Thursday, November 16, 2017

Sneak Peek: Hungry by Big Ed Magusson - #BDSM #food #eroticromance

Hungry cover


Master James, seasoned Dom and gourmet extraordinaire, craves a taste of something new. The BDSM scene bores him the way warmed over scrambled eggs disgust him. Once known for his creative food play scenes, he now wonders why he’s even attending BDSM events at all.

Submissive Sapphira, also food obsessed, seeks a strong guiding hand. Emotionally expressive and with a fondness for spankings, she’s heard the tales of Master James and hopes he still ‘has it.’

James happily shows her how food, spankings, and bondage can delightfully mix. But to win her heart, he must overcome his scars from the past and her secret compulsion, while walking the line between too much control and not enough.


It wasn’t that the Con organizers hadn’t done a good job. They’d transformed the hotel ballroom into a delightfully moody space suitable for the various beatings and piercings and rope work at stations scattered around. Trance music bubbled in the background—loud enough to drown out distant conversations but not so loud as to cut out the screams. The twilight level lighting didn’t hide any of the action, even in the corners where dungeon monitors flicked their flashlight beams from time to time. Each of the play areas had been set up meticulously, with antiseptic wipes and towels easily at reach. It smelled clean, unlike too many makeshift dungeons I’d been in.

But there just wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. Flogging on the St. Andrew’s Crosses. Flogging over a bench. Medical torture in one corner, carefully supervised. Two burly men in black leather vests boosting a naked blindfolded brunette into a suspension harness.

Bored, bored, bored.

And it was only Friday, the first night of the convention.

I flexed my fingers in my black driver’s gloves—comfortable cloth, not the clichĂ© leather—and then balled them into fists again. As much as I’d enjoyed the Con’s afternoon presentations, and especially the one on the spirituality of BDSM, I’d begun to seriously question why I hadn’t just gone to my room to read after dinner. The rush of being in The Scene was gone.

And wandering around watching other people play wasn’t getting it back.

I paused near one scene, just finishing. A young, long-haired blonde and an older portly man in a black t-shirt and jeans were helping a thirtyish nude short-haired redhead off a St. Andrew’s Cross. Scarlet welts covered her back and ass. The man whispered in her ear, while tenderly stroking her neck, far above the stung flesh. The blonde untied the other woman’s wrists, and then the redhead sagged into the man. He lowered her to the ground and cradled her in his lap.

She shuddered, and let out a long held sob that left her lax in relief. He continued to hold her, caressing her gently, talking to her, the whole while not touching her welts.

I smiled softly. That was the magic of The Scene. I’d treasured those moments with Molly…

Excuse me?”

I started. Lost in my memories, I hadn’t noticed the blonde approach. A short twig of a woman, she wore a translucent black chemise over a black cotton bra and panties. Her feathered hair briefly reminded me of Farrah Fawcett, but Farrah had curves. This woman looked thirty going on thirteen. Her voice fit the younger age as well—a high pitched soprano with an undertone of uncertainty.

Master James?”

I straightened my shoulders and tilted my head. “Yes?”

Umm…” she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked away briefly. “Umm… I just wanted to say I really liked your demonstration this morning.”

You should tell Headmaster Jeremy. I was just an assistant.”

She blushed. “Um, but the way you caressed that woman’s back, between spanks…”

I couldn’t help smiling. I didn’t get Jeremy’s wife Angelique over my knee very often, but I loved it when I did. She squirmed so delightfully and more than once, her arousal had soaked my slacks. Jeremy was a truly lucky man.

“…and the way you varied your blows. Those soft ones, on her upper thighs…” She took a deep breath, her eyes wide.

You enjoyed that?” I asked.

Oh, yeah. And I was wondering…” She shifted her weight again, and her eyes went puppy wide, blinking up at me.

I resisted an exasperated sigh. “You want to play.”


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About the Author

Big Ed Magusson, also writing under the name Dick Spears, has been writing sexual fiction under one name or another for many years. This site gives the descriptions and links for all the books he has for sale, as well as collaborations with other writers. His musings and free stories can be found at BE's Place.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

The Understudy - #BDSM #MFRWHooks #SummerTheater

The Understudy cover

Greetings! It’s Wednesday again (where did the week go?), time for another MFRW blog hop.

