Horse Power: Another Jet-Lagged and Lusting Story

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I promised fun and travel frolic during the two weeks I’m on holiday in Oregon with my sister, and as my time draws to a close, I’m very pleased to bring you another travel and jet-lag inspired story. We didn’t get to the Oregon Coast this year on my visit to my sister, but my visit last year inspired visions of night rides on wild horses along a windswept beach. I’ve wanted to write a story set in that lovely landscape ever since. Horse Power is the result of that inspiring place. Enjoy!

 

Horse Power

I didn’t think it strange when I first saw the horse running on the beach in the middle of the night. That in itself was strange … that I didn’t think it strange, I mean. It was a very high tide and the wind was just blowing out the tail end of a storm, which was not going out peacefully. I didn’t think it strange that the white horse, who looked almost silver in the moonlight, was alone, frolicking in the waves. I didn’t even think it strange when I glanced away long enough to pull on my bathrobe and looked up to find a man standing where the horse had been. That he was naked and that the horse was nowhere in sight I didn’t think was really all that strange either. I just figured as jet lagged as I’d been the past couple of days I was dreaming, and a disappearing white horse and a hunky naked man on a midnight beach well that was a helluva lot better than some of the jet lagged dreams I’d had.

 

I had rented a cottage on the beach near Lincoln City for a bit of holiday and some much-needed downtime from my hectic schedule. I’ve often wondered how different my life would have been if I’d gone to the mountains instead. But hindsight is always better than foresight, and it’s better not to dwell on what I can’t change. I spent a lot of the first couple of days wandering the cottage in the middle of the night and sitting on the deck watching the ocean. That’s what I’d been doing when I saw the horse and then the man. As I watched, suddenly a wave high enough to cover a house swept over him, and I cried out, dropping the untied sash of my robe and pressing my face to the sliding glass door of the cottage. I had no idea what to do. No one could swim in that high sea. I didn’t even know who to call – 911, the Coast Guard, the police. As the wave scoured the beach, I stood nose pressed to the glass, heart racing. I had to do something. But what? And who would believe me? Surely anyone I did call would think that I was on something, or drunk, or … jet lagged. If there had been a man on the beach such a wave would have washed him far out to sea by the time anyone got there to check out my call. Still, I couldn’t just do nothing.

 

Straining my eyes to make out the darkened beach, I fumbled for my phone on the table next to me. I only glanced away for a split second to grab the device, but when I looked back, as the waves receded, the man was standing unmoved exactly where he had been. No, I think he was even closer. His back was to me, and he seemed to be looking up at the moon, his arms raised, his head thrown back. For a moment the thought flashed through my head that he might have been a marble sculpture standing there on the sand.

 

But then he turned, and honestly, I forgot all about my speculations. He was magnificent, unruly hair tossed around his head in the wind, water glistened and sheened off his arms and torso and dripped down the curves of his elbows and buttocks. He was muscle and sinew – not like a body builder, more like a dancer. But even a dancer couldn’t move like he did. He moved like the waves and the water. He flowed, muscles undulating beneath taut moonlit skin. I was so mesmerized by the look of him, the move of him that it took me a second to realize not only was he walking toward where I stood inside the cottage, gawping at him, robe wide open, but he was looking right at me.
Horse waterhorse 2storm.510x599I should have stepped back out of view. I should have pulled the curtains. I probably should have been terrified, but I just stood there staring. As he moved across the sand it was impossible not to notice his heavy cock becoming heavier with each step until he rested a protective hand against it, a hand that both protected and caressed, and the clench and tremble below my belly was a sign of just how aware of his cock I was. I was far more aware of my body warming and moistening and swelling to the sight of him than I was of the fact that a strange naked man on the beach was watching me with hunger in his eyes. By the time he reached the deck that led to the sliding doors of my room, the arousal I felt was liberally laced with fear, but when he vaulted the railing as easily as if it hadn’t even been there, I let out a shriek, dropped my cell phone on the floor in my efforts to jerk the curtains shut and fled into the bathroom. It was only after I locked the door behind me that I realized I had stupidly trapped myself. There was no window in the bathroom, no escape route if he did find a way in. Every horror film I’d ever seen rushed back to me along with every serial killer tale I’d ever heard. Abductions, tortures, kidnappings and white slavery all ran through my head for a split second. Be calm, Sadie! Be calm. It’s just your imagination. Surely it’s just your imagination, I told myself.

 

I woke in the morning stiff and sore and sprawled on the bathroom floor in my robe. There was nothing I could use for a weapon, and my watch read 9:00. The wind had died down, and if the forecast was right, the sun would be out and it would be a beautiful day. I cinched my bathrobe tight around my waist and, with fingers none too steady, unlocked the door, took a deep breath and poked my head out. The cottage was deserted, everything exactly as I’d left it, curtains hastily drawn, phone on the floor near the edge of the bed. After gathering enough courage to open the curtain and venture onto the deck, I discovered everything exactly as it had been the evening before. There were no footprints on the decking, no footprints on the sand beyond. There was no evidence of the naked man at all.

 

I dressed hastily and walked out onto the beach behind the deck. There were no footprints of any kind up close to my cottage, just lots of strange odd-shaped indentions in the sand. In my muzzy-headed condition, it took me a few minutes to realize they were hoof prints. I just figured someone had been out for an early-morning ride, though I thought it was a bit cheeky for them to come this close to my cottage.

