are so many reputable locations such as Fetlife, but even this very popular website and social media location has its share of trolls. I’ve come across some true wackos who want sex and nothing else. However, once you weed through the bullshit, you can find so many incredible discussion groups for whatever you’re interested in learning about. Again, caution is the key, especially in the beginning. There are countless numbers of couples that have no problem sharing the good, the bad and the often ugly of their experiences.

Three. Take every bit of information with a grain of salt. If you’re trying to learn about the Violet Wand for example, don’t take the advice of one. This method of play or control can still be dangerous if used improperly. You have to read, learn, read more and experiment in a controlled and educated fashion. Anything less will result in distaste at minimum or bodily damage at maximum. You don’t want to have your desire crushed because of bad advice.

Four. Realize that you are indeed unique in your wants and needs. Don’t be afraid to ask the tough questions, knowing that you’re going to often receive direct answers. These answers might not be what you’re looking for. Everyone has an opinion. Sometime these Protect Meare followed with direct criticism because the party or parties think they know better. Some long term lifestylers have very direct thoughts that seem biting. I’ve had many of these in my searches. Listen and glean what you can then mold to what you and your partner are looking for.

Five. Continue to learn during every step of your journey. There isn’t a day I don’t learn something or perhaps take pause. Many in the lifestyle simply want to share so you won’t step into the mess they did or perhaps they want to share in their joy. The information is fascinating and I love stepping back and seeing where and how their advice might fit in.

Bottom line, social media can be both enlightening and daunting. You can’t expect to learn everything you both need to know from reading a passage on any social media site. Just like you can’t and shouldn’t take their criticisms as gospel. Again, everyone has an opinion and so many certainly don’t mind telling you.

Whatever acronym you place on what you’re sharing with the special someone in your life, you know that living openly is… Well, you know. The majority of couples have to hide their true nature for fear of retribution. Will this change in decades to come? Who knows. I would like to think so, but I have my doubts. In the meantime, don’t feel like an island. You’re not. There are too many who embrace, enjoy and thrive in ways not previously possible. I hope this gives you some thoughts to discuss over the breakfast table today.

Kisses and spanks…


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Serving her Master…Complete Obedience

Obedience. The word truly has interesting connotations. There’s really a simple definition. There are rules or laws that are required to be followed. Sounds easy enough. Right? Well, in a D/s, DD or M/s relationship, often this can be the toughest concept of all. I’m the kind of girl who is very black and white. Either something is right or wrong. Period. I carry this throughout so many of the books I write. Ever since I was a kid, Camelot and the good versus evil methodology has stuck with me. I wrote a thesis paper inHe Found me When I Was Lost high school on the various layers of good and evil as idealized in Camelot. I kind of blew my teacher away.

So I believe I have a good understanding of what is right and wrong. However, within a D/s relationship, the “right” is often the Dom/Domme’s way. This can certainly mean many things. In my world, JP has a very clear concept of what he thinks are the correct rules for me to follow. Granted, they’ve changed over time as he’s matured in his role. What he and I talked about even a year ago has been upgraded so to speak. What do I mean? He’s much more confident in requiring whatever he commands of me. I think this hold true for those maturing in their D/s journey. What works for one couple doesn’t necessarily work for another. Twists and turns alter the vision.

What I’ve realized is that while I long to please him, thereby following his requirements, the girl inside tends to fight even the most basic requests. We were talking about something yesterday and I stated that I hated waiting. Of course he came back with teasing me about my virtues with regard to patience. I’ve often said I’m here on this earth again (I believe in reincarnation) to learn patience as a virtue and until I do, I’ll never move on. I think I’ll be around for thousands of years. UGH.

This weekend marks the beginning of what I consider to be the most difficult time of my life. From this weekend last year on, the bottom dropped out of my world. I admit I’m finally much happier now with my profession as well as my personal life, but the rocky road changed me forever. I don’t need to take you down that ugly path, but I can say, I’ve learned a hell of a lot as a woman and as a submissive. Obedience is one tiny aspect of this past year that I’ve come to terms with.

Being a submissive means challenging your inner soul. You have to look inside yourself and ask very difficult questions. You have to be prepared for conflicting answers. If you’re not necessarily born a full submissive in nature, or you were nurtured into being more assertive, truly succumbing is tougher than you might imagine. I’ve often said that I think you either have or don’t have a submissive or dominating nature. I also believe you can have two sides. I stand by this, but culture, society, your family and how you grew up and even your friends allow you to morph the inner person. Often this results in a serious conflict in your psyche.