My hook this week is from my BDSM erotic romance novella The Understudy.


Is there a future in playing stand-in to a slave?

Sarah Gladstone was thrilled to be offered her first real acting job at the Berks Summer Playhouse. She never expected to be working with theatre legend Geoffrey Hart. The charismatic actor quickly brings her under his spell, not to mention his control, as he initiates her into the dark delights of BDSM. He offers her far more than physical pleasure; they share a level of intimacy and trust beyond anything Sarah could have imagined.

According to the rumours, though, Geoff's heart is taken. Renowned actress Anne Merrill, his long time partner and submissive lover, has severed their relationship and Hart has escaped to the Berkshires to lick his emotional wounds. With her youth, inexperience, and girl-next-door persona, Sarah knows that she can't compete with the glamorous theatre veteran. She fears that she's just a substitute for the real object of Geoff's affections. As he draws her deeper into his intoxicating games of dominance and submission, Sarah wonders if she's willing to settle for the role of understudy in this perverse passion play.

The Hook

I couldn’t look away. The moment stretched itself out. My disobedient body betrayed me more deeply with each breath. I felt him rifle through my thoughts, seeking my lewdest fantasies. I tried to empty my mind. I couldn’t banish the image that surged up without warning, a picture of him grabbing me and tearing my clothes off.

Mr. Hart!” Adele broke the spell, rushing forward to shake the actor’s hand. “Welcome to Barrington! We’re all so excited to have you here…”

He seemed to notice her for the first time. He favoured her with a charming smile and an appraising once-over. My relief at being released from his scrutiny was tempered with irrational jealousy.

Ah, thank you, Miss…”

Adele. Adele Franklin. I’m the ingĂ©nue. I play Chava in Fiddler and Stella in Streetcar. Oh, and Mimsy in Plaza Suite. I’m just thrilled to meet you, Mr. Hart…”

She had not released his hand. She leant forward, almost on tiptoe, her lips parted, her body practically vibrating with eagerness. His smile was gracious but dismissive as he turned his attention back to me. Everything inside me seemed to melt in the heat of his gaze.

And you are?”

Um—Sarah Gladstone, sir. I play chorus and extra roles. I’m also the understudy for Adele and Ms. Stuart. This is my first year here.”

Very pleased to meet you, Sarah. I look forward to getting to know you better over the summer.” His words were polished and polite. His eyes, however, told me another story. They stripped me bare and then challenged me to complain about his boldness. He knew that I would not.

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I hope you’ll visit some of the other authors doing the hop this week, and read their excerpts. You’ll find their links below!

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Review Tuesday: Blindsided by K D Grace - #ReviewTuesday #paranormal #vampire @kd_grace

Blindsided cover
Blindsided by K D Grace
Self-published, 2017

In Blindsided, Book 2 of the Medusa’s Consortium series, Susan Innes, magical scribe and willing vampire, has been more or less exiled to New York City, along with the treacherous demon imprisoned within her. Back in her native England, she had become a source of emotional conflict between her vampire sire Alonso Darlington and his lover Reese Chambers. Then Alonso and Susan’s lover Michael are kidnapped by a mysterious creature named Cyrus. When Reese shows up in America, he and Susan must work together to rescue the men they love, despite the personal issues that separate them. Forbidden to inform their powerful and terrifying superior Magda Gardener, they struggle to defeat Cyrus and his supernatural armies—and find an unexpected ally in Susan’s resident demon.

Blindsided is pure K D Grace, full of erotic energy, fierce conflicts and difficult decisions. The already tangled web of relationships among her main characters only grows more complex in this second book of her series, as Susan is forced into an intimacy with Reese that neither wants, and the Guardian spirit possessing her reaches out to touch her lover Michael as well.

The novel introduces some intriguing new characters, most notably dedicated police officer Paul Danson, who is somehow immune to vampires’ glamor spells. The story also reveals a good deal more about Magda Gardener, the legendary Medusa—both her history and her personality. In fact there appears to be a chemistry between these two characters, which I’d like to see Ms. Grace explore in the next installment.

