An Interview with Lady Sally Rudston-Chichester

Today on my blog page I’m delighted to announce I have a guest. I’m interviewing Edwardian dominatrix Lady Sally Rudston-Chichester, who’s just returned from her airship travels across the Empires of Europe. A book entitled ‘Mistress Of The Air’ has just been published containing an account of her adventures.

K D Grace: Hello, Lady Sally, thank you for allowing me to interview you today.

Lady Sally: Indeed. It’s a pleasure to talk with you. Though perhaps I can start by asking you not to stare at my breasts…it’s somewhat disconcerting.

KD: …Oh, yes, hmm, I’m sorry…

LS: I know they are rather magnificent. Indeed, they are great assets, which I use to great effect during my travels but it’s exceedingly rude to stare.

KD: Yes, ladyship it’s just they are…incredible. I’m afraid I can’t take my eyes off them.

LS: Yes, I find that’s often the case… especially for men, though it is often their undoing!

KD: Well, let me change the subject. Can you tell me about your airship?

LS: Yes, of course. The Corsetted Domme is a marvel. She is the largest and fastest dirigible ever to take to the air – a veritable ocean liner of the skies. My designers and engineers have come up with remarkable technological innovations such as the use of a duralumin frame and the geodetic structure of her design.

KD: I believe the domestic quarters are impressive.

LS: Indeed, they are. They are fitted out in teak and brass to my own specification. Naturally, my dressing room is especially large.

KD: Did you take lots of clothes with you?

LS: Yes, of course. I have several wardrobes for my corsetry alone, and then there’s the rubber and fetish wear, and my ball gowns… and my hunting gear. I went to far-flung corners of the continent so had to be prepared for different climates and every eventuality.

KD: Did you take any companions with you on your travels?

LS: Well, my transvestite maid, Victoria, comes everywhere with me. She’s a dilatory dolly at times, but extremely loyal. Then there was my airship pilot, Captain Wyndham. He’s somewhat of a dark horse, I believe. He clearly has a thing for me, indeed as most men do, but will not completely submit to me, which I find rather endearing as I like a challenge. Then there are my two brass automatons, Clarissa, who is the captain’s co-pilot and Borghild who is a sex-doll. Finally, there are my submissive gentlemen, especially chosen to attend me on this trip – a banker, a bishop, a judge and a duke. They have names… but I seem to have forgotten them.

KD: I understand you have lots of adventures across Europe. Where did you travel to?

LS: There were several of my aristocratic relatives I wanted to visit…in Vienna, Potsdam and St Petersburg. Then I simply had to do some shopping in the bazaar in Istanbul, before going to look at the erotic frescos at Pompeii, and then onto the French Empire to receive an award given to me by La Societé D’Aviation Et Les Dirigeables.

KD: That sounds like a well-planned tour.

LS: Hmm. Not exactly. I found I did have to make some hasty retreats because things went wrong. And there was a storm… one or two explosions… and a crash landing along the way. But I won’t spoil anything for your readers by telling you too much about these alarums. Needless to say, I survived them all!

KD: I know you are a woman of the world, Lady Sally, and have many business interests. Perhaps you can tell my readers about some of them.

LS: Yes, that’s very true, I have numerous business interests spread all over the globe. There’s my rubber tree plantation in Malaysia. My manufactory there produces the thinnest latex material for my outfits. I own various tea plantations in India and China which grow a huge variety of teas – I’m something of a connoisseur when it comes to tea. Then there’s a chain of brothels and bars in the wild west, shares in several Parisien burlesque clubs. Last but not least, of course, there’s my brass mine in Zanzibar…

KD: Brass mine? But surely br…

LS: … Yes, my mine produces the finest quality brass in the world…

KD: But isn’t br..

LS: …and my brass has a lustre and sheen that’s unrivalled. It’s especially valued by automaton manufacturers, you know.

KD: Perhaps I ought to move onto another subject. Do you have any hobbies?

LS: I’m very busy and don’t really find time for that kind of thing… unless one counts collecting antique whips and floggers?