I know I’ve experienced anxiety about this and I don’t think I was truly aware that there was a bit of a war going on inside my soul. I’m such a borderline aggressive personality in my career and in my every day life. I tend to make rules and give direction. I’ve always done this. I’ve always been considered a leader in whatever I was attempting. This creates go upsetairstension within a D/s relationship. How can I be obedient if I have the natural urge to say no or ask the ‘why’ question? Daunting. There’s another word I’ve become very close with. The challenges both JP and I have faced have been interesting to say the least. Yes, we’ve learned much more about ourselves and each other. Yes, we’ve had to ask tough questions and I’ve had to embrace a more patient nature. Yes, I laugh at myself.

When JP tells me to do something, I trust in him and his wishes. He’s never placed or pushed me into either a dangerous or debilitating position. That’s not his nature, but of course this isn’t the case with every relationship, whether D/s or vanilla. I’ve written many a blog about the difference in abuse versus methods of control. For a submissive, the trust factor is huge. If the Dom commands his submissive to act, perform or follow an order, she (or he) has to feel innately that his decision is well thought out and won’t be harmful. Do you trust your significant other this strongly? If he asked you to perform a task, would you question? That’s the crux of what can be the most difficult aspect for a submissive to learn and in turn, for the Dom as well.

JP and I have talked many a time about his responsibility as a Dom. He takes his authority and position as one of importance. He must know and respect his needs while incorporating mine. He often worries that he isn’t doing or saying the right thing. For him, being able to talk with other Dom’s is vital. Unfortunately he hasn’t allowed himself to do this but so often.

There’s always fear in what some men regard as a weakness. Asking questions can be perceived this way, but as he continues to wrap his arms around his personal ‘rulebook’ for me, he’s had to expand his thoughts and horizons. I’ve encouraged him to read, seek out the advice of others and to formulate his views and desires, communicating them with me often. He does. He tells me his darkest longings because he knows I learned about and respected the man first, the Dom after months of open conversations. He’s embraced his own personal parameters, which has allowed/forced me to face my own. The process has been…a wild ride.

I see the aspect of becoming a submissive and learning to be obedient as a series of steps. They are different for everyone. Here are my thoughts.

One. You must spend time alone, delving into all the questions that will come up. Why am I doing this? Why do I feel I’m a submissive? How will this affect my every day life? What will others think of me if they find out? How can I do this?

I imagine you’ve had a chill or two trickle down your spine right about now. These can be tough questions to answer, but until you do, you’ll never feel confident or comfortable becoming an obedient servant.

Two. You have to have long and deep conversations with the man (or woman) you are entering into a lifestyle change with. You have to ask him questions. What do you want out of this? What kinds of things are you going to have me do? What are your limits? What if I disobey you? These won’t be answered easily or quickly. They will involve perhaps tears, angst, and even anger, but once answered, this is when you both can begin to move forward.

Three. You begin the process within your journey. Perhaps the Dom establishes a basic set of rules – whether we’re talking about sexual aspects or even the basics of daily communication. Some Dom’s require their submissives to let them know exactly where limitsthey are at all times. You have no idea how often I’ve forgotten to tell him when I’ve arrived somewhere. The basic concept sounds simple, but when you’re used to doing things when you want to, this can be a much more difficult task than you realize.

Four. You both have to admit when the rulebook needs to change. This is a truly a journey you’re both undertaking and there are going to be missteps and mistakes. Allow both of you to understand and communicate. This is vital in the health of your relationship and where you’re going.

I can’t express enough how I’ve grown as a woman, a friend, a lover and as a submissive. Every day I learn something new about myself and about JP. There are discouraging times as well as exciting and enlightening. I can tell you that we’re closer than the majority of couples are. That in itself allows me to continue in my growth. I hope I’ve given you some thoughts.

Kisses and spanks.


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The Animal…The Brazen Bull

The name of the last story I’m highlighting for The Animal is just too juicy to mess with. Now, my thoughts on a brazen bull probably take on an entirely different set of meanings – but I degrees. The double entendres are incredible. Bulls certainly can be brazen, whether in animal or human form. They seem to enjoy taking the lead, rather forcefully I might add.

The Animal should release any day now and the team of authors is extremely excited. Up on the chopping block today is Sheri Williams. I think you’re going to love her.


“I didn’t keep the original design. There is no bull, no speaker system set up to make the screams sound like a bull bellowing. But I think it is still an effective device.”The Animal FInal Concept Cover

“What are the dimensions, please?” The man at the table shuffled papers, and the three of them at the bigger table looked at each other. This was a simple question; he should know the answer.

“Six feet by four feet by four feet. With the door on the one side that is closed with three hinges.”

“Have you tested it?” Now was the time that the applicants usually started to crack.

“I have.”