Overall, I found the book a bit chaotic. There were too many battle scenes for my personal taste, and perhaps too few love scenes. Still, I enjoyed the ride. The dream-world interactions between Susan and the Guardian took my breath away. The sex-drenched rituals of blood sharing are arousing but still edged with terror. As usual, Ms. Grace does not shy away from the dark sides of lust and power.

Almost all the stories I’ve read by K D Grace have been set in the English countryside. The urban environment in this tale felt a bit strange, unreal. Certainly, I didn’t recognize the New York City I know. That doesn’t matter much, however. The focus in this book, like all of K D Grace’s work, is on the characters—their desires, their fears, their weaknesses and their surprising strengths.

I’m eager to follow Susan, Reese, Michael, Alonso, Magda and Paul into the next book of the series.

(Read my review of In the Flesh, Book 1 of the series, here.) 

Monday, November 13, 2017

Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire - #Pietas #FreeDownload #MFRWAuthor @KayelleAllen

Forged in Fire cover

Humans created the Ultras, a genetically enhanced race, to defend mankind. Instead, Ultras became their greatest threat. With the help of traitors, humans captured half a million of the immortal warriors.

Exiled to an alien world with no tech, no tools, and no resources, their leader, Pietas, must protect his people, find food and shelter and unite them. But before he can, he must regain command from a ruthless adversary he's fought for centuries--his brutal, merciless father.

Ultras are immortal, and no matter how they die, they come back. Reviving after death isn't all it's cracked up to be. Some wounds heal instantly and a few take time, but battered and broken trust? Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever.

Genre: Science Fiction with romantic elements

Rating: PG13 for violence, no profanity or explicit content


In this scene, Pietas performs a ritual with the help of his friend, Six.

Pietas's long hair, full of static electricity from the wind and storm, settled over his shoulders and adhered to his neck. He could not lift his arms to gather it himself but he did not want the others to see he needed help nor did he want Six fretting over it.

The man blamed himself for the injury. Yes, Six had bound Pietas. It had been Six's duty to do so. In truth, those who had placed Pietas inside the pod and refused to release him were to blame, but no matter how often he reminded Six of that, the ghost refused to relinquish his guilt.

Six dug into his pockets. "I think I have another strip." They had torn several from a ragged shirt. Six wore the biggest piece around his neck. He set down his pack and opened it.

"Six," Pietas hissed. He did not turn his head, but looked toward the others. "Leave it!"

The ghost glanced up at him, then the immortals, waiting ahead. "You want the women messing with your hair? Is that it?"

He closed his eyes, counting to ten. To a hundred would not erase this embarrassment. "No." When he beheld Six, the man had the discourtesy to smirk. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice."

The man chuckled. "We should have cut your hair before we set out." He rummaged through his kit, which held all Six owned when he'd been abandoned on this world. Little more than survival gear.

"I never cut it except in ritual."

"I know." Six withdrew a boning knife used for it.

Before every battle, Pietas performed the solemn rite to affirm superior strength and prowess. The ghost had been the first human to see it carried out, albeit the first half from a distance while hiding.

Six stood. "Maybe you could perform it now."

"How like you to see the easy solution. But there are a few elements missing. No fire. No water. No mask." He gestured toward the oncoming storm. "No time."

"Haven't you ever heard of pretending?"

"One cannot 'pretend' a ritual."

"What a boring childhood you must've had. Why not?"

Pietas opened his mouth to answer. Shut it again.

Six lifted one eyebrow. "Do you want to go into that dark hole and meet up with your people without performing it?"

"No, but there's no time."

"Rain's coming." Six jerked a thumb toward the forest. "Like I said, you have to go in there or you won't reunite with your people. Are you going to stand out here making excuses, or do this?"

"Ghost, this ritual is important. It deserves respect."

"Blah, blah, blah. That storm is bearing down on us." A few drops of rain splattered them both. "See? Or maybe you'd rather have your sister help you with your hair every morning."