As I went through the day, a little shopping in Lincoln city, a drive up the coast, lunch at Tidal Raves in Depoe Bay, my thoughts about the naked man on the beach became less thoughts of the scary stalker kind and more thoughts of wondering what might have happened if I’d invited him in when we were both clearly aroused by the situation. After a long walk on the beach in the afternoon sun, the man constantly in my thoughts, I masturbated in a long steamy shower leaning up against the tiles pretending the spray was the rain and the waves, that it was his mouth making my nipples tingle and rise, that it was his fingers opening me, stroking me, finding all the places that made me grind and shift and buck like a mare waiting for a stallion, that it was his fingers spreading me and making me ready for his cock. Thoughts of his cock reminded me of the white horse on the beach, and that made me wonder at the enormity of my need thinking of him vaulting my deck railing, thinking of the horse frolicking in the waves, thinking of the ebb and flow, of the undulation of sex, of his body penetrating mine; thinking of the overwhelming wave of release I might have had if I’d simply opened the sliding door and let him in.

 

When the sun set, I became ridiculously bold – perhaps it was due to jet lag, but certainly a couple of glasses of good Oregon Pinot Noir didn’t hurt. I stripped out of my clothes and wrapped myself in a blanket, then I settled in the chaise lounge with my glass of wine and my Kindle. I always had several erotic novels pulled up for my reading pleasure. I had a lot of sexual energy and at that point in my life, I was my only outlet, so I read a lot of erotica and watched a bit of porn now and then, but the man on the beach was even better than porn, and he was my own fantasy story come to life And then I’d ran away from him! I couldn’t really believe he was real, and yet if he was a dream, it really pissed me off that I’d done something so stupid as to run away rather than to stay and let him properly fuck me. I didn’t place much stock in lucid dreaming. I figured you get what you get, and your unconscious has a vicious sense of humor when it comes to the dreams you get, but I really, really wanted to revisit the man on the stormy beach. Instead, I got the horse.
It was the soft whickering that woke me. The moon had risen in a bright disk painting the pale horse in a silver grey dance of light and shadow. He pranced and sidestepped just beyond the edge of the waves, tossing his main, tail flowing like a kite behind him as he frolicked. Then suddenly he stilled, as though he were aware of my wakefulness. Seeing that I was no threat, he moved forward toward me. I stood, pulling the blanket tightly around me and moved to the rail, then I remembered the bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. “I’ve got something for you, boy,” I said. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

 

HorseUnknownI was only gone a minute — just long enough to nab an apple, but when I returned, the horse wasn’t alone. The man from last night sat astride him, just as naked as he was the night before. But this time I wasn’t scared. This time I felt myself in control of the dream. He watched as I strode boldly down the steps onto the sand and offered the apple to the horse, feeling the soft velvet of his muzzle against my palm as he took my offering.

 

Then the horse gave me a gentle head butt and I lost my grip on the blanket. As it slid away, the man offered me his hand. It was a dream, I told myself. It had to be, so I lifted my hands to him letting the blanket fall away as he bent and scooped me one-armed onto the broad back of the horse and settled me in front of him. I gave a little gasp as, with the flat of his large hand low on my belly, he pulled me back against his hard naked chest.

 

And then we were like the wind racing down the beach dangerously close to the swell of the waves. The spray took my breath and stung my eyes and for a moment I saw nothing but a blur. He slid his hand up my belly to caress my breasts, and on upward to cup my throat and my jaw, drawing me around, and I twisted and arched toward him as he mantled me and took my mouth and I breathed in the fresh breath of the storm humid and wild on his kiss, a kiss that lingered and deepened as the rhythm of the horse drove me back against his body, back against the urgency of his cock pressed to the small of my back.

 

Once he was certain I wouldn’t pull away from the dance of his tongue, his caress migrated downward again, thumbing my nipples until I squirmed and ached, stroking my belly in little kneading circles, each one lower than the one before, until he shivered his fingers down through my tight pubic curls. Even spread wide as I was mounted on the muscular back of the horse, unconsciously, I opened still wider as he teased and worried his way between my legs.

 

I pressed hard back against his body for leverage to get long thick fingers into places slick as seaweed and more heated than the laboring back of the horse. He intuited the depths of me where the hungry places begged and wept for release. With fingertips and the broad flat of his thumb, he explored the valleys and folds, the swells and depths until I growled and arched and forgot how to be civilized. The salt spray that had misted us now rose above us in glorious curling waves, higher and higher until we road in the dark rise of their foamy shadows. The horse screamed and reared and I fell back against the man, who was now guiding the animal with only his knees, one hand teasing and making me ready, the other cupping my buttocks and lifting me until I could feel the insistent press of him pushing, prodding, opening me. Then with a loud, inhuman cry like a warrior at conquest, he plunged home deep and hard, forcing the breath from my lungs in a desperate cry for relief just as the horse turned headlong into the roll of the wave and took us down to the deep.

 

I came to myself in the semi-doze of the place where fantasy happens, naked breasts peeking to break the surface of the calm ocean undulating beneath me as I let the waves carry me in. It didn’t seem strange to me that I was naked and unafraid in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, nor did it seem strange when I realized I wasn’t in the middle at all, but gently riding the swells in toward the beach next to my rented cottage. It didn’t even seem strange that the sun was rising in the sky when my last memories had been of heated sex and full heavy night. What did seem strange, as I waded up the beach and wrapped myself in the discarded blanket that lay exactly where I’d left it, was that my cottage was swarming with police.

 

From my deck, two uniformed officers spotted me and the place went wild. Before I could speak, I was swarmed by EMTs trying to shove an oxygen mask in my face while one kept telling me just to relax and breathe deeply. When I was finally able to convince everyone that I was all right, a plain clothes detective named Dirk Snyder shooed the EMTs away and guided me the chaise lounge.

