Friday, March 14, 2014


She threw the cup of coffee across the room with a furious cry. As the cheap mug shattered, the man standing in the doorway arched an eyebrow. "Really?" he muttered. Hilde kicked the spinning wheel out of her way, sending it whirling as it fell to the floor. Gunther watched as his wife raged about her office. Normally, she took bad news with a stoic demeanor. This sudden and violent flare of anger told him that something was different about this situation.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," she spat, jabbing a finger at Gunther, "And then I'm going to tear his fucking organization apart. Then I am ..." Her next declaration stopped when she realized that her husband was smirking at her. Hilde's rage over the man responsible for a series of violent sex crimes against women's escape via a human trafficking ring that they were working on breaking up just seemed to grow as more information about the man's crimes came to light. It didn't help matters that they had nearly caught him when he managed to completely vanish.

Gunther's news that another victim fitting the profile of their quarry's chosen targets was found barely alive in a dumpster with Hilde's name carved into their chest made that rage bubble over and Hilde moved from shaking with anger to a violent outburst. Normally, Gunther would have been working to calm her down. At the moment, however, he was too busy being caught up in just how pretty she looked when she was angry. She seemed to glow and move with a terrible grace when she stopped thinking about restraining herself. It reminded him of how she looked and moved when they were in bed.

It was an entirely inappropriate response to the situation but Gunther was never very good at appropriate. "What the fuck are you smirking at?" Hilde spat. Gunther grinned despite himself, suddenly quite pleased that he managed to capture all of her attention. He stepped forward and reached to pull her into a kiss when Hilde's hand flashed into his field of view. She moved fast enough that Gunther wasn't able, even with his knightly gifts, to avoid the sharp smack she landed across his face. His head whipped to the side as a drop of blood beaded up where a tooth caught his lip.

Inwardly, Gunther questioned what was in the drink that he was given earlier. The shock of being smacked for a moment staved off the rising lust long enough for him to realize that one of his former housemates must have slipped him something in that cup of coffee. Hilde gave him a hard look. The anger in her expression mingled with suspicion as Gunther made a point of keeping his gaze fixed on the wall. "What the fuck has gotten into you?" she demanded. Gunther tried not to think about sweeping everything off the desk and throwing his wife down on it to have his way with her.

His hand trembled slightly as he gave a small groan. "I'm going to geld Manus," he said, speaking of the narrow shouldered, hook nosed Morganite from Avalon who had made a pointed effort of attempting to get Hilde's attention. Her rebuff of his persistent attentions turned into Manus attempting to insinuate himself as Gunther's friend, asking 'innocently' what it was like to be married to another knight. Gunther didn't think anything of Manus giving him a cup of coffee as he was walking to tell Hilde the bad news.

"What does Manus have to do with anything?" she demanded.

"That fucker slipped something in the damn coffee," Gunther spat, struggling with all of his control and attempting with his knightly gifts to remove the effect of what ever the Morganite had done to him. Hilde reached over and set a hand on Gunther's right wrist. That was when his control broke. That was also when the magic flowed from Gunther into Hilde. Gunther turned and all the energy of his anger converted itself into raw sexual need.

His mouth closed over Hilde's as she gasped in shock. Cold fire burned up her arm from where her skin touched is and was he kissed her, that cold fire burned from his mouth into her own and down her throat. Hilde struggled but Gunther gripped her hard against him, deepening the kiss. As the magic assailed her, Hilde gave an inward cry, anger replaced with distress. And then, it was gone. Only Gunther remained. His hands went to the collar of her shirt.

With all the ease of tearing paper, he ripped the fabric apart and pushed the tattered remnants off her shoulders. Hilde's head lolled backwards as he broke the kiss and pressed his face against the hollow of her right shoulder. Gunther took in a deep breath, bared his teeth, and bit down on her shoulder. Hilde gave a surprised cry. She stepped backwards but Gunther moved with her.

His hands gripped her hips hard as he lifted his head and grinned at her. Gunther and Hilde crossed the room in a few stumbled paces to run into the wall hard enough to make the picture hanging on it jump. Hilde vaguely registered the noise of the glass in the frame breaking as it hit the ground but Gunther's hands roughly divesting her of her jeans ripped her awareness back to him. Neither of them had noticed the door to Hilde's office open and then close.