"Fine!" With a resigned sigh, Pietas capitulated. "How do you propose we 'pretend' my ritual?"

Six tucked the knife into his belt and held out his cupped hands. "This is fire."

Pietas hesitated.

"Come on, Pi." Six wagged his cupped hands. "This stuff is hot."

"Of course it is." A smile slipped onto his face and refused to leave. "It's pretend fire. That's the hottest kind."

"Remember, you do this naked. Unzip your robe or whatever it is you'd wear."

Pietas mimed removing his silk robe. He plucked one hair and laid it across Six's hands, feeding it to the fire. "As fire has victory over life, so I have victory over my enemies." He passed a hand through the imaginary flame. As he had in the real ritual, he hissed at the scorching heat. He cupped his hands over Six's, a symbolic end to the flames. "I am powerful, as fire is powerful."

"Next is air, right?"

"Yes." He lifted both hands, made fists, and yanked them back. "I own the wind. I prevail over the breath of my enemies."

Again, Six cupped his hands. "Water."

"Water submits to my presence the way enemies submit to my will." He scooped his hands into the bowl, lifted his arms and pictured the liquid dripping down them.

"The blood of my enemies trickles into the pool of time, is absorbed, and forgotten." He bent and pushed both hands through his hair. "My mind is clear. I do not waver."

Six held his hands flat, waist high. "The pond."

Pietas ducked as if to submerse himself, then rose, throwing back his head. "My body submits to my will. No pain defeats me. No fear touches me." He brushed his hands down the length of his body. "My will is absolute. I am bigger than any fear. I prevail in every circumstance. I face every foe. I vanquish every enemy. I overcome. I am indomitable. I am invincible."

"Black face paint for the mask." Six held out his hands.

The ceremonial mask represented a splash of blood across his face received during battle. Dipping two fingers of each hand into the bowl, Pietas outlined a bandit's mask up over his dark eyebrows to the area beneath his eyes. He brushed his fingertips over his eyelids and met Six's gaze.

Finding a mixture of awe and respect threw him out of the moment. He faltered, unable to recall what came next.

Six offered the knife hilt first.

The man had seen the ritual performed once, from a distance, yet he'd remembered each step. Six wouldn't have known the next part was performed by Pietas's sister if no trusted partner or friend was at hand. The time Six had seen it done, Pietas had not yet considered him either one.

How wrong he had been. The man was more than both.

Bringer of Chaos: The Origin of Pietas
The Sempervian Saga (Book 1)

Why should Pietas end the war with humans?

His people are winning, yet they insist on peace talks. The Ultra people want to grant humans a seat on the Council. Pietas ap Lorectic, Chancellor of the High Council, War Leader and First Conqueror, disagrees. What's best for mortals is oppression, control, and if necessary, elimination.

Pietas seethes with rage at the idea of human equality. Humans might have created Ultras, but the creation has far surpassed the creator. Humans die. Ultras are reborn, no matter how grievous the injury. They have no equals.

His people permit him no choice. He must attend these insipid peace talks on Enderium Six and what's worse, be polite. To humans.

When a human special ops warrior is killed in battle, he's resurrected in a secret process and inducted into the Ghost Corps. He's given enough strength to perma-kill immortal Ultras. Ghosts are the most hated and feared of warriors.

When the ghost entraps and captures Pietas at the peace talks, the two begin a long journey toward Sempervia, an isolated and forgotten world. Once there, Pietas is marooned and the ghost abandoned alongside him. The two must either fight to perma-death, or join forces to survive.

As Pietas comes to trust the human, an unlikely and awkward friendship begins.
Until he discovers how ghosts are resurrected...

Giveaway - Free Download

Free -- download Endure, Illustrated Quotes by Pietas (as told to Kayelle Allen).

Enjoy an exclusive collection of quotes on the concept of endurance by the man known to other immortals as the Bringer of Chaos. 

Download a free adult coloring book you can print and share. Relax and color with friends. It's fun!

Mythic Heroes and Misbehaving Robots

Kayelle Allen writes Sci Fi with mythic heroes, misbehaving robots, role playing immortal gamers, and warriors who purr. She's a US Navy veteran and has been married so long she's tenured.