 

“What’s going on, detective? Why are all these cops in my cottage?”

 

He took a bottle of water a uniform handed him and gave it to me. When I’d drank most of it back in thirsty gulps, he settled onto his haunches next to me and held me in an earnest gaze. “Ms. Gibbons, you’ve been missing for three days.”

 

“What?” Suddenly the deck felt more like the deck of a ship as the memories of the wild ride on the beach came back to me. “How can that be?”

 

“The cleaner came Tuesday morning and found the place wide open. Several of the neighbors thought they saw you walking into the water. The tides were still high. They feared the worst.”

 

Since that night five years ago, I’ve read everything I can about the gods and goddesses and the spirits of the deep. I’ve read all the mythology and fairy tales I can find about water and water deities. I’ve read about water horses and mermaids and how sometimes they seduce people and take them down to the deep never to be released again. I guess I was lucky. But I’m more inclined to believe there was a reason for my survival. That reason is my daughter, conceived sometime during those three days I was supposedly missing. Every once in a while I have faint recollections, intimations of dreams of a place beneath the waves, of a man and a horse nearly interchangeable — always insatiable, and of me always ready and full of longing. The memories leave me aching with a desire I have no name for, and when I
can stand no more and give myself relief beneath my sweat-drenched sheets or in a foamy bath or a steamy shower, I horseswish I could bring it all back to me – those three days. The child who bears little resemblance to me but is a constant reminder of her father is the beautiful gift he left me, and yet I want more. Every day I want more, and yet I can’t bring myself to return to the sea because I’m afraid he’ll come for us, but I’m even more afraid that he won’t. Someday I’ll gather my courage and take the child he gave me back to that beach at Lincoln City and tell her about her father, and when the tide is high and the storm blows out on the heels of a full moon, we’ll wait for him together. Someday.

Incognito! Lisabet Sarai’s New Expanded Edition Now Available!

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 Shy and serious by day—insatiable by night.incognito_revamp_400

 

 
Not Exactly Romance

My new release, Incognito, focuses on the developing love between my heroine Miranda and her colleague Mark. It ends with a marriage and a honeymoon. Nevertheless, the book is not exactly romance.

Over the course of the book, both Mark and Miranda have sexual adventures with a variety of other people. At first, Miranda’s sexual encounters are deliberately anonymous. Deceived and abandoned by her first lover, Miranda finds that her libido shuts down when she’s with someone she knows and likes. Even after Mark has won her trust, though, the two of them continue behaving in ways most romance couples wouldn’t. They swap partners with Miranda’s best friend and her fiancé, for example. They go cruising together at a gay bar. Both have an experimental streak when it comes to sex. That’s part of what draws them to one another.

I guess it would be accurate to call Incognito “romantic erotica”. If you expect sexual fidelity from your characters, don’t bother with this book. On the other hand, if you’re looking for erotic thrills in the context of a loving relationship, Incognito may be just perfect.

 

Incognito Blurb:

 

Betrayed and abandoned by her first lover, shy and studious Miranda Cahill freezes in response to any sexual attention from someone she knows and likes.

During the day, she works diligently on her doctoral thesis. At night, though, she finds herself drawn into increasingly extreme sexual encounters with strangers. Her anonymous secret life begins to take over when she discovers that the masked seducer she meets in a sex club and the charismatic young professor courting her are the same man.

 

Reader Advisory: This book contains mention of incest involving an aunt and nephew and also scenes of incest involving a pair of M/F cousins. There is both M/M and F/F content within this book, as well as public sex, ménage et trois, swapping of partners, use of foreign objects during sex, anal sex and a scene of dubious consent.

 

Incognito: R-Rated Excerpt

Later, they walked out of the restaurant, into the humid, velvety night. “Come back to Beacon Hill with me,” said Miranda. “We can have a cappuccino at the café across from my apartment, and you can meet Heathcliff.”

 

“Heathcliff? Shades of Wuthering Heights! I thought you shared your apartment with a woman.”

 

“Heathcliff’s my cat, a real sweetie. Lucy, my roommate, is away. In fact, she’s in Paris, with the latest love of her life.”

 

“Sounds like an interesting lady.”

 

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” said Miranda. “But anyway, that’s her private business.” She swallowed hard. “So, are you coming?” She tried to sound offhand, but she wanted him so badly that her voice came out in a little squawk.

 

“I’d love to,” said Mark, putting his arm around her shoulder as they headed for the subway station. “That is, if you want me to.”

 

Miranda did not answer, simply enjoying his warm, casual, comfortable touch.

 

Heathcliff met them at the door. He nosed suspiciously around Mark’s sandals, then jumped up on the bookshelf and stared at him. Mark held out his hand. Heathcliff gave it a perfunctory sniff. Then he began rubbing his head and chin against the outstretched fingers, purring loudly.

 

“He likes you,” said Miranda, delighted at Heathcliff’s approval of her new flame. “He’s a friendly cat, but he’s usually a bit standoffish for the first half hour or so.”

 

Mark scratched the orange tabby under the chin. The purr volume ratcheted up a notch.

 

“He’s great,” said Mark. “And this is a fantastic apartment. Fourteen-foot ceilings, oak floors, and a marble mantelpiece. Does the fireplace work?”

 

“You want a fire on a sweltering night like this?”

 

“Not when I’m with a hot number like you. But it might be cozy to cuddle up here in the winter.”