KD: As an author of BDSM books, I’d be interested to hear about your particular style of domination. For instance, how do you feel about after-care or use of safe words?

LS: Excuse me, I don’t understand. What is this safe word that you speak of?

KD: You know, a special word you give to a submissive to stop play if it becomes too intense?

LS: Certainly not! My submissive gentlemen are required to obey my every whim, and if there should be one or two electrocutions or explosions along the way, then so be it!

KD: Oh, I see. And lastly, perhaps you can tell me about the worst experience you had on your travels?

LS: Well, that’s easy. Whilst visiting the Princess Maria Labiastein in Vienna I was served coffee…and at tea time! How disgusting. Her apple strudel was good though… but, I ask you, what’s the point of a fine patisserie if you don’t have a decent cup of tea to wash it down. I have vowed never to visit Vienna again!

KD: Thank you Lady Sally, it’s been most enlightening.

Mistress of the AirBook Blurb

Mistress of the Air is a Comic, Steampunk, Erotic Adventure.

Lady Sally Rudston-Chichester owns a brass mine in Zanzibar, a Lapsang Souchong tea plantation in China, a rubber tree farm in Malaysia, trunk loads of corsetry, and the country’s largest collection of antique whips and floggers.

Larger than life, and itching to find new and inventive ways to punish her submissive gentlemen, the Edwardian dominatrix has a vision. Embracing the spirit of the new age of aviation, she embarks on a series of adventures on her own airship, The Corseted Domme, with her transvestite maid, Victoria, her airship pilot, Captain Wyndham, and her automaton sex toy, Borghild.

A select group of submissive gentlemen, consisting of a duke, bishop, lawyer and banker, is invited to join Lady Sally so she can try out her new dastardly devices and sex toys on them. She whips, spanks and punishes her way across the Empires of Europe, dropping off to visit her aristocratic relatives and friends for afternoon tea.

But Lady Sally’s journey is not uneventful. War is threatening to break out and the Ministry of Aviation want to commandeer her airship for the war effort. And when The Corseted Domme has a crash landing, Lady Sally realises there is a stowaway on board intent on sabotaging her airship.

There will be wild escapades, kinky BDSM, dastardly devices, explosions and nice cups of tea.

Buy links

Ebook

Amazon US (Kindle): http://amzn.to/2qsu64J

Amazon UK (Kindle): http://amzn.to/2pxDBhr

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mistress-of-the-air-s-nano/1126181430?ean=9781545250242

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/mistress-of-the-air

Print

Amazon US (print): https://www.amazon.com/Mistress-Air-S-Nano/dp/1545250243/

Amazon UK (print): https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mistress-Air-S-Nano/dp/1545250243/

Create space/eXcessica (print): https://www.createspace.com/7078177

Extract

They arrived back at the mast where The Corseted Domme was moored to be met by a moustached gentleman in a bowler hat and pin-striped suit.

“Lady Sally Rudston-Chichester?” he enquired.

“Yes, that is me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m from the British Consulate in Essen. I am to deliver this letter to you from the Ministry of War. I’ve been directed to accompany you back to England with your airship, it’s being requisitioned by the Ministry.”

Lady Sally opened the letter and read it. It basically reiterated the message the gentleman had just conveyed. She passed it to Captain Wyndham to read.

“I’m sorry, Lady Sally,” he said, with genuine sympathy and disappointment. “And so soon after you’d set off on your adventures.”

She fixed the captain with a piercing and meaningful gaze.

“Indeed. Leave this to me captain. I shall discuss the arrangements with the gentleman from the Ministry here. In the meantime, I suggest you take the cargo aboard and fire up the engines so we can make as quick a departure as possible… for the benefit of the man from the Ministry, of course.”

She was plotting something, “Of course Lady Sally, I’ll have her ready to set off as soon as madam is aboard.”

“Thank you, captain,” she said, turning back to the gentleman as Wyndham and Victoria heaved the crate into the lift in the mooring tower.

“Well, I can’t deny I’m not disappointed, sir, but never mind, these things happen. Stiff upper lip and all that, what? You are most welcome on The Corseted Domme, I’m sure you’ll find me most accommodating.”