“Human or animal?” There was still no emotion in the applicant’s voice and the inquisitors were intrigued.




“Could you expand on that, please?”

“With a suitably strong fire the structure heats quickly. The animal test subject did not last more than a few minutes with the heat. The human test subject lasted a surprisingly long amount of time. The screams died out far earlier than the subject perished.”

“Did you record it?” This was suggested, but not required, to get into the program.

“I did. I have it on disc and a flash drive. Which would you prefer?”

“Please wait in the hall while we discuss. Leave the flash drive with me please.” The woman with the number one on her nametag watched the man come forward and then head for the hall. Zero emotion showed on his face. One turned to two and three, her eyes shining bright. “I do not care what is on that flash drive. He is in.” The other two agreed, heads nodding in unison, as she plugged the flash drive into her laptop. The screen went black, but then there were the screams. The applicant had certainly outdone himself.

In the hall outside of the meeting room the applicant sat on a hard wooden chair. There was no comfort to be had in the building. Even the inquisitors sat on the same chair. Now that he was not in the room with the numbers, as they were called, he allowed himself to let out a deep, shaky breath. He had been on the waitlist for the consortium for three years. Twice before, he thought his device might be good enough, but this was the first time his application had made it through to the second round.

red moonIf the inquisitors found his evidence to be appropriate, then he would move on. The third round. He had heard histories—his circle was small after all—but he did not know anyone who had actually made it through the third round. It must happen, the consortium was full every year, but they may have been pulling from other countries as well. The urge to fiddle with his hands was strong, but he dared not. He knew there was surveillance. They would be watching him. It was no secret that if an applicant showed any signs of weakness, they would be cut.

The blinding white that surrounded him lulled him into a trancelike state. In his head, he travelled back to his first kill. It was not special. A small lizard that inched itself across his bedroom window. He’d cut the head off of it before letting the body drop the two stories down to the ground. The rush that had given him had never gone away. If he made it past the third round, if he had the chance to go to the hidden hotel, he would be the youngest ever. At nineteen, he thought it nearly impossible, but there he was, in the revered white hall, while the numbers discussed his video.

“Please re enter the meeting room.” The disembodied voice came from somewhere above him. He did not hesitate. A blank look settled across his face as he walked through the automatically opening door. In no time, he was standing in front of the numbers. The table he had sat at before was gone, along with his things.

“You have been selected to move on. From now on, you will be known as Umber.” The woman known as One leaned toward the edge of the big table. “Follow Three, he will take you to your room. Please read and sign the papers you will find on the desk in the room, then shower, making sure to scrub vigorously, then drop your clothing into the chute in the hall. It leads to the incinerator. You will find new attire in the closet. You will wait in your room for the sound of the evening meal. Is this clear?”

The man known as Umber nodded, afraid if he spoke his emotions would betray him.

“Welcome to the consortium, Umber. I look forward to seeing what you have to offer.”


Alone in the room, Umber followed directions. Stripped, scrubbed, and dressed in a white jumpsuit he walked to the chute in the hallway, dropping his clothes; the last link to his life before this moment. The last instruction was to wait for a sound, and he did that as well. On the gray floor, he sat cross-legged, his mind cleared. Time passed, but there was no way to tell how much. Nothing stood in the room aside from the bed, the closet and a desk, there wasn’t even a chair, and it was all the same dull gray.

First, it was the white meeting room and hall, now white clothes and a gray room. There was most certainly a theme, and Umber believed it to be about sensory deprivation. When the sound came, it jostled Umber out of a meditative state. In a moment of uncertainty, he paused at the door. Neither One nor Three had told him the procedure for this. Would he simply follow the others? Were there others? With a deep breath, he opened the door.

At each door, there stood a person. Four men and two women. They all wore the same outfit as him, the same slippers, and they did not look toward him at all. He followed their lead. Back to the door, he stood until another sound rang out. Then the others walked down the hall, and he went with them. No one said anything. More sensory tactics, most likely. He had not been able to find out much about the consortium, but he did not figure they wanted to breed relationships.

No. They were in the business of death. Of producing the serial killers the world needed. There was no doubt that he would be trained to do the most damage he could, but in horrific ways. The talk around the Internet was that it had started as a government-funded program. But there were some arguments about whether it still was. Did the government know, or care, that the population control they had dreamt of had been turned into a demonsschool for the most depraved humans on the earth?

“Be seated.”

The first words spoken since Umber had been named came from a loudspeaker. The small group sat at the tables they had arrived at after walking into a room that was obviously a cafeteria. A quick glance and the seating was figured out, two to a table. Still no communication between the others. A metallic sound rang out and a door to the left opened. Skinny boys with tattoos running across their foreheads carried out silver trays. There was one boy and tray for each in the small group, and they stopped right before the person they headed for. A small thrill flittered through Umber when the young boy stopped before him. He could read the number, 6754, clearly.