Download four free books and get news about books coming soon. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Charity Sunday: Room for Reading - #CharitySunday #Literacy #NewRelease

Charity Sunday banner

Welcome to this month’s Charity Sunday! Like most authors, I’ve always been an avid reader. A love of books and reading is one of the most valuable gifts one can give to young people – simultaneously a deep pleasure and an invaluable tool for survival.

Hence, this month, I am supporting Room to Read, an organization promoting literacy, education and gender equality worldwide, but especially in lower income countries. Their motto: World Change Starts with Educated Children

Since it was founded in 2000, Room to Read has constructed over 1,900 schools and established more than 17,000 libraries. The charity has published more than 1,100 original local language children’s titles and distributing over 15.5 million books. More than 31,000 girls have received enhanced educational opportunities and life skills training. Overall, Room to Read has impacted the lives of more than 10 million children, in places like Laos, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Tanzania, and South Africa.

As is usual on Charity Sundays, I will donate one dollar for each comment I receive on this post, between now and next month's Charity Sunday. So if you’re here, reading this – take a minute or two to comment. It doesn’t cost you a penny to do a bit of good for the world.

Of course, I’m also here to entertain you and make your visit worthwhile. Here’s a bit from my taboo erotic romance Miranda’s Masks. The choice seems appropriate since my heroine Miranda Cahill is a graduate student working on her PhD in literature.

In this exclusive excerpt, Miranda meets the hero, and explains her unconventional dissertation topic.

The grizzled head of Harold Scofield poked through the door. “Hello, Miranda. I am sorry to intrude, but I have someone to whom I would like to introduce you.” Miranda smiled to herself; her genial thesis advisor always sounded like a grammar textbook. The gray-bearded figure in suspenders bustled in, followed by an attractive young man in dark-framed eyeglasses.

Miranda, I would like to present Mark Anderson, our new lecturer. Mark will be handling the Dickens course for the summer session.”

Mark, this is Miranda Cahill, my most promising graduate student.” Miranda blushed, and Dr. Scofield’s eyes twinkled. “Miranda has chosen a rather controversial topic for her thesis, a new interpretation of the corpus of Victorian erotica.”

The newcomer’s polite smile expanded to a grin. “Really. That’s fascinating. Sounds far more—stimulating—than my dissertation on the metaphorical significance of orphans in Dickens and his contemporaries.”

Miranda’s blush deepened as she noted the double entendre. She met his teasing gaze, almost defiantly. “Yes, it is an intriguing topic, and I believe one of considerable literary and social significance, as well.” He had thick, dark hair, slightly tousled. His eyes behind the glasses were velvety brown with glints of gold. In his face, she saw intelligence, energy, and humor.

Miranda has championed an unusual theory, that the explosion of sexually-oriented writing during the latter half of the nineteenth century was a reflection of actual practices, rather than a reaction against repressive public morals.” Her advisor appeared to be enjoying the role of agent provocateur. “She believes that the detailed accounts of sexual adventure and aberration published during the era chronicled real experiences, not merely fantasies.”

Hmm.” Their bespectacled companion looked both amused and interested. “What evidence do you have to support this proposition?”

Well, to begin with,” said Miranda, automatically adopting an academic tone, “a significant fraction of these writings are first person accounts. And a surprising number are related from a woman’s perspective. If this were primarily a literature of fantasy and titillation, I would expect a male point-of-view to dominate, as it does in modern pornography.” Miranda was encouraged to see that her audience listened attentively and gave due consideration to her points.

Secondly, these tales are full of real-world details and commentary that would be superfluous and even distracting in fictional erotica. The protagonists discuss social issues such as poverty, child abuse, oppression of the lower classes, things that can only detract from a work intended as escapist fantasy. Even a hack pornographer knows better than to mention the unpleasant or the mundane, illegitimate pregnancies, unpaid bills, rising damp. Yet references to such items are common in the corpus.