Manus watched as Hilde reached for Gunther. The way her body shuddered delicately as Gunther ran his left hand up her side while he unzipped his jeans made Manus's breath catch in his throat. Gunther leaned forward, closing his mouth over Hilde's left breast. He pinched her nipple between his teeth and rolled it slightly between them. Hilde's eyes fluttered shut as she gave a throaty groan of pleasure. Manus ached as he watched Gunther straighten and pick Hilde up slightly.

Pinning her against the wall, Gunther sheathed himself within her. "Oh god," he groaned, "You're so tight." At the sound of his voice, Hilde shuddered. She wrapped her arms and legs about him. As Gunther began to thrust forcefully into her, she let her head rest on his shoulder. She whimpered and made small noises of pained pleasure. Faster and faster, he thrust. Hilde threw her head back and gave a little gasp before she screamed with her orgasm. Manus expected that the lovers would be done shortly after that.

Hilde gave a low, sensual moan before shuddering hard and digging her nails hard into Gunther's shoulders. She screamed as her second orgasm stormed over her. Behind him, Manus could hear someone beating on the door. Manus didn't care. He couldn't stop watching the way Hilde writhed in Gunther's arms or the look on her face as he threw himself into his task. Manus locked the door and leaned against it, tempted to enjoy himself in a more physical fashion as he watched them.

Gunther stiffened abruptly, giving a low almost feral sounding growl as his own orgasm finally reached him.  Hilde, whose screams had dropped down to whimpers, wilted in his arms. Her eyes rolled and unconsciousness washed over her. Blood pounding in his head, Gunther closed his eyes. He realized that the after effects of what ever had been done to them had worn off. Immediately after realizing the effects of the magic has worn off with his orgasm, he was aware that someone was beating on the door and that they were not alone.

Gunther carefully lowered the exhausted Sargent to the ground. As he stood, he took a breath in while he resettled his slacks and zipped them. He could smell that odd, musty scent that he associated with Manus. Gunther turned to find the Morganite in question standing against the door. Rage roared through him. Manus, who was still staring lustfully as the sleeping Hilde, failed to note the danger as Gunther turned to face him.

i'm not pleased with this one either. ah well, i at least wrote something today.

Friday, March 7, 2014

Ambigious Rumors

Michael was nervous. He was more nervous then he had ever been walking into the club Public Dungeon. Logging on to check his mail was more of an ordeal then he thought it would be after that conversation with Johnathan Winters a few days ago. Michael had been avoiding the site and pretty much all computer activities for the last two days. Now, a day until his deadline, Michael had to work. He envisioned some random person on the street greeting him by his screen name and talking about everything he had been writing.

Michael had to admit, the fears were not the primary reason that he was avoiding the site or the computer. It was the temptation to contact Winters and inquire about the friend that he had told Michael about. Michael had been frustrated with the single life. Dating was going poorly for him. It didn't help matters that he felt like he had to hide major portions of his sexuality even more. Latex fetish and his desire to be some man's houseboy just wasn't something you talked about with someone on your first date. Or after the first week of dating, not that things even went for that long usually.

Michael sat down at the computer and looked at his coffee mug. He had been drinking Irish coffee with Jamacian coffee for a little while now. He wasn't sure if it was the Jameson kicking in or if he was just at a point where he no longer cared. For a moment, the pall of anxiety lifted and Michael clicked over from his mail client to the fetish site. The icon indicating he had a new message blinked at him on the upper right hand corner of the window. Taking a hasty swallow of whiskey spiked coffee, Michael opened the message.


Our mutual artist friend informed me that you were at the gallery opening. If you have time, I would like to meet to discuss his proposal. I will be at AfterHours at 4 pm Tuesday. Please, bring a pen. I would like you to sign the chapbook that you recently published. I have enjoyed it immensely.