The boy would not make eye contact with him, and Umber chose not to feel affronted. Though the urge to measure the boy for his device crossed his mind before he was able to tamp it down. Control. They do not need to know how excited you are to be there. With that reminder, his calm returned. His focus now on the food and not the boy, his stomach rumbled. The food was piled high and smelled better than anything he had made for himself in the past few weeks.


This Umber did know and he recited along with the others. “I am not a monster. I am a tool. I will do what I will, with the sanctions I have been given.”


The others sat, Umber followed. The serving boy placed the tray in front of Umber before hastily departing. A quick glance around the room proved that there was nothing else that needed doing before eating was allowed, so Umber tucked in.

Delicious. I hope you’re very excited about our terrifying collection.

Kisses and dreams of blood and gore…


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Serving Her Master

Master. Does the word give you tingles and fill you with a gnawing in your gut, or do you groan and wonder how women (or men of course) could say the word to another human? Can you see yourself serving the needs of another, while maintaining the person you are inside, even becoming stronger? My answer is an easy yes, but I’ve been able to explore the inner girl, the one hidden behind a mask. For many of you, you’ll never truly embrace the dark and kinky side dwelling within in. I’m not criticizing. Facing desires and needs takes a lot and often you’re left feeling shameful or 1Power Exchangeeven fearful. Our every day life and what the media states suggests BDSM is too far out there for the norm. You know how I feel. I hope through my various blogs during the course of several years, you’ve gleaned enough to know there’s nothing wrong with what you wish for – no matter what anyone or society tells you.

Life can certainly be interesting. As with all things, change is inevitable. My rather odd relationship with JP is fascinating, troubling, amazing and the man drives me batty at times. He certainly has fought demons of his own during the last year. I’ve been along for the tumultuous ride, one complete with tears and frustration, love and longing. We were having a conversation and I called him a meanie. He came back instantly saying, ‘you mean Master’. I laughed as well as shivered. He has that effect on me. A single text can turn me into a blubbering mass. His voice alone drives me into a heightened state of ecstasy. How can a man affect anyone so significantly?

During the time I’ve been writing blogs and books about the power of a D/s relationship, I’ve grown as an author as well as a woman. I’m certainly no expert, but I’ve seen the change in me and can only attribute this to the deep and uninhibited conversations I’ve had with him. We talk about anything and everything from politics to bondage. He reminded me the other day that I was his ‘jewel’ and that he can tell me and only me his darkest desires. His thoughts and needs are very dark, some bordering what many might call heinous. These talks have allowed us to grow as close as two people can be. D/s relationships are very close, igniting passions along with the longing to submit or dominate. Our wild ride is a great example.

JP told me in a frank talk several months ago that enjoying the D/s lifestyle, as well as embracing the dark side, is a choice. I admit, I argued with him, telling him flat out that for him, the need was furrowed deep in his psyche. He refused to believe me and for several months ignored his true tendencies. Well, guess what? They’re back and in full force. What he thinks about and craves is very dark indeed. I feel honored I’m the single person he can express his most intimate desires to. He wants nothing more than to own me, to have me serve him every day.

And so the journey continues…

What I learned from the months of angst is that when you form a bond this strong, there is little that can break the tie. I’m not certain what finally connected the dots and the roller coaster is still fleshing out so to speak, but I’m happy. As many of you have read in recent posts, I’m switching my writing style as well as genres and other than books being brought back to Booktrope, the D/s or BDSM books are no more. That doesn’t mean the blogs won’t continue to some degree. So this is the beginning of a new series. Serving Her A lick of woodMaster. There are many ways this can be accomplished and every relationship, just like vanilla ones, are completely different.

For those of you who know me, you might say I’m out of my mind to ride the rollercoaster again. Perhaps I am, but when there’s true love with the depth we have, its tough to simply walk away. Love. That’s something I’ve learned a hell of a lot about over the course of these past two years. I might be kinky, but I’ve come to the realization that I’m not a kink player. I’ve explored conversations on Fetlife where many men and couples want to have me engage. The thought was and is intriguing, but I can’t bring myself to indulge. The event would be meaningless to me. This isn’t the case for everyone. Many enjoy simply playing at BDSM clubs or in the privacy of their homes with someone they learn to trust, but have no relationship with. That’s just not me. The trust developed with JP is all encompassing, like the breath of life itself.