 

Miranda found that she was blushing. His joking compliment, plus his oblique reference to a future together, made her feel even warmer. “So, would you like a glass of wine? Or would you rather go across the street for coffee?”

 

Mark flopped down on her sofa as if it were his own. Heathcliff immediately curled up beside him. “Wine would be wonderful. Coffee would keep me awake, and I need to be rested for that lecture tomorrow.”

 

Miranda retrieved the open bottle of Pinot Grigio from the refrigerator and poured two glasses. Handing him one, she sat down next to him with her own goblet, on the opposite side from Heathcliff’s tawny body. “To London,” she said, raising her glass.

 

“To London, and other adventures.”

 

They took a few silent sips. What now? thought Miranda. She tingled all over from nervousness, but for once there was no knot of fear in her belly. Mark was looking at her, searching her face as if trying to read her thoughts. The silence lengthened. Ever so slowly, as if he were afraid that she might flee, he reached for her hand. His skin was warm and dry. She suddenly remembered the way he had stroked her palm, the first time they met. The recollection gave her a little thrill.

 

She wondered at her own shyness. Given her recent escapades, she could hardly be called sexually inexperienced, yet she felt as much like a virgin now as she had with Geoff.

 

He was still staring at her, their hands clasped. He must be waiting for me to make the first move, thought Miranda.

 

“Mark…”

 

“Miranda…”

 

They collapsed in laughter as they spoke simultaneously. Somehow, the shared humor erased the tension. Miranda turned toward him and kissed him.

 

His response was immediate and electrifying. His arms encircled her, pulling her close to his chest, while he returned her kiss with a ferocity that was astounding. It was a probing, aggressive, challenging kiss, a kiss that sought out her secrets. His tongue danced in her mouth, boldly exploring. Her sex rippled in response. It was almost as if his tongue was dancing down there, darting in and out of her swollen labia .

 

Miranda moaned and rubbed her breasts against his torso. Her nipples were hard and round as hazelnuts. She was hungry for him, dying to have him touch her.

 

As if in response to her thought, he slid one hand under her shirt and brushed a fingertip across her tit. That simple touch made her writhe. When he rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger,  the sensations dragged her to the very edge of climax. He continued to kiss her, more voluptuously than before, tracing the outline of her lips with his tongue, nibbling and caressing.

 

Hazy with lust, Miranda realized that she had never been this aroused. Not with Geoff. Not with Big Daddy. Everything Mark did felt good. He smelled good, tasted good. She wanted him to surround her and penetrate her. She wanted their bodies to melt together into one.

 

 

 Review QuotesAREBestSellerIcon

 

“Incognito brings a fabulous level of intensity and sensuality to the reader.” ~ Dawnie, Fallen Angels Reviews (5 Angels)

 

“I had almost given up on the current crop of erotic novels, because too many of them have predictable story lines, two dimensional characters and flimsy plotting. However, Incognito is really something different. Sarai skillfully combines the present day storyline with some tantalizing Victorian history. This book is well researched, erudite, well plotted and very sexy. Highly recommended.” ~ Emma K., Amazon (5 stars)


“Incognito is truly a buffet of pleasures, with something for everyone. There’s the enjoyment of piecing together the mirroring, multi-layered narratives. Historical and literary echoes provide extra spice for the careful reader—in particular Shakespeare fans might enjoy the parallels to Miranda in The Tempest—all sweetened with abundant humor and clever feminist twists. Always you’ll find masterful prose in sizzling erotic scenes that offer flavors to please any palate. And last but not least, the novel will change your view of the world in surprising ways.” Donna George Story, Erotica Readers and Writers Association.

 

Buy Links (Ebook and Print)

 

Amazon US

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CG9CKTQ

 

Amazon UK

http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01CG9CKTQ

 

Barnes & Noble

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/incognito-lisabet-sarai/1100410132?ean=9781786510174

 

Totally Bound

https://www.totallybound.com/incognito

 

All Romance

An All Romance Best Seller!

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-incognito-2018099-147.html

 

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29383360-incognito

 

 

About LisabetlisabetFace

 

LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.

 

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Episode 11

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Psychology of Dreams cover12985576_1537272663241009_8777292825525497968_nWelcome to Part 11 of The Psychology of Dreams, in which Leah takes control of the dream.

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I don’t get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious and I had to share it. Since then,the Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination in some pretty unusual ways, and never taking the path I’d expect, but then dreams are like that, aren’t they? Enjoy episode 8!

 

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

If you’ve missed Episode 1, find it here. 

 

WARNING ADULT CONTENT! It occurred to me halfway through writing this episode of The Psychology of Dreams that this little tale might be a bit of a shock for those who just finished reading In The Flesh. While In The Flesh is dark paranormal romance, The Psychology of Dreams is just raunchy, fun erotica, a bit of light relief after Magda and her Consortium. Be warned, light it may be, but filthy it most certainly is. Enjoy!

 

Chapter 11 Dominating the Dream

The car dissolved around them. They were suddenly back in Dr. Clyde’s office, and it was Al’s cock she was sucking. Dr. Clyde watched from behind his desk. “So how long have you been having these dreams, Leah?” He asked, make some note on his legal pad.

She released Al’s cock with a pop of her lips, and he gave a soft curse of protest as she wiped her mouth and sat down next to him. “Only since I started taking Al’s Psychology of Dreams class. But not at the beginning. At the beginning, I couldn’t remember my dreams at all. Al told me to set an alarm and keep a journal and a pen on my bedside table.” Right on cue, her alarm went off, and she sprang up like a jack in the box in the middle of her own bed, fumbled for the dream journal and pen on her nightstand and began to write furiously. Dawn was just breaking when she finished the details of the dream uninterrupted. She was just beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, the whole thing had been nothing more than a dream, all the way back to her first meeting with Al after class, when she heard a soft moan and felt motion in the bed next to her.