Finally, I find in many of these writings a thoughtfulness that conflicts with the conventions of the pornographic genre. The narrators are engaged in a wide variety of sexual activities, which are described in vivid and provocative detail. At the same time, in many cases, they reflect on their own desires and behaviors, sometimes justifying themselves in the face of the official morality, sometimes castigating themselves for weakness and sinfulness. Either way, there is a psychological depth that would be redundant in fictional erotica.”

So, what you are saying,” interposed Mark with a grin, “is that a fictional character would simply go ahead and bugger his maid, whereas an individual writing a clandestine diary would spend some time and effort wondering why he wanted to bugger his maid, before he got around to actually doing it?”

No, no, that’s not it at all!” Miranda, embarrassed and flustered, wondered if the new instructor had been reading her manuscript over her shoulder. Her eyes flashed. “You’re not willing to take me seriously, any more than the submission review committee for the Association for Modern Literature!”

Now, Miranda,” soothed her advisor. “Mark was just teasing you.” Looking again at the attractive stranger, Miranda saw that Scofield was telling the truth.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Mark held out his hand like a peace offering. “I really am delighted to meet you. Your theory is unconventional and provocative, but who knows, it might actually be true.” His skin was cool and dry, the pressure of his fingers firm and confident. “Let me take you out for coffee, and you can tell me more about what your research has turned up thus far.”

As he released her hand, he brushed his fingers lightly against her palm.

The secret, sensual gesture terrified her. Miranda found herself reacting as she so often did in the presence of a man who desired her. She felt herself tense, contract, her fears and uncertainties condensing into a dense, cold knot under her solar plexus. Her face was stiff and wooden as she tried to smile. “Thank you, but I can’t right now. I have an incredible amount of work to get done.”

Diligent, industrious Miranda,” her advisor scolded her lightly. “You need to take more time for yourself. It is Saturday, after all.”

Thanks, but I need to work harder. I need more evidence to support my theory. Deeper study, of a larger number of texts.”

Please…” Mark began, disappointment plain in his voice. Then he saw clearly that she would not be swayed. “Well, maybe another time.” He smiled so warmly that the icy knot thawed slightly. “I definitely would like to get to know you better, Miranda.”


Barring any unforeseen issues, the book should be out at the end of the week. Don’t worry, I’ll let everyone know!

Meanwhile... why not leave a comment and share the gift of reading?

Saturday, November 11, 2017

The Erotic Side of Gay Romances (#gay #erotic #romance @KDahll)

Ambrogio's Secret cover

Kenn Dahll (Guest Blogger)

It is possible to write a gay romance without explicit sex−possible but in my view unrealistic. Authors who eschew depicting realistic sexual encounters employ various devices such as euphemisms, “the two handsome young men kissed, hugged and united blissfully”; or behind closed doors transitions, “the pair went into John’s bedroom hand in hand.” I’m not fond of either avoidance mechanism. My take is that gay romance by definition requires hot, erotic coupling depicted in exquisite detail. Hence, my style is often criticized as “raw” or “gritty,” and I won’t deny the criticism is fair−if coming from the perspective of someone puritanically inclined. Based on my published works, I’ve identified several reasons for injecting graphic sex in gay romances.

Gay men often initially connect through sex frequently through cruising in gay bars for sex partners, engaging in sex in gay baths, or even trolling gay internet hookup sites as a means to meet other gay men, ostensibly for sex, but often with the ulterior motive of connecting on an emotional dimension. It would be inaccurate to eliminate such venues and motivations from a story about contemporary gay romance.

Stories with an historical setting are considerably different in that the means of same sex partners meeting are more constrained. In the few non-contemporary stories I have written, getting the main characters into situations were sex develops faces a thin line between consensual and non-consensual. Depictions of brute force and master/slave relationships must be carefully crafted to tread carefully while maintaining the power dynamics of the time period selected. One mechanism I used in an early story−Soaring with a Hawk−was to force myself to limit common vulgar terms such as “cock,” or “ass” to more faithfully capture the encounters between a young pioneer son and a Native American brave. They had sex but the language was “softer.”

Additionally, explicit sex in gay romances can reveal a character’s personality allowing for the storyline to portray an evolutionary change in his personality. In my works I’ve done this for various types of personalities.