Can you truly serve someone you barely know? I don’t think the concept could be nearly as fulfilling. There’s little that JP wants that shocks me, if anything. He longs for a third to share me with – another female. He craves having several submissives, the majority of which have nothing to do with sex. He always takes the time to remind me I’m his number one. If you met the man, talked to him over dinner, you’d probably never suspect the desires lurking deep within. We both have very intense jobs that take a lot of time. We have bills to pay and every day lives to lead. Yet when we talk, I am his and he is in command. The terms Master and Dom tend to be interchanged with ease, yet I think the two do have differences. They are tough to put into words. A Dom might be considered the lighter of the two, meaning the submissive maintains more of her independence. A Master is usually all encompassing, dictating clothing and friends or actions allowed. This isn’t always the case. JP in no way wants to steal my independence. He enjoys and craves the willful woman. This isn’t true in all D/s or M/s relationships, yet I’m no slave.

He expressed a fantasy to me the other day and I was enthralled by the passion he’d tried so hard to bury. For him, once they bridged the surface this time, I honestly don’t think he can shut it down again. This time, his words and requirements are stronger. They hold a very intense hunger. It’s as if he was unable to resist the flood of thoughts furrowing in his mind. Honestly, I truly believe that those who gravitate toward the lifestyle can’t walk away, not completely. And so he and I begin a new saga.

What would it take for you to submit body and soul to another? Do you fantasize about losing control, allowing a full power exchange? There are enough stories being devoured to suggest readers aren’t only intrigued, they’re living their innate desires through the pages of a book. What if you stepped outside the lines or the box, admitting your true nature? Candle WaxYes, what if…

I’ll bring some thoughts in this blog series and hope to hear from you. I value and appreciate the various insights as they show me viewpoints I might not otherwise know. D/s and M/s is a journey, one that is for me, the most incredible experience of my life.

Kisses and spanks…

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The Animal…Killing in Vivid Color

There are many ways of creating terror within a story just as there are dozens of methods to kill a man. Some are merely more creative and delicious than others. I have a particular penchant for using weapons (in wiring of course!) that no one else might think of such as epoxy guns, impeach wrenches. Imagine the tasty creations of blood and gore. The mind is a terrible thing to waste after all.

We’re counting down to the release of The Animal and this story is particularly satisfying. This is said tongue in cheek of course. Please enjoy the horrific stylings of Majanka Verstaete.


“Daddy, are elephants blue? Chris says elephants are blue,” Milly asked. Her long, blonde curls bounced up and down when she jerked her head back and gestured at her brother. At four years old, she was small for her age, resembling an oversized porcelain doll more thanThe Animal FInal Concept Cover an actual child.

“Of course elephants are blue!” Chris shouted from the kitchen table. He was one year older than Milly, which made him believe he was right about everything.

A lot of people complimented him on his children, saying they looked like two little angels. Well, angels or not, they made his head hurt.

“Elephants are gray, not blue,” he said. “But you can color them any color you want.” He looked to his wife for support, but she was too busy stirring up spaghetti to mind the kids.

The wife. The kids. From afar, they looked like the perfect family. He’d married a blonde woman, always had a thing for blondes. He hadn’t quite deciphered that having a wife meant having another person with a personality around at all times. Sometimes her personality annoyed him. Scratch sometimes. Every day. Like now, for example. She was so focused on the spaghetti she couldn’t even mind the brats.

Meanwhile, he wanted to concentrate on the newspaper and read the news for today. He spent hours upon hours cooped up in a cramped office surrounded by thirty people suffering in similar circumstances, each of them a nameless work-robot for a major corporation. His wife ignoring him reminded him of his status in life. Nameless work-robot. Now he had become a nameless nanny.

“Can I color it pink?” Milly was going through her pink-phase. Last week, she had colored half the wall of the living room pink before his wife noticed and stopped her. He didn’t know why it took Deborah – the wife’s name – so long to notice their daughter had ruined her precious living room wallpaper. Considering she was a housewife, which meant she took care of the kids, handled chores and made dinner, he figured she could at least make sure the kids weren’t tearing the house apart.

“Didn’t I just say you could color it any color you want?” He tried to keep his voice even, although it physically pained him. His stomach ached, and not thanks to the delicious smell of Deborah’s food. He felt like an animal, trapped in a cage, trapped in a life he had designed.

He often wondered why life was so predictable. Why he had to go to work, had to get a job, had to work to support the wife and the brats. Was that all there was to it? In comparison, his days as a lonely student slumping from one bar to another, and trying to hook up with random girls, seemed to hold so much promise. He was always dead broke, always begging beers, but each day had provided a different challenge. Could he seduce the blonde one? How about the redhead?