Michael set the cup of coffee down on the coaster to the left of his keyboard. The cursor blinked in time with the beat of the Indian music that was playing loudly in the apartment below and filtering up through the floor. It took Michael a moment to realize that it was Tuesday and 3:45. He thought about avoiding the mystery man. The same bit of recklessness that had sent him to checking his messages had him finishing his coffee and grabbing his keys. He lived about fifteen minutes away from the coffee house. Slinging on his beaten leather jacket, Michael ran a hand through his hair before shutting the door and locking it.

He ran down the stairs, noting absent mindedly that the woman who lived below him was cooking something fragrant as he passed by her apartment. Michael was out the front door and walking briskly down the street when he considered if it would be easier if he took a cab. Deciding that finding a cab and spending the fare was more of a hassle then it was worth, Michael crossed the street. Over head the March sun shone brilliantly down on everyone.

Michael's copper colored hair caught the light and seemed to glow compared to the dull browns of the knot of people before him. One of the women stepped aside, allowing Michael to pass by. When he arrived at the door of the coffee house, he found an elegantly dressed tall blond man at the door. The thin man looked over at Michael and then stepped aside. With a graceful gesture, the blond man wearing a dove gray sweater motioned Michael to precede him in to the building.

I'm still not pleased with this but at least I'm moving this forward. And now, we've got something of a glimpse of what the protagonist looks like.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Cinderella (pt. 4)

The sun light slanted through the windows and shone brilliantly on the table I was polishing. I had finished much of my chores in the kitchen and the laundry was being attended to by the hired girl. My step-mother didn't trust me with her fine clothes, it seemed. And yet she trusted me to cook for her. It was a strange arrangement, but everything about my life in this house had been strange since my father died. My step-mother and my step-sisters were all to happy to spend my inheritance.

My step-mother had an special outfit that she would dress me in every month, complete with a pair of silken gloves that hid my work roughened hands. We would go to the barrister and then the banker. I was forbidden from speaking. My presence was purely to show that I still lived and that my stipened was to continue to being paid. At one point the old barrister commented that I looked unwell. My shoulders still ached at the thought of the beating that I had gotten after that.

Caught up in these unpleasant thoughts, I almost missed my thin tormenter say in her nasally voice, "There is to be a second ball. It is in two nights from now. Shall we attend?" A part of me was filled with dread at the thought of dealing with the chaos of dressing my sisters and another part of me yearned to go to see all the fancy clothes. The idea of sipping the bubbly and exotic champagne, something that I didn't even dare to sneak a sip of when my step-mother had it in the house, made me smile. "What are you smiling about, simpleton?" the thin sister said.

"Probably at the thought of seeing you wedded," her mother said, "I am certain that a suitable bachelor will come calling soon. I had several ask me permission to court you last night." The taller sister gave a laugh and clapped her hands in childish delight. I inwardly suspected that my step-mother was lying. My step-sisters had spent most of the evening gossiping and making snide remarks that they thought were clever. I didn't think anyone would have found such behavior attractive, irregardless of how much money they pretended to have.

I knew their dirty secrets. Their fine jewels were actually made from glass and paste. They sold their fine gowns after wearing them. Somehow, their mother managed to make a tidy profit from doing so and was able to keep up the appearances of upper middle class wealth. The few pieces of fine jewelery that were actually mine from my dead mother were worn by my step-mother. Though the ring that my father had left me did not fit her properly, my step-mother wore it and told everyone stories about how my father had bequeathed it to her on his death bed. My step-mother caught me looking at the ring perched on her pinky finger and frowned.

She knew that I knew the real story about that ring. She was in the room when my father declared it was mine. The day that my father died, my step-mother took the ring and declared that I would have to earn the privilege of it. Then she fired the cook and much of the house staff. And I learned the hard way just what the servants did each day. Thinking on these things, my expression turned sorrowful and my step-mother lifted her chin slightly.

"Ella," she said, "Would you like to attend this ball?" My eyes widened. At the back of my mind, a part of me clapped its hands with delight. The rest of me shivered with dread. "Come now, child," she coaxed, putting on a saccharine smile, "Tell us. Do you wish to attend? I have three daughters I must see wedded, after all." Despite all my being insisting it was some sort of a trap, I nodded slightly, unable to find my voice. She nodded. "Very well," she said, "Finish your chores and you may go, if you have a suitable gown. I will not have you wearing those rags."