“Did you get it all written down?” Dr. Clyde lay next to her naked, stroking his cock, as he craned his neck to read what she’d written, and her heart sunk, even as the man’s tugging and pulling of his cock aroused her.

“Where’s Al,” she asked laying the journal back on the nightstand.

“He’ll meet us in the dungeon,” Dr. Clyde reached out and gave her breasts a fondle as she settled back against the headboard, realizing with a start that she was naked too. “It’s time for his dream now.”

“But we haven’t finished mine.”

“After observing the two of you in the dream, I’ve developed a theory.”

“A theory?”

“I think that perhaps we won’t be able to finish your dream until we visit Al’s dreamscape. The two are somehow linked. We’ve established that fact already. Your dreams didn’t start until you began keeping a dream journal for Al’s class.”

“Okay, then what do I need to do?” she said, bracing herself for another long scenario in Dreamland.

“Put those on.” Dr. Clyde nodded to a pair of thigh-high black boots that looked way more scary than sexy with their trim of chain and dog collar spikes. Lying across the foot of the bed, where she was certain there had been nothing before was a black leather corset and a scary-looking leather flogger. She panicked. “I can’t wear those. I’m not a dominatrix.”

“You are in Al’s dream.” He gave a little shrug, as he stood to put on his usual dapper shirt and trousers. “Well someone is in Al’s dream, and he knows it’s a woman. It might as well be you since you’re the only woman in this dream.” He gave his tie a final tug into position, adjusted his collar and nodded the door. “Dungeon is in there.” And suddenly they were back in his office again, her dressed in the black leather corset and boots, flogger in hand. The good doctor nodded to a door to the left of the Cordovan sofa. When she balked, he nodded again. “Well, go on then. We don’t have all night.”

They did, actually, the did have all night, but that was something she’d rather not be reminded of. Being held captive in your own dream was turning out to be a nightmare within itself, she thought. She took a deep breath and pulled open the door. To her surprise it didn’t lead to a dark, kinky dungeon, but instead it lead right back to Al’s classroom.

Al, who had been pacing in front of the desk, turned to them, gave her a lookover that seemed more shell-shocked than aroused. She blushed. Then he glanced up at Dr. Clyde. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for ages.”

“No you haven’t,” Clyde said. “It just seems that way because you’re dreaming. Do you have it?”

“What do you mean, do I have it?” Al replied. “Why the hell would I have it? It doesn’t belong to me. I didn’t even know she was going to do … that, until she did. Besides how do you know it was Leah?”

“Dreams always provide you with everything you need.” The doctor moved behind the desk and pulled open the bottomless middle drawer from which he extracted a shiny black strap-on in a leather harness and handed it to Leah, holding it up by the harness as though it were a fish on the line.

Leah stepped back shaking her head. “I can’t put that on. I can’t …” she nodded at Al, who was already opening his fly. “I can’t … do him.”

“Of course you can, ”Clyde said. “We’re in Al’s dream now, Leah, darling, and if he dreams that you fuck his tender backside, then you’ll not only do just that, but you’ll enjoy it immensely, and so will he.”

Al nodded his agreement as he lowered his jeans and boxers over his hips and shoved them down around his knees. His cock looked pretty enthusiastic.

“Here, let me help you into that,” Dr. Clyde said as he hurried Leah into the strap-on and tightened the harness with efficiency that made her suspect he’d done this before.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said again, looking down at the shiny black dildo bobbing in front of her, and in spite of herself, she felt the clench and tremble of growing arousal. “I don’t think I can — ” Her words died in her throat with a little gasp as Al knelt in front of her, hands crossed behind his back as though they had been tied and, gaze locked on her, took the dildo deep into his mouth. The first awkward movement made his eyes water, made him choke and sputter, but when she tried to back away, Dr. Clyde moved up close behind her and gently stroked her hair. “Let him do this. Let him show you how to dominate him, then you’ll intuit what he needs, what you both need.” He guided her hand onto Al’s head, and she curled her fingers in his hair, easing him forward, urging him to take the dildo deeper, which he did willingly, enthusiastically. With only a little more battling to relax the gag reflex, to open deep to her, he found his rhythm, tears streaming from his efforts, saliva sheening his chin and, in his rhythm, the doctor lowered his hand to her hip and began to rock her forward and back until she got it, until she got the shove and thrust of the dildo, the urgent clench of gluteal muscles, the desperate push of the pubic bone. It was the rhythm of sex, the male rhythm of sex, the primal demand to penetrate, to dominate, to possess. She was lost in the archetypal power of its otherness, so different from her own sexuality – a power she did not, by nature possess, but took upon herself now as it was offered up to her, and into the press of heavy breathing and suckling and groaning, came the zip of a fly, and the heavy insistence of Dr. Clyde’s erection against her bare ass startled her out of the mental space where she’d been. As he worried her open with his fingers to make her ready, her anger rose.

“Did I give you permission to fuck me, Clyde?” She was startled to find that even her voice sounded different, deeper, more powerful.

f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6a    “But I thought – ”

“I didn’t give you permission to think either. I dominate this dream, and you will do nothing without my orders, is that clear?”

“But I — ”

“Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” came the reply that sounded as unlike the arrogant, in control, Dr. Clyde as her own voice sounded like the shy reclusive Leah, and she felt a surge of power deep in her core.