Now his challenges existed of not killing the brats before bedtime, reading his newspaper without getting distracted, and trying to seduce the wife –a fruitless task that succeeded once a month at most, and even then she sighed and groaned as if she didn’t owe this to him, as if he didn’t give her enough that she owed to at least have the decency to want him.

He thought that if only she was more compliant, less reluctant to be physical with him, he’d be able to cope with it all. With the brats and their stupid nagging about elephants and their color. With the boring hours wasted behind a computer screen. But with Deborah acting toward him like Russia acted toward America during the Cold War, it all became too much.

Chris and Milly were arguing. Now that they had figured out an elephant was gray – seriously, how stupid were they that they didn’t know that? – they both wanted to get the

silhouette of woman standing between pine trees behind water reflections

silhouette of woman standing between pine trees behind water reflections

gray crayon. Milly bawled her eyes out.

He willed himself to stay calm, to swallow the storm load of curse words building up in his throat.

“Mark, can’t you keep an eye on them for one second!” Deborah rose her voice, her entitlement obvious from her pose: hands on hips, eyebrows furrowed. She looked old and withered, like a decaying flower, the best parts of her life long gone.

She reminded him of himself in that moment. She was lost too, forgotten, pushed back, both of them forty-something years old. They wouldn’t become presidents. They wouldn’t save the world, not like they’d whispered on the first night they’d spend together, both of them environmentally-savvy, both of them idealistic enough to believe that they could change things, both enthusiastic they’d make the world a better place. He gave up his living in bars lifestyle and became more responsible. She stopped hanging out with other guys and they became an item. It was exciting back then. New and fresh, both of them filled with so much potential.

Here they were now, ten years and two kids later, and neither of them had reached their potential, had even achieved part of it. They were dead flowers, rooted in their lives and their customs. It was tragic. She was tragic.

He got up and put the newspaper away. His nerves were on edge, and it was only thanks to his steel will that he didn’t yell at the little nuisances.

They took everything away from him. They took his youth, his chance at becoming more – Mark, why do you work so much? Shouldn’t you be home more often to spend time with the kids? – His chance at being someone else – Mark, you should marry Deborah because she’s pregnant, words sprouted to him by his mother when he told her his girlfriend was with child.

Deborah wanted children. He wanted a life of his own. Yet he had given in to her cravings, and it had ruined his life. He was a cardboard figure now, a man who lived not for himself but for his offspring, a decorative item in the large story of life.

The lion inside of him roared, angry at him being cast out of the spotlight. Even in his wife’s mind, he no longer was the center of the universe – Chris and Milly were.

He snapped the crayon out of Chris’s hands. “Now shut up, both of you.” He was surprised at how controlled he sounded. Like he was still in control. Like he had been in control during the last few months.

They were going to fire him. His boss had told him that a few weeks ago. Not that he didn’t work hard, not that he didn’t show up on time, but times were tough and financially, the firm couldn’t cope with that many employees. So they would fire him, not Ricky, the clerk who just started last month or Dina the secretary who only worked there for six months. No, him. The man who’d spend the last ten years of his life working to make their company thrive.

When his boss had told him, something broke inside his mind. The lion roared for the first time. Sweat dripped down his forehead, tick, tick, tick, like a waterfall dripping down in the jungle. He had balled his fists, clenched his teeth, willed himself to stay calm. He sent the roaring lion away, had nodded and left, leaving his boss dumbfounded. Most employees complained when they got laid off. Mark knew that if he opened his mouth in that moment, he’d end up killing someone.

He’d always had the lion in him, a part of him that rose up whenever he got mad. Lately, that became more and more often. Then he started shaking and he wanted to hurt things, people. Bad.

“Put the drawings away and get ready for dinner,” he ordered.bloody murder

“But Daddy…” Milly started protesting.

“I said put it away. Dinner will be ready soon.”

The kids nagged and whined, and Milly cried again – what a stupid little crybaby.

He wanted to hurt them. Make them stop nagging. Why were they even complaining? He was a good dad, he listened to their woes and contracted when they told him their silly stories of what happened in kindergarten. On a good day, he even sat down and colored with them.

No, if anyone could nag and complain, it was him. He had to give up everything for them. And did he get any thanks in return? No.

He hadn’t told Deborah yet about him being fired. If she knew, she’d freak out. She might even blame him, accuse him of being lazy – like she had a dozen times before – or of being good for nothing. Then she’d break down and cry about how her life was ruined, which in retrospect was her own damn fault and had nothing to do with him.

Usually he could block out her cries and ignore her whining, but the last time she had one of her episodes – when he’d forgotten to pick up the kids from school – and accused him of things, he felt his inner-animal jump against the cage he had constructed. The lion hurled itself at the bars, bit them with his teeth. The lion morphed into a wolf and howled at the moon, begging to be let free.