In one category, the Main Character (MC) is portrayed as a Machiavellian manipulator. Two stories make this point. In Naughtical Buoys, the extremely wealthy MC uses his fantastic yacht to lure attractive young men into virtual sex slavery, fully described in gritty detail. He also uses money to buy sexual favors from hustlers and strip club dancers, often paying for humiliating sexual demands in front of an audience, also depicted in full rawness. In At Your Service, the charismatic scion of a wealthy family uses his sex appeal, as well as his position as boss over his valet, to procure elaborately detailed sexual services. In both stories, the MC experiences crises motivating him to drastically change his views on sex and commitment, resulting in more romantic−yet explicit−sex.

A second type I’ve depicted is the naive MC who experiences uncaring or even manipulative sex before meeting an individual who respects his sexual autonomy. They then engage in romantic sex as sensitive lovers in a thoroughly depicted sexual encounter which becomes a dramatic highlight of the story.

Finally in a story involving a dominant MC, usually in a BDSM situation, the control over other characters’ sexual release becomes a major factor in the narrative’s direction and ultimate resolution. My most common resolution in this type of story is redemption. Some event causes the abusive MC to realize the concern and even love his abused has for the MC. A primary example of this, one recognized by a reviewer, is Irish Punk.

Given my belief in the validity of explicit sex in gay romances, I face one big issue−a largely female audience preferring more romance for gay erotica. Recognizing the problem, I engaged a female editor for a story included in a Valentine's Day bundle under Selena Kitt’s Excite Spice forum. Other than some grammatical changes she had two issues: 1) she questioned including what she termed "icky behavior” involving armpits, and 2) she felt the story lacked romantic buildup. I followed her advice and managed to keep the sex toned down−took out the armpit scene, for one thing−so it's not as explicit as many of my stories, leaving it caught between gay romance and gay erotic sub-genres. I also upped the romance factor, delaying overt sex until mid-story. Even then, I held back for a sex scene or two before going fully raw. Since it was part of an anthology, I didn’t get any exclusive reviews of my story, but the anthology reviews were favorable and one singled out my story.

My current work in process, a novel, is historical−set in Las Vegas, New Mexico in the late nineteenth century−and I have created various unusual settings in which sex occurs−railroad cars, a church rectory, barns, boarding houses, a mansion, and a farmhouse. My MC has romantic notions but, unfortunately, his first love doesn’t appear to be interested, the first person he has sex with betrays him and he sours on the possibility of a “happy ever after” situation. On his journey, the MC encounters brutes who threaten physical−even sexual harm−witnesses a rough sexual threesome, and is pestered by younger men curious about sex. I won’t give out the surprise twist in the story except to say it ends in lots of loving−but explicit−sex.

About Me

Kenn moved from the gay ghetto called Wilton Manors, Florida to the much more dynamic, yet still extremely gay, District of Columbia area. More than twenty-five years ago he submitted a short story to a “one-hand magazine” contest and won a year's subscription. Since then he has written many stories, none of which he submitted for publication until August 2008 when one was included in Alyson Books’ Island Boys Anthology. Currently, he is thrilled to be published in with over thirty titles. He is also published in two additional Alyson Books anthologies: Best Gay Love Stories 2009 and 2010.

Generally, Kenn says he sees a hot male and constructs a fantasy story around him−how he’s dressed, what he might be thinking, what is his relationship with the other males around him be it in a bar, a bus, a restaurant, a bank, or even a church. Sometimes a situation encountered in Kenn’s daily routine, on vacation, or simply on a casual stroll around the neighborhood, inspires him and a story will take shape in his mind, which is then populated from his vivid imagination. Kenn claims to find few outlets outside of erotic fiction for his innate creativity and is pleased others are interested in reading what he writes.

Sign up for my email list and get a free copy of Bye-Bye, Bi!
Follow me on Twitter: @Kdahll

Friday, November 10, 2017

Forever the Storm - New Release from M.S. Kaye ( #suspense #romance #taken )

Forever the Storm cover

A part of me saw her as a delicate beauty that needed protecting. But she wasn't a flower that gets torn apart in a storm; she was the storm.