“Good, then I want you to make Al ready for me.”

“Mistress?” Clyde’s face went crimson, and he glanced desperately at the door behind them.

“You heard me. I want you to make him ready for me. I want to fuck him, and I want him to be open for me when I do.”

Landscapes is Now Available for Preorder! Alonso Darlington Responds to the News

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Landscapes“Landscapes is up for preorder!

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Those were the first words out of Alonso Darlington’s mouth. Even over the phone and calling from the safe distance of the Lake District (or at least I hoped he was) talking to the only vampire I’d had a close encounter with gave me a rise of goose bumps, and the sudden acceleration of my pulse was from more than knowing who and what he was. It was from knowing why he was, once again, unhappy with me.

 

My M/M novella, Landscapes, just went up for preorder, with a launch date set for 24th May. I have to admit I’m very excited about it, but I truly figured Alonso had forgotten about my sharing of his story and forgotten about me in general. Apparently vampires have long memories. He wasn’t happy when the novella was first published as a part of the fabulous M/M Boxed Set, Brit Boys: On Boys. I don’t know what made me think he’d be happy about me publishing it as a stand-alone.

 

“How’s Reese?” I asked, hoping to distract him. My voice came out a breathless squeak. “What about Talia? Tell her hi for me.” Talia was his friend and the resident succubus at High View, his remote, crumbling fortress in the Lakeland Fells, and even though she was at least as scary as he was, I sort of felt like she was my ally … kind of.

 

“Don’t try to change the subject Ms. Grace. You know I don’t like you splashing my private life all over your books for the whole world to read. I thought we’d come to an … understanding.”

 

The understanding was sort of that maybe he wouldn’t drain me dry or rip my throat out, maybe, if I went home and didn’t push the issue any further. But seriously, I was never really sure if I dreamed his invitation (more like demand) to visit him at his Lakeland home, or if the whole being all but held prisoner there for a weekend was just a fantasy. I mean Talia is a succubus, after all. Clearly I wasn’t dreaming this time though. Landscapes is up for pre-order and the vampire on the phone was not happy about it.

 

“It’s already done, Alonso, I can’t take it back.”

 

“And this woman… what is it you call her, Evil Publicist, Lucy Felthouse person, she helped you, did she not?”

 

I felt a chill. “Leave Lucy out of this. She’s only done what I’ve asked her to do.”

 

“Oh I like her,” he said. “She’s sexy and smart. Talia would like her too, I’m sure. I can imagine she’d be … very tasty.”

 

My pulse jumped into overtime. “Alonso, please, it’s only pre-orders, and yours is a great story, one that should be shared. Besides no one will ever find your place if you don’t want them too; you know that. Please, leave Lucy out of this. She was …”

 

The soft velvet of his laugh in my ear brought me up short. “Oh don’t you worry, Ms. Grace, Talia has threatened me with nightmares and Reese, he’s threatened to … well let’s just say, I don’t relish the absence of his … personal attentions, so your EP is safe. Thanks to you, my whole household is in rebellion against me, should I cause you problems, never mind the problems your Landscapes may cause me. However,” his voice turned cold enough to make me shiver, “if me or mine suffer even the slightest invasion of our privacy because of your little … expose, well let’s just say, I’m quite fond of a pint of A positive on occasion. You’ve been warned, my darling scribe.”

 

The device went dead, my knees went weak and I all but fell into the recliner by the door, phone white-knuckled in my hand. I’d just about managed to stop the shakes when my device pinged an incoming text, and my heart was off and racing again as I read it.

 

Good luck with the preorders of Landscapes my darling. Don’t worry about Alonso. He won’t harm you. If you like, I’m happy to help with your PR and marketing, though. Shall I give nightmares to anyone who doesn’t preorder Landscapes, or would it be better to give sexy dreams to those who do? Just kidding!  

Talia xxx

 

*****

 

Preorder Landscapes Now (and get seriously sexy dreams FREE)

(Coming 24th May 2016)

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Landscapes Blurb:

Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?

Note: Landscapes has been previously released as part of the Brit Boys: On Boys boxed set.

 

Landscapes Excerpt:

The moonlight was bright and Reese’s night vision was good, but the path was rocky and steep. He stumbled and went down on his arse, catching himself on one elbow and cursing as the sensation of pins and needles shot up his arm. He forced his way to his feet slipping and sliding the last hundred meters on the dew-drenched stones. He was just about to call out, just about to shout Alonso’s name when the man moaned softly and Reese stopped in his tracks. Not only was Alonso no longer curled on his side, but the man was naked. He lay flat on his back, his knees bent, bare feet resting on the bench, one arm flung over his face, the other curved down low across his belly, his fisted hand moving up and down the length of his cock.

Reese froze, unable to move, unable to breathe. Alonso Darlington was beautiful, like no one he’d ever seen. His body was sculpted, not like polished marble, but with the ruggedness of the rocks of the fells, like he labored to be free from himself, like one of Michelangelo’s prisoners. The muscles of his belly tensed and relaxed and convulsed and relaxed again in response to his stroking. The movement of muscle beneath skin on his biceps and his forearms, on the rise and fall of his chest, on the tensing of the chorded muscles in his neck and throat as he swallowed was like a hypnotic dance. The muscles in his thighs twitched and bulged as he rocked and arched upward until Reese could see the clenched half-domes of his buttocks. He could smell the nutmeg and yeast scent of his heat, charged through with the crackle of ozone. He stood frozen on the spot, his own cock responding to the sensory overload, even as his brain demanded he give the man his privacy, demanded with a sense of half-frightened urgency that he leave as quietly as he could, but it was too late.