He had gone out then, had decided to leave Deborah alone because he had no idea what he’d do if he didn’t leave her right then and there. If he stayed, he wouldn’t have been able to control the animal.

Even though he left, he still couldn’t control it. The rage burled within him like a firestorm, a tornado. His heart beat loud in his ears, the blood raced through his veins.

He had killed someone then.

Mmm…all kinds of murderous thoughts in my head.

Kisses and slaughterous desires…


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The Animal…Dog Eat Dog

I couldn’t even change the title for fun. The concept is in itself totally delicious. We all have a need to top someone else, whether in business or at home. We challenge our friends and push our limits – just to be better than the next guy. What if this goes to the extreme? What if we can’t stop in vying to be top of the heap – the Alpha dog? Yes, what if… What lengths would you go? I’m continuing my tasty and oh-so evil path highlighting the authors in The Animal – terrifying look at the darkness lurking deep within. Up today is Bryn Tilly.


It might’ve been the Lord’s Day, but I felt like a demon had shat inside my head. I’d The Animal FInal Concept Coverthrown up so much my gut felt raw. I’d be throwing up blood next.

After work, drinks commenced the moment Bob closed the door at ten and pulled out a couple of six packs. I threw Hostel: Part II on. Lisa immediately spouted her usual torture porn whine, so Bob intervened and took the disc out. I chose Seven instead. Lisa gave me a dirty look.

I like Angus. He talks the right shit, has good taste in movies. We rabbited on about slasher flicks for ages. Lisa got bored and left. Then it was off to the Dog. Turned out it was Bob’s birthday yesterday, but he was reluctant to mention anything. It was Angus who spilled the beans.

This friend of Bob’s turned up with a cute chick, Angelina, who looked like a girl who dumped me years ago. I got fixated on her. I felt old wounds being fingered; nerve endings I thought were dead prickled. My mood soured, so I kept on drinking, trying to drown out the angry voice pecking away in my mind, trying to dampen a bitter lust.

I think I ended up going home to her place and breaking her off. I think, because I was so fucking drunk I can’t really remember what happened. I woke up in the afternoon lying sideways on my bed, almost fully clothed, the headache from hell, and scratches on my neck and chest as souvenirs. Fragments of the night keep stabbing at me. I vaguely remember leaving the Dog with the girl, but unsure whether I put the hard word on her, or if she invited me back to her place. I have an image of her running hysterically around her bedroom while I tried to grab her. Did she hit me? Did I hit her? It’s pretty dark and hazy. I think she was freaked out by all the noise we were making. I think she kicked me out. I remember hammering on her front door for my sneakers. Hammered, all right.

Now I’ve got this strange sensation, like a coil in the pit of my stomach, in my gut, which tightens and loosens. When I drink, the coil feels like it enlarges and spreads. When I smoke, it hardens and hurts. If I don’t drink or smoke I get a blinder headache, and a rage consumes me.

I got to work late on Monday, still recovering from Friday night’s bender. Filthy looks from Lisa. Then Bob called me into the office and handed it to me: I was fired. He grilled me about Ange. She called Bob’s friend in tears on Sunday, told him that I tried to rape her, that I threatened her, and that she is too frightened to press charges. Bob agreed that I had been acting really sleazy around her at the Dog, and Alex, the friend, was really uncomfortable. Rock and roll, deal with it. I gave Lisa the finger on the way out. I spent the rest of the day at the pub.

Later in the week, I met Angus at The Box. He felt bad for me that I’d lost my job. We chewed the fat for a while; sunk about four or five pints, and then he went for a slash. I was nursing my pint and this strange older chick came up to me, put her hand on my leg, and said she’d been watching me, told me to ditch the dork friend. She was like some kind of freak cougar, so I told her to prowl somewhere else. Reluctantly, she moved away. Then Angus tells me that he’s seen the woman several times before, a real bar fly. Apparently, she always leaves with a younger man. She was okay looking, but she smelled a bit weird. Angus buggered off, and wished me luck.

Haunted woman for Lost & ForgottenBonza Saturday. I was at Fiddlers. It was early evening, and I was already half-drunk. I’d been on the Jack n’ Cokes and crystal meth at home before I stepped out. I saw that shifty, older woman again. I was watching her work on some young dude who was alone at the jukebox. He seemed disinterested, tried to ignore her, said something and walked away. She watched him join a table. She turned in my direction, but I glanced away before she could catch my eye.