Lady Sally did indeed have a plan.

Stage one: play for time and lure one’s victim into a false sense of security.

“Let it not be said Lady Sally Rudston-Chichester is not a hospitable host. We must partake of some tea when we board. I’m sure you must be parched waiting out here for so long. How tiresome for you. I recommend a nice cup of Darjeeling. It makes a very refreshing brew. Did you know the leaves come from my own plantation in the foothills of the Himalayas? I am something of an expert on the subject and take pride in ensuring only the most fragrant of leaves are used in my teas…”

Lady Sally proceeded to describe her plantations in great detail and the flavours of the teas grown on them. She gave a lecture on the benefits of tea drinking (so much more invigorating than that horrid, bitter coffee stuff) and explained how the British Empire was built on tea drinking.

Eventually, after a ten-minute diatribe, Lady Sally heard the engines fire up.

Stage two: make best use of one’s assets

“Oh dear, all this talk of tea has made me quite hot and bothered.”

She removed the velvet mantle from her shoulders. Her breasts, pushed up by the corset under her dress, were beautiful orbs of white flesh. The man from the Ministry, being somewhat shorter than Lady Sally, had a view right down her cleavage. It never failed. Lady Sally had found that every male, when faced with a pair of such magnificent boobs, would lose all concentration and sense. Throughout her life this was a weakness she had learnt to exploit.

Stage three: act swiftly.

She brought her knee up into his testicles. Lady Sally’s aim was very precise; it came from years of practise. She knew the exact spot to cause the most excruciating pain. The man from the Ministry doubled up in agony.

Stage four: press home one’s advantage.

With the gentleman bent over clutching his aching balls, Lady Sally wasted no time in pushing him against the metal frame of the mooring tower. She produced coils of thin cord from within the confines of the velvet dress, and within seconds had the man’s wrists secured to the tower. She soon had his ankles tied together. The man from the Ministry did not know what had hit him.

“You dally with England’s strictest dominatrix at your peril, sir. The Corseted Domme is built for pleasure… my pleasure, and I will not have her used for any other purpose, certainly not to propagate any pointless war. I bid you good day, sir. This is a busy airship station so I expect somebody will be along soon to release you.”

At that, Lady Sally left her unfortunate victim tied to the mooring tower, and headed off for her airship.

She burst into the control room. The engines were already thrumming, and the propellers whirring. Captain Wyndham was ready for launch and Clarissa had her brass hand clutched on the tiller ready to operate the elevators.

“Set off now, captain. We need to get away as soon as possible.”

The captain gave the order to release the cable from the mooring tower. In an instance the giant dirigible reversed, turning around in one sweeping movement, and accelerated up into the air.

“Where’s the man from the Ministry?” asked Captain Wyndham.

“He’s a little tied up at the moment.”

The captain laughed. He knew Lady Sally was planning something, “How did you manage that?”

“As a strict dominatrix, I always carry rope in my undergarments, one never knows when one might require some. Oh, and I kneed him in the balls too.”

About the author

S. Nano is an author of erotic stories with dark and exotic content in fantasy, paranormal or historical settings, often drawing on the themes of female supremacy, BDSM and fetish but with a seam of quirky humour running through them as well.

His first full-length erotic novel, ‘Adventures in Fetishland’, a BDSM/fetish re-invention of Alice in Wonderland, was published by Xcite Books. His short stories and novellas have been published by Xcite Books, House of Erotica, Forbidden Fiction, Coming Together and Greenwoman Publishing.

His second novel, ‘Mistress Of The Air’ was published by eXcessica on 21st April 2017.

Web site: www.slavenano.co.uk/writing

Blog: www.slavenano.co.uk/blog

Facebook (Nano Vaslen): http://www.facebook.com/nano.vaslen

Mistress Of The Air facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Mistress-Of-The-Air-1671491076492099/

Pinterest: http://uk.pinterest.com/nanovaslen/

Amazon UK author profile: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005EBU1QI

Amazon US author profile: https://www.amazon.com/Slave-Nano/e/B005EBU1QI/

Goodreads author profile: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/6828376-slave-nano

*****

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/s-nano/

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A Veggie Porn Prologue to a Croatian Main Event

It’s only fitting that on the day after I’ve given you the latest in Mr. Sands’ unfolding story, we’re flying off for a week in Dubrovnik. As I’m finishing this up, it’s stupid o’clock and I’m bleary-eyed at Gatwick. But I’ll be in sunny Croatia in time for a late lunch. That definitely makes stupid o’clock seem a lot less stupid.