Alonso’s arm fell away from his face and Reese could feel the nearly physical press of his gaze.

I’m sorry,’ he managed around a tongue that felt too big for his mouth. ‘I saw you, and I thought that … I’ll go now,’ but even as he said it, Reese stepped forward, feeling reeled into the man like a fish on a line. Alonso eased himself up on one elbow, not taking his hand off his cock, not taking his eyes off Reese. ‘I should leave,’ Reese croaked, but instead he stepped nearer.

In a move that was not quite human in its grace, Alonso sat up and nodded to the bench next to him.

Cautiously Reese sat down struggling to keep his eyes off the man’s cock. He could still feel Alonso’s gaze on him as though he were the one who was naked. ‘I thought … When I saw you out here, lying on the bench at this hour … I was worried.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Reese, but there’s nothing wrong with me. My … afflictions, don’t trouble me much. I’m not ill. In truth, I’m the epitome of health. I’m just … different.’

‘I’m sorry. Of course you would be out after dark. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ll go now.’ But before he could stand, Alonso’s hand shot behind his head with lightning speed, fingers curling in Reese’s sleep-mussed hair, and in that instant of reaction, the second Reese gasped for his breath, the man’s mouth was on his, warm and hard and terrifying in its command, a command Reese could do little but respond to. Even as fear battled lust low in his belly, he parted his lips, opened his mouth, welcomed the search and conquest of Alonso’s tongue, his own the white flag that instinctively yielded all else beyond the breach, all territories beyond the invasion.

The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands Pt 2

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airport 3I’m safe and sound at my sister’s house, clean, well fed, semi-well rested with my head abuzz from the remains of jet-lag, which I hope will further inspire, and nearly recovered from my harrowing experience in Seattle International Airport. Why yes! I am rather resilient 🙂 I figure any experience that I can pull a decent story out of was worth it, and Mr. Sands turned out to be a lot of fun, even if my time in SeaTac was not.

Today, as promised — in celebration of the lust, romance and adventure of modern peregrinations, I’m posting part two of The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands. Enjoy the read, and have sexy dreams.

 

Warning: Adult Content!

The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands Part 2

It was only as he turned his attention on me, lying there writhing in my first class seat/bed that I realized I was already anticipating his kiss, that my mouth tingled with desire, that my tongue darted over my lips making them moist, making them ready. I was more than anticipating, actually. I was desperate for his kiss. For a long time he stood watching me, and it felt as though there was no one else on the plane but the two of us. For only a second I closed my eyes, as though I could bask in his bright blue gaze, which felt like the only light in the plane, exuding a warmth that made me realize I’d never been warm until he looked at me that way. In the next instant, I felt chilled as though I might never be warm again, but it pasted almost before I was certain I felt it, and then his breath, sweet like summer over meadow grass, brushed my face, as I parted my lips in anticipation. “Not yet,” he whispered, against my ear. “We have time and I want to savour you, my darling.” His accent, the rhythm of his words was strange – not foreign, but somehow out of time.

And then I felt his teeth against my neck. Christ! Was the man a vampire? In my strange dream state, nothing really seemed impossible. But it was just a nibble, and then another and another raising a trail of goose bumps along my nape and down over my collarbone to the tops of my breasts. It was the chill of the cabin air that drew my attention to the fact I had unbuttoned my blouse and shoved my bra down to expose myself for him. I had no memory of undressing, nor of the fact that I was stroking and pinching my nipples to painful peaks and making desperate mewling sounds deep in my throat. “Please,” I whispered softly. “Please take me like you did them.”

“Oh no, my darling, not like them. I shall not take you like them, for you’re nothing like they are.” He drew my hands to his lips and kissed them in turn, then guided one to the bulge in his trousers. “I’ve only made them sleep. This I have saved for you and you alone, and it’s only fitting since you made me this way. Then he slid the blanket off me and, I couldn’t help it, I shifted my hips and let my legs fell open beneath my skirt.

“You’re ready for me, my darling. I knew that you would be, even as I saw you in queue at the check-in desk. You were like a beacon calling me to you. I knew then that I had to have you. He worried my skirt up with a large warm palm taking his time to stroke the outsides of my thighs and then fondling and insinuating his way in to the soft tender flesh between all the while I wriggled and squirmed anxious for his touch. When he’d scrunched the skirt was up high enough to reveal my panties, he planted a kiss on my still clothed pubic bone, the humid heat of his breath making me arch up to him. Then he sat back on his knees on the floor next to me. “Take them off, my beautiful girl. Take your panties off for me. I want to look at you, before I take you.”

When I was free of them, he opened my legs wide and kissed up the insides of my thighs in turn. “The smell of you is airport 8ambrosia to me,” he said, teasing me open and stroking me with two slender fingers until I felt as though I would crawl out of my skin if he didn’t take me. “Believe me, my darling, I need you as badly as you need me,” he said. Other than the soft whisper of the plane in flight, and our own desperate breathing, the cabin was filled with the sounds of sleep. The zip of his fly into the quiet night sounds made me jump and catch my breath, and then he kneed my legs open, grasped my buttocks and pulled me onto him with a harsh grunt. There was pain, more paint than I anticipated, knowing how ready I was to accommodate him, and I cried out, like I’d done the first time I’d had sex. That’s almost how it felt, like the first time, tight, virginal, a yielding grudgingly to his fullness, wanting it, wanting all of what he offered, and yet somehow fearing it at the same time.