Before it’s over, someone will die.

Attacks are coming from all sides: arrests, sabotage, picketing, even being framed for murder. Who is the invisible force behind it all?

And what secrets has Joe Bishop been keeping about both Adriane’s and Alec’s pasts?

Buy Links


I just need you to surround the building and make sure all of Malleus goes where they’re told.”

Ground rules?”


He sneered, the happy kind. I’d just told him he could beat the shit out of any of them if he wanted.

I waved one of the guys in the back to come forward. He was a local small-time con artist, extremely personable when he wanted to be. He came up to me. His smile looked like Prince Charming.

There are a few people living in the building who are not connected to Malleus. I want you to mark their door so El Parros doesn’t mess with them. And inform them that most of their neighbors are being evicted and to please stay inside and lock their doors.” I gave him a sheet of labels on which I’d written “PROTECTED.”

Still smiling that smile, he took the labels and the list of apartment numbers and headed inside.

I sent the thugs to surround the building, and once Prince Charming came out, I sent in El Parros to start evicting.

Only a few minutes later, they started streaming out like cockroaches. The first one out the door bolted for the fence at the back of the apartment building, and then he stumbled forward and fell face first into a dirty patch of grass. No one seemed to have noticed where Vincent had gone, the third-story laundry room window of the neighboring building. The rounds in the rifle were just rubber; they wouldn’t kill anyone, but the gun packed enough force to knock a man down and the rounds hurt like a motherfucker.

The next man out tried to run as well, until a rubber bullet made him smack into the side of the building.

Over there!” Vlad commanded and pointed to the middle of the road, and the rest of the cockroaches followed as ordered.

Carlos came out of the building and across the street to me. “That’s all of them, bitches, too.”

Did you come across any children?”

No kids. Just a few crying in the protected apartments.”

I glanced around to be certain Garrison still had the local uniforms busy elsewhere and then walked over to where Malleus was gathered in the middle of the street. They were closely surrounded by El Parros and the others.

Everyone focused on me as I stood in front of them.

I addressed Malleus. “You’re leaving town. Now.”

Right,” a guy with red, spiked hair scoffed.

I nodded slightly toward him, and a rubber bullet made red-spikes smack into the asphalt.

I suggest the rest of you look around,” I said. “Anything seem unusual about your company?”

They glanced around at their herders—sneak thieves, con artists, drug dealers, enforcers, and El Parros. Several of them raised their eyebrows. This group didn’t usually associate in general, let alone work together on a job. “Any idea what would bring such a group into this unlikely alliance?”

A young man in a dirty white T-shirt raised his hand.

I managed not to roll my eyes and just looked at him.

You, Mr. Kaden.”

Very good. You get a gold star.” I started walking casually around the group. “How many of you are from this city?”

Several of them slowly raised their hands.

Then you’ll know quite clearly what happens when you cross a Kaden. Anyone care to explain to the class?”

We ain’t never crossed you,” dirty-white-T-shirt said.

I gave a slight nod, and a well-placed round hit him in the thigh and knocked his leg out from under him. He yelled out in pain.

I squatted next to him and spoke calmly. “I suggest you shut the fuck up before I make you bleed.”

He pressed his lips together, and pain etched itself in his face as if chiseling rock.

I stood and continued slowly circling the group. “You will leave town. Tonight. You will not return. You will not maintain any relationships with anyone in this city. You will not even discuss this city. I have informed all of my contacts that you are not welcome here, and they are to demonstrate that if they see you.” I stopped walking and faced them squarely. “I have authorized them to use whatever means of demonstration they find most effective.”

Vlad, El Parros, and most of the others sneered.

I started walking away, toward my car. “I’m giving you five minutes’ head start before my contacts begin demonstrating.”

Running footsteps sounded from behind me. They yelled at each other to get out of the way. My enforcers laughed as they watched.

About the Author

M.S. Kaye has several awards and published books under her black belt. A transplant from Ohio, she resides with her husband Corey in Jacksonville, Florida, where she tries not to melt in the sun. Find suspense and the unusual at

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