While you can fully expect to get lots of glorious updates and piccies from Dubrovnik, today, you get veggie porn instead. The corn and the beans are now all in the bed and other than the tumbling toms in the pots, the tomatoes are still too small to transplant, but we are hopeful.

 

 

No, we won’t be eating French beans any time soon, but I have faith … And the corn is finally getting a little bit of warm weather and sunshine.

 

Tomatoes are a long way from ready to plant out. Too much cool weather.

 

 

The tumbling toms are looking good though.

 

 

I’m fully expecting to be inspired, as I always am in Croatia, and who knows what stories I’ll bring back for Jet-lagged and Lusting. Perhaps Mr. Sands will have an urge to visit Dubrovnik.

 

 

 

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 2

Mr. Sands’ story, as I suspected, is far from finished. Last week we left Elise North at a Wetherspoon’s  keeping an eye on Daniel Sands as he kept an eye on the woman who had been his inflight meal. Elise North is a PI with something extra, and … you guessed it, she works for Magda Gardener. Can’t tell you how much fun Elise and I are having pursuing Mr. Sands in this unfolding Medusa’s Consortium tale. I hope you’re enjoying our voyeuristic encounters as well.

 

If you missed Part 1, follow the link

 

In pursuit of Mr. Sands Pt. 2

Safely tucked in my booth at Wetherspoon’s, I observed Daniel Sands observing his victim. The word victim didn’t really feel right under the circumstances. The glow in the woman’s face spoke of a well-satisfied lover rather than a victim. And if I wasn’t mistaken, Daniel Sands observed the woman with true affection and more than a little bit of pride. I knew Magda Gardener had at least one vampire on her consortium, and there was a succubus. Both could drain a life away easily and without batting an eye to satisfy their needs, but they didn’t. It was clear that neither did Mr. Sands, though I didn’t know if that were always the case or simply because it was not wise to leave a string of dead bodies on a commercial airliner. As I watched him watching her, I couldn’t help but bask – vicariously of course — in a little bit of their afterglow.

I followed him following her to the car park. Oh they didn’t notice. I have a way of going unnoticed when I want to. It’s one of the skills Magda hired me for. I watched him watching her from beside a black Audi, and I felt the exact moment when he chose to let her see him. She had just settled into her Mini  – an older version — but she didn’t start the engine, as I knew she wouldn’t. Instead she looked around her in nervous anticipation. Oh she wouldn’t have seen him if he hadn’t wanted her to. Being able to hide in plain sight was one of his survival techniques just as it was mine. At the moment when her heart rate had accelerated just so — you know that moment I’m talking about — when the serious gallop of foreplay isn’t enough any longer, when the body demands more. At that moment when her anticipation was palpable and so was his, he took from her once more. Oh it was just one little nibble. I suspected from a distance he could do little more, but that was another question to add to my growing research list. With his taking, he offered her one last little reward before he freed her completely from his thrall. It only took a raise of his hand to rest and a slight flexing of his fingers, and she came. I felt the pulsing of her orgasm deep in my chest. And him, well there was a sense of euphoria that radiated off him like heat waves. If it were even possible the glow of good health and maleness at its prime that he exuded grew even stronger. And then he just stood there watching as she drove away.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and got into the car Magda’s people had provided – an apple red Merc AMG that fit me like a glove. Inside I pulled up Magda’s number on the blue tooth.

“He touched me,” I said when she picked up. “On the plane when he was making his rounds. I had to let him. I had no choice really.”

“And?”

“Why, yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking and no, he didn’t hurt me and he didn’t suspect anything.”

Her silence told me in no uncertain terms she was unimpressed with my sarcasm. “And?” She repeated.