For a moment he held still on top of me struggling to control himself, speaking soothingly, cupping my cheek as he did so. “There, there. It’ll be all right. The pain will pass quickly. It’s just in the beginning it hurts because it’s so new to you, but then comes the taking and with the taking comes the pleasure, and you’ll not be left wanting.” After a moment, when I could hold still no longer, when I needed him to thrust in spite of the pain, he sighed softly and began to undulate — gently at first and then building in intensity as I wrapped my legs around him and held on. “There now. That’s better isn’t it, my lovely. There now. It’ll be good, so good. You’ll see.” He spoke in tight little grunts, and with each thrust it was as though he were filling me still fuller until I could contain it no more and the spasms began, and they didn’t stop, only ebbed and yielded and rose again with his urgency.

It was only then that he kissed me. Long and hard and deep, he kissed me, and he kept kissing me, his tongue dancing with mine, his mouth taking my breath away with each lap and stroke and suckle, with each inhalation of his need until I had none left, until he breathed for me. It was as though he pulled the whole of me into himself. In kissing me, it felt as though he could read me, as though he had made me even more naked that I really was, exposing my inner workings for all the world to see. But there was no one to see but him, and I wanted him to see, I wanted him to see everything. “Almost there now,” he whispered against my mouth, and I could feel his body tensing above mine and the more he tensed, the deeper he kissed me, and the deeper he kissed me the more I opened to him until there was nothing in me that wasn’t revealed to him. When at last he exploded into me, me still orgasming as though I’d break a part, me still unable to draw breath of my own, consciousness slipped away completely, everything slipped away in an instant, and I simply ceased to be.

At the Wetherspoons where Maggie had taken me and bought me breakfast once I was functional again, I finished my coffee and looked up at her. “That’s what I remember. It was then that I woke up with you leaning over me. The blue-eyed man, Mr. Sands, I take it– he was nowhere to be found. If you hadn’t helped me, I don’t think I could have made it off the plane.”

“He’s an incubus,” Maggie said without preamble. Before I could respond, she added quickly. “That particular night flight between JFK and Heathrow is called ‘the Sands flight,’ by all of us who work it regularly.” She blushed hard and looked down at her hands next to her coffee cup. “We’ve all experienced what you have.”

“An incubus.” The words came out like a harsh breath, but they weren’t a question. Whatever he was, I’d known, or suspected in my gut from his first touch that he wasn’t human.

She nodded. “He always shows up in the queue at the luggage check-in desk and upgrades someone to first class – at least he does now. There was a time when he preferred to prowl the main cabin. He takes only one person, but leaves everyone else feeling particularly euphoric, like you do after really good sex followed by a good night’s sleep. The person he takes, however, well we’ve learned over time to watch out for them, to make sure they’re well cared for after. It’s … it’s sort of our job, the crew, I mean. Oh he doesn’t compel us or anything, but, well, we all know what it was like.”

“So why don’t you warn people?” I asked running a finger around the rim of my cup.airport9

“It doesn’t work that way. We don’t usually know who it is, and even if we did, he has ways of keeping us from talking.” She waved her hand as though she were waving away an insect. “Oh, it’s nothing sinister. It’s just that he can make us forget … well just about anything.”

I recalled how he had affected her the past night on the plane when she accidently interrupted him. “So, now what?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I now had to cope somehow with living in a world where incubi were real. I needed to understand.

“That depends on you,” she said, leaning over the table. “Those Mr. Sands has visited can always welcoming him back. Obviously he needs to feed, just like a vampire does and, after the initial taking, you’ll never be so drained again. But he won’t come to you unless he knows he’s welcome and,” she smiled at me, “if you ever take the Sands flight again between JFK and Heathrow, well, he’ll just assume that’s permission to play.”

I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, but what began as a frisson of fear settled below my belly, between my legs and the way I squirmed, the slight acceleration of my breathing — well she caught it and nodded knowing. “He’s terrifying and yet too good to resist, believe me, I understand. And I can’t imagine life without him now. Besides,” she looked around the room as though she feared someone might be listening, then leaned closer, ‘there are other … fringe benefits to letting him in. My sex life is way better, and I’m just … well I just feel better about myself, I don’t know, more self-confident, more capable.” She looked down at her watch. “Look, I have to go. I have another flight in the morning and I need to get some rest. Are you okay now?”

I took a deep breath and thought about if for a moment. “I’m fine, yes. Thank you.” Actually, I felt terrific now, better than I could remember feeling in ages.

“Good. I’ll leave you to finish your coffee and order something else if you’re still hungry. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. Honest.”

As she stood to go, I asked. “What’s his first name?”

“I have no idea. He’s never told us. We call him Mr. Sands because it’s like the whole plane has a visit from the Sandman, only with very pleasant dreams.”

That should have bothered me, I suppose, but it didn’t. I shamelessly ordered round two of breakfast, and when I
was too sated to eat another bite, I headed home, anxious to write down my experiences on the Sands Flight. It just felt like something I needed to do. I paid my parking ticket and made my way to the car park feeling as though everyone airport 4around me was looking at me, admiring me somehow. No doubt that was just residual from what had happened to me, but I found I liked that just find. As I stowed my luggage, then settled into the driver’s seat, I caught a glimpse of a tall dark man standing near a black Audi, who seemed to be watching me, and my skin prickled and the muscles below my belly clenched. I was sure it was Mr. Sands. I didn’t have to see him up close and personal to know. I just knew. I smiled to myself. “Hope you enjoyed your dinner,” I said under my breath. “I’m always happy to invite you over.” And I swear to God, the words were barely out of my mouth before I had an orgasm that shook the whole car.