I noticed a chick saying goodbye to her friends, and then leaving the bar. My coil had spread out and hardened, the ice coating it like armor. My palms were itchy. Outside, I saw the cougar across the road getting into a car, a young man behind the wheel. The chick with the hard body was strutting away, her legs pumping. She turned down the narrow street on the corner. This was good. I put my gloves on, pulled up my collar to obscure my face, and picked up my pace, but when I turned the corner I saw her getting her car keys out, and unlocking a car parked several meters ahead. I needed to move quickly. I glanced behind me, checking for witnesses. As she opened the driver’s door, I scanned feverishly: across the street, beyond the car, back behind me again. No one. Street was dimly lit. I rushed her and in a flash, I’d shoved her across into the passenger side, and I was in the car. She kicked out at me, and her high heel gashed my neck. I felt warmness spread, just like the hot coil surging in my gut.

She screamed, but in a swift motion I had my arm around her head and my hand over her mouth, tight, her jaw clamped shut with my other hand, and I hauled myself between the two front seats, into the back seat, pulling her with me. I tried to wrestle her around, so I could straddle her, but she was stronger than I thought, and she punched me in the nuts. I slapped her hard across the face, and split her lip. Blood splattered across the back window. I punched her again, on the temple, and she was out.

I unbuttoned her jeans, yanking them and her underwear down to her ankles. She had a tattoo of a scorpion with the barb pointing to her clit. I unzipped, and pulled my cock free. It was throbbing. I spit on my fingers and greased the pole, then rammed it in. Suddenly, her knee jerked up and slammed into my jaw. I was momentarily dazed. The bitch was awake and had the back door open and had managed to half wriggle out. She screamed, and I yanked her back in by her hair and smashed my fist hard into her nose, crushing it, blood gushing. She went limp. Now I had to move. But I wasn’t finished with her. The coil was so tight I could feel the tendrils scratching up into my throat. I spotted the car keys on the front passenger seat floor. In a flash, I’d pulled the back door shut, and wedged her small purse in her mouth. My hands were sticky with blood. I needed to act quickly. Into the front seat, the car came alive, and I was down the street, turning, turning again, and again, and down an avenue, into a warehouse car park. Engine off, and I threw myself into the back, hand tight over her mouth, and I waited, heart pounding, the coil thrashing like a cut snake. I could hear a voice, voices.

Five minutes passed. Ten. The voices had gone. No siren. She was still out cold. Her cheeks haunted_forest__-smallwere bruised, her nose squashed, ruined. I pushed my face into her neck, licking her salty flesh, running my tongue down and around the scorpion’s barb. No response. I stroked myself while I ate her hairless vagina, then I put her legs up over my shoulders, and fucked her hard in the ass, slamming myself against her butt cheeks, over and over and over, but she wouldn’t wake up.

I realized how much I liked fucking her limp body, this rag doll. I felt liberated. The coil had loosened, softened. I left her dead to the world in the back seat. Soaked in sweat, I walked a couple of blocks, then caught a cab, and threw up on the way. The cabbie turfed me out, and I had to walk the rest of the way.

Friday night, I got blind drunk at home, while the coil lay like a sleeping dog. I watched gonzo porn until I passed out. But I woke up with an aching gut and a pounding head. I was in a foul mood for the rest of the weekend. I binged on pizza, cheap beer, and ice. I jerked off in the shower until my nuts hurt, and I’d rubbed the skin raw on my cock.

I felt like a hobo walking through the district in the afternoon. Paper bag in hand, a full beard. I finished off the hip, and picked up the least ugly one. We walked to the far end of the park, and I paid her for a blowjob, but I couldn’t get hard. I started getting angry and she simply walked off. I couldn’t do nothing ‘cos some other bitches came out of the toilets and saw us. I wasn’t ready to bring a hooker back to my hole, so I decided to boost a car. Hadn’t done that since I was a teenager.

It was a long few hours until dark. I chose the best of the bunch, which wasn’t saying a lot. I drove into Chippendale, behind a warehouse, no one around. I had her raise her ass up, but she was too bony, no flesh on her. I must have been blind when I picked her up. I pushed her face down into the back seat, but she kept wriggling free, and I kept pushing harder. I had one hand over her mouth yanking it around, and she bit it, so I fucking laid into her. She went limp, and I humped her like that other rag doll. She came to, and that’s when I started strangling her, got her to thrash again, gave me another hard on. I had her facedown into the vinyl, my hands so tight around her throat that my fingers were almost interlocking. I could feel an itch burning behind my eyes, saliva thick in my mouth, the coil bristling with heat scalding the inside of my gut. She tried to scream and I screamed for her.

I am fire.

I can only imagine the bite…

Kisses and dog tails…


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