“He’s staying at a flat in Soho. He stays here in London until he’s ready for another night flight, unless he decides to fly home.” I recited the address.

“You found all that out from touching him?”

“No. I found that out by taking a peek at his landing card in the Passport control queue.”

Her chuckle was like fur against bare skin and I couldn’t help but wonder if our fearless leader was perhaps a powerful succubus. I’d heard that she could be very charming, hypnotic, in fact. But mostly I’d heard she was flat out terrifying, and she liked it fine that way. It left no doubt as to who was in control of the Consortium. Other than that I knew little about her. I’d never met her personally. She recruited me through a friend of a friend. In the year I’d worked for her, I’d not spoken to her at all until I was assigned to tail Daniel Sands. Him, for some reason, she took a personal interest in, so I was given a phone with only her number programmed in. It was equipped with several other high tech upgrades that made me feel a bit like 007. I knew it was as much her way of tracking me as it was mine of finding her, but then I did have a subcutaneous chip for that. So, what I could glean from the situation was that Magda Gardener wanted Daniel Sands very badly, that Magda Gardener had very deep pockets – which I already knew, and that I was not nearly as expendable as she might have me believe. Listening to her voice and even knowing what I knew, I still had a hard time imagining that she could be more terrifying than some of the nightmares I’d come up against. The thing is, working for her was interesting, and the pay and the benefits were incredible.

“You’re a resourceful little shadow, aren’t you,” she all but purred in my ear. And I all but preened my response.

“I do my best.” I smiled at my reflection in the mirror above the visor as I refreshed my lippy.

“You’ll be texted the address of your flat in Soho as soon as we secure you one. It’ll be ready when you arrive.”

I was practically drooling at the thought. Magda Gardener had expensive tastes, and she treated her employees as though they did too. Having said that, she would have no qualms about making me stay in a crack house if that’s what it took to secure what she wanted, and I’d certainly stayed in worse.

I’d barely made it to the motorway before I got the text with the address of my temporary digs. I was impressed. Clearly I wasn’t the only savvy person who worked for Magda Gardener. The place was right across the street from Mr. Sands’ flat with a perfect view of his big bay window and the entrance to the building. I arrived to find the fridge was fully stocked and the closet full of clothes. We’re talking high-end designer stuff that I knew would fit me like a dream. Most of the time I’m called upon to travel at the drop of a hat. There’s seldom time to pack. I receive a passport, credit cards and cash – whatever I’ll need for my cover. Can’t count the number of gorgeous outfits and expensive jewelry I’ve had to leave behind because of time restraints and other … more pressing issues. The necessary accouterments are usually waiting for me when I arrive. As I said, Magda Gardener has expensive tastes. The place was also equipped with state of the art surveillance equipment. The bugs, I would have to find a way to get into his flat myself. But I was confident I could do that with no problems. I made a quick sandwich, drank a gallon of water and, after a quick shower, I went to work.

Pretending to be doing a customer relations survey for the airline, I telephoned the woman who had been Mr. Sands’ inflight meal. Sarah Martin was her name, and she managed a bookstore in Brixton. She had scrimped and saved for her holiday in the Big Apple, had gone with empty suite cases and came back with them crammed with bargains. Being upgraded to first class for the trip home was the cherry on the fabulous holiday cake for her. Sadly, all she remembered about her first class flight was that the food was fab and she’d slept right through most of it. Oh, and the flight attendants had been particularly helpful. Perhaps that one final orgasm had also wiped her memory of events Mr. Sands would prefer she not share with nosy people like me and Magda Gardener. None of the flight attendants who knew about Mr. Sands could be reached for comment. I was informed they’d all made quick turnarounds on other international flights, which I found rather strange since after an international flight, one would have expected at least an overnight layover to rest.

All this I did by phone, along with loads of online research of incubi in general and what information I could find, scant little that it was, on Sands specifically. We suspected he lived somewhere in the Hebrides. But no one knew exactly where, and in truth he was nearly as much of a highclass vagabond as I was. Most of the research was connected to resources Magda had given me when she gave me the assignment. I had lots of time for research and phone calls because for two days and nights Mr. Sands didn’t leave his flat. I know because I could see him moving about inside. He wasn’t secretive about his presence. He never drew the curtains, even when he was fresh from the shower or undressing for bed. Perhaps it was a part of his thrall to hide in plain sight and yet be so irresistibly visible that he was like a peacock fanning his tail and advertising for a mate. At any rate, he had my full attention.

It was the second morning that I began to suspect he knew he was being watched, that he even relished the idea. Of course he would, wouldn’t he? But I never thought for a moment that I was in danger. He was, after all, just an incubus. I’d dealt with worse.

He slipped from the bathroom in a wave of steam with nothing but a towel tucked low around his hips. I nearly spilled tea down my shirt at the exquisite view he afforded me. I watched with heart racing as he disappeared momentarily and returned with a cup of coffee and a copy of The Guardian. Okay, I’ll admit it delighted me more than it probably should have, since this was my job. But he parked himself in the wing backed chairs smack dab in front of the big bay window and, as he sipped and perused the paper, folded for an easy one-handed read, his other hand strayed to his lap. As though he were barely mindful of the act, he opened the towel and cupped himself absently. Any man might sit in the privacy of his living room on a Sunday morning and, without giving it a second thought, reach for a fondle and a caress and perhaps a little scratch of his junk. I would do the same if I were a man, if I had such an interesting, intriguing appendage there between my legs always vying for my attention. But that Mr. Sands was indulging in such an ordinary act of maleness was what made it so extraordinary. I don’t know why I expected him not to indulge in what was such a quintessentially male act, but by the time he laid the paper aside, leaned back into the chair and opened his legs for a good grope, I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to.

He couldn’t see me. I was sure of it, and it was my job to spy on him. Still there was something so naughty about me watching while he stroked and caressed his lengthening cock, that it was all I could do not to feel guilty. And perhaps the guilt, the little niggle of shame put the edge in my own growing arousal as I adjusted to hold the binoculars in one hand and slip the other inside my panties.

His fingers were long and slender as they curled around his heft and moved up and down the length of him. His efforts became ambidextrous as he palmed and cupped his sac while fisting and stroking his erection. The shifting of his hips, the tensing of the muscles in his thighs and his flat, tight belly, the way his toes curled into the soft carpet — together they were all such human acts that it was easy to forget they were being performed by someone who was not human. With a start I realized I was mirroring his efforts, toes curling, hips thrusting, fingers darting in and out of slick depths and over rising hardness. I could hardly believe what I was seeing, nor what I was doing, and it was only as my shuddering release shook the binoculars fracturing the arching spasms of his own release, unashamedly poured out onto the floor in front of him that I raised the lenses just enough to take in his face. I expected to see a man lost in his own pleasure, not a man whose cold eyes were locked on me. I swallowed a yelp of surprise, as though he might somehow hear me and the last thing I saw before I dropped the binoculars on the floor and fled my vantage point was his mouth quirking in a wicked smile.

 

Cover Reveal for Diantha Jones’ Oracle of Delphi Prophecy of Solstice’s End

 

 

Prophecy of Solstice’s End

Oracle of Delphi #3

By Diantha Jones

 

 

 

 

BLURB:

Summer Solstice is here. Let the games begin.

Nothing but lies (some of them her own) and deceit have brought Chloe to Olympus for the Solstice Olympic Games. As the Oracle and the special guest of the King of Myth, Chloe becomes immersed in a life of unfathomable luxury, taunting history, and overwhelming excitement. Though scheming and untrustworthy, the gods remain on their best behavior as the tension and anticipation builds around the outcome of the Quest of the Twelve Labors, the deadliest competition of the Games. All seems well on the celestial front…until athletes start turning up dead and a philosopher missing for months returns with a most terrifying story…

But that’s not all.

 

As Strafford confronts his troubled past and more is learned about the Great Unknown Prophecy, Chloe grows close to another, setting off a chain of events that will bring her face-to-face with a truth that will rock both of her worlds to their core.

 

And it’ll all happen before Solstice’s end…

 

 

 

 

Book Links:

Amazon | B&N | Goodreads

 

 

 

 

About Diantha Jones:

Diantha Jones loves writing fantasy books filled with adventure, romance, and magic. She’s the author of the Oracle of Delphi series, the Mythos series, and the Djinn Order series (as A. Star). When she isn’t writing or working, she is reading or being hypnotized by Netflix. She is a serious night-owl and while everyone else is grinning in the warmth and sunlight, she’s hoping for gloominess and rain. Yeah, she’s weird like that.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Goodreads (A. Star) | Amazon | Pinterest | DJ’s Book Corner

 

Out Now—Silent Voices by Thom Collins (@thomwolf @realthomcollins) #gay #romance #thriller

Silent VoicesBlurb:

A desire for justice as strong as their passion for each other.

Concerned about the welfare of his young cousin, Josh Jackson, a restaurant owner, traces the boy to Winterstone Grange, a gated manor deep in the country. Miles from anywhere, the protected walls of this stately house conceal dark secrets. Josh’s search brings him into contact with Ed Brolin, a handsome journalist who has spent weeks investigating the secrets of the Grange and its owner. Ray Armstrong is a wealthy business man with influential connections in Parliament and the police. Ed knows exactly what goes on at the Grange but without evidence, he hasn’t got a story.

Drawn together by instant attraction and a powerful hunger for justice, Josh and Ed are determined to expose the sordid secrets of the grange despite the risks it poses. Josh has never met a man like Ed before—so strong, determined and masculine. Falling in love is easy. But they’ll have to put their emotions aside if they’re going to give a voice to all the silent victims of Winterstone Grange.

BUY LINKS:

Pride Publishing: https://www.pride-publishing.com/book/silent-voices

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2oWUfrx

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2nx15UR

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/silent-voices-15

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/silent-voices-thom-collins/1126168330

*****

Excerpt:

Josh Jackson didn’t worry when his cousin failed to come home. It was Saturday night and Kevin was eighteen. Josh wasn’t about to impose a curfew on the kid. Neither was he going to babysit. Kevin was old enough to take care of himself.

Josh checked Kevin’s room when he came home from work at one o’clock. The spare bed hadn’t been made since Kevin had gotten out of it that morning and yesterday’s clothes were all over the floor—discarded jeans with his boxers still inside them, a scruffy T-shirt and a pair of dirty socks. The smell of the socks hit him from the doorway. Despite the reek of cheap deodorant and aftershave filling the room, the socks were pungent. Teenagers. Josh wasn’t about to tidy up after him so he left things as they were, including the damp towel draped over the foot of the bed. The kid was only staying a few nights. If he wanted to live in a mess like that, so be it, so long as he left the place as he’d found it when he moved on.

Josh shut the door and went to bed. He wished his cousin luck. If the boy wanted to get laid, he’d rather he did it somewhere else. It was bad enough that Josh’s lodger, Bobby, regarded the place as a Grindr pit stop, without his cousin treating it like a knocking shop, too.

Josh read for a while and half-listened for the sound of Kevin coming home, but eventually fell asleep.

He wasn’t overly concerned in the morning to find Kevin’s room just as he’d left it, though by now it smelled considerably worse. The fancy fragrances had worn off and all that remained was the fetid odor of teenage sweat and damp towel. So, he stayed out all night. Good on him. Josh had been a teenager once, a horny one at that, so he could totally relate. Kevin wouldn’t get the chance to fuck around much when he was at home. His mother had very rigid views on that. It wouldn’t have mattered whether Kevin had turned out straight or gay. His mother had raised a good boy and intended to keep him that way.

Kevin will be going back to her in a couple of days. He might as well have fun while the leash is off.

He was a good-looking lad. Josh knew he’d be popular in town. A little baby-faced for his age, but with the family features of blue eyes and blond hair, his fresh twinkie image would attract plenty of attention. He looked a lot like Josh had at that age. Josh had been a slim-looking twink until well into his twenties. It was only in the last few years he’d filled out with muscle and looked more like a man. The beard helped. How grateful he’d been when the ability to grow more than a few wisps of pale chin-fluff finally occurred. He kept it neat with a regular trim, but now that he had grown a beard, he couldn’t ever see himself being without one.

Josh called Kevin’s mobile while waiting for his morning coffee to brew. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. “Hi, it’s me,” he said. “Not checking up on you, I just want to know you’re okay. Give me a ring back, or a text when you get this message. Just to say you’re alive… Otherwise I’ll have to call your mother,” he added jokingly and hung up.

He had bigger concerns than a randy teenager. His restaurant, The Cellar Steps, was short on staff today and fully booked for both lunch and dinner. He’d asked all his remaining staff to come in early to help with the prep and service, which meant getting in even earlier himself. As the owner, it wasn’t necessary, since he employed a manager for the day-to-day running, but Josh believed in setting an example from the top down. That meant rolling up his sleeves when things got tight. He thought about putting a little cash Kevin’s way to help out, if he arrived home in decent time and wasn’t too hung over.

He heard the heavy thud of the newspapers landing in the hall. Perfect timing. A little news and some freshly brewed coffee. A relaxing start to an otherwise hectic day.

Josh sat at the kitchen table with multiple Sunday supplements spread all around him when Bobby stumbled out of his bedroom in just his boxers and a T-shirt, yawning and scratching his belly and balls at the same time. His semi-hard dick waggled in the front of his shorts. Bobby lurched into the bathroom and returned a few minutes later, looking fractionally more awake, minus morning wood.

“Coffee?” Bobby asked. “Okay if I help myself?”

“You know where it is,” Josh said, drawing back from the stench of alcohol that came off him in stale waves. “Jesus, your blood must be one hundred proof.”

“I think I’m still drunk,” Bobby observed. “The hangover hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“I don’t envy you when it does.”

“One cup of this and I’m crawling back beneath the duvet.”

Josh looked at him uncertainly. An idea had just occurred to him. He hoped he was wrong. “I don’t suppose my cousin is under that duvet with you?”

Bobby chuckled, his dark eyes crinkling. “Wouldn’t that be something? He is kinda hot. But little blond cupcakes are not my thing. In Kevin’s case, I could make an exception. Maybe.”

“But did you?”

“Too close to home, bro. The kid’s a cutie but he ain’t worth the earache. I’d never hear the last of it.”

It was some relief. Josh didn’t have a problem with his young cousin fucking around—but with Bobby, no way. His lodger was a good friend but a total slut. Kevin would need a lot more experience under his belt before he was ready for that old hound. “I don’t suppose you do know where he is? He hasn’t been home.”

“He’s between somebody’s sheets, all right. I walked into town with him last night, had a drink and showed him where to go.”

“You left him on his own?”

“No, he left me. I guess I cramped his style. He headed off toward Gala Square with a group of studenty types. He didn’t know how fast to ditch me once he got to talking to people his own age.”

Josh loosened up again. He’d been right about Kevin. He knew what he was doing. A young man in a new city making friends fast. There was nothing to worry about.

*****

Thom Collins Bio

Thom Collins is the author of the novel Closer by Morning, with Pride Publishing. His love of page turning thrillers began at an early age when his mother caught him reading the latest Jackie Collins book and promptly confiscated it, sparking a life-long love of raunchy novels.

His novella Silent Voices will be published by Pride in May, followed by the novel Anthem of the Sea, the first book in the Anthem Trilogy. He has recently finished writing the second book in a series and is making plans for the third.

Thom has lived in the North East of England his whole life. He grew up in Northumberland and now lives in County Durham with his husband and two cats. He loves all kinds of genre fiction, especially bonk-busters, thrillers, romance and horror. He is also a cookery book addict with far too many titles cluttering his shelves. When not writing he can be found in the kitchen trying out new recipes. He’s a keen traveler but with a fear of flying that gets worse with age. Since taking his first cruise in 2013 he realized that sailing is the way to go.

Links:

Blog: http://www.thomcollinsauthor.blogspot.co.uk

Twitter:   @thomwolf     and  @realthomcollins

Email: thomcollinsauthor@aol.com

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