Sunday, February 8, 2015

Electric

(I have been asked by some of my readers to share some of my recent play experiences with my two new Daddy Dom play partners. Before we get started, I’ll let you know upfront my play partner gave me permission to write about this play session with him… Maybe because at the end of Friday night while lying in bed with him I turned to him and whispered his name, then said, “That may have just been the best fuck of my life.” Those words came out of nowhere—kind of like him and the way he owns me when we play. And with that out of the way, here we go...)


Friday night was supposed to be my first FMF threesome with my Sicilian play partner. I was excited for him, not so much for me. Not that was I dreading it or anything, but it’s not something that I crave, since I’m straight. I used to have some bi tendencies, but they’ve all seemed to vanish over the years. I don’t watch porn with two women and one man—it just doesn’t appeal to me. In fact, they kind of piss me off because I can’t hear the man over their fake prissy whore moans. I get off on hearing a man get vocal, as long as it’s genuine and not put on. I always think even with a standard man and woman couple in porn that I wish he’d gag the woman so she’d shut up.

I didn’t have to worry about how I’d deal with playing with another woman because my Sicilian Daddy’s other play partner had to cancel because she came down with something. My partner had been looking forward to this for quite a while. In fact, I have to tell you what he did to lead up to this event during the week because his mind was racing like crazy…

(Sorry, honey, I just had to share. It’s too good not to.)

Earlier in the week, I was a pain in the ass, as usual, and told him if I was going to do this threesome with him and enact what he wanted me to do with her, then there were a few things I needed. I requested a song for him to fuck me to since he likes to play to music while playing. I asked to wear my fishnet thigh highs and garter. He said yes to both.

Yes, yes, I know it sounds like topping from the bottom. But I wasn’t trying to tell him what to do. I was trying to make myself as comfortable as possible since this is outside my comfort zone and if I was going to do this for him I needed to feel as much myself as I could to make it enjoyable for everyone involved. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin it because of nerves or possibly being turned off. He knew my hard limits and wasn’t asking me to break those.

During the week, I also told him I wanted to play with him alone on Tuesday and Thursday, so I would feel really connected to him before I shared him with someone else. He texted back to that request, “Are you reserving my cock?”

Yes, I was. But more importantly, I was reserving his attention. I have to know I matter to my partner before I can give of myself in the way he was asking me to do with her.

Tuesday was wonderful. I had asked him to rape me that night, since he knows I have rape fantasies and no longer trust very many Doms to do that for me or even let them know it’s what I crave, because most of them don’t understand how this kink works for me. He does. He’s been fulfilling my consensual nonconsent kink from the start. It’s just how he operates, and it’s how I wind up squirting all over his cock and dousing his balls and parts of his thighs and mine. In fact, there was a play session we had the week before where I sprayed his chest twice, and he was so fucking turned on by it, I about melted when he attacked me afterward and made me cum over and over, squirting so much I was drenching the bed.

He had a scenario planned out for my rape Tuesday night, and I was told the following a few minutes into our play session, “You wanna know something? You suck at being a rape victim. You’re too willing.”

I didn’t put up a fight at all. How could I? I was a panting, putty, mess-of-a-girl, weak-kneed and completely begging for more.

So, after ruining his scenario, he improvised, which is when I really enjoy him to the fullest. I get to see exactly how quick his mind works and how devious he can be. He gets this intense look on his face like he’s going to figure out a way to own this bitch and do whatever the fuck he wants to her.

God, do I love that!

He blindfolded me, shoved my low cut blouse up over my tits, yanked my bra cups down and lifted my skirt. He requested I wear panties, which I despise, but I did get that part right. Black lace just for him, and ones I didn’t mind getting ruined, since that was one of his other stipulations about it.

He grabbed a scarf and looped it over a closet pole above my head. As soon as that scarf yanked down on my wrists binding them together I was moaning.

He settled me into the ottoman I was sitting on and made sure my back was comfortable with two pillows behind me, filling the gap between me and the wall.

He told me how hot I looked all helpless and exposed like that.

Then he leaned over me, his face inches from mine, but not kissing me. “These are such pretty panties.”

His hand ran over the crotch of my panties.

I bit back a mewl of pleasure at his slight touch.

“Jesus, these are soaked.” He chuckled. “It would be a shame if something happened to them.”

Something cold and metallic brushed up against my thigh.

A loud, guttural gasp ripped out of me as a shiver slid down my spine. “Oh God! That’s so dirty!”

He cut my panties off me, methodically, taking his time. I groaned at the image in my head of how hot that must look.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Such a little slut spread open for me.”

Then he went to work, kissing me, teasing me with his fingers and cock. Having me suck him here and there.

Eventually, I whimpered, “Please fuck me. Please—I need your cock.”

He made that evil little chuckling sound he releases when things are really going his way. I’m not sure if I smiled, because I was too damn horny and wriggling around in my spot to notice much else.

A moment later, he slid into me, making me gasp and strain to tip my hips up so he could go deep with his long, thick cock I adore so much.

The evil bastard didn’t go deep, though. He teased me right at the entrance.

“Are you my dirty little whore?”

“Yes, Daddy.” I tried to catch my breath because I sounded like I was running a marathon while high on some illegal substance.

“Tell me.” He smacked my left tit, making me gasp and automatically clench down on the head of his cock.

“I’m your whore. Your wet whore. You’ve got me so wet.” I gasped when he wrapped his hand around my throat.

He took a deep breath. I didn’t know what it meant or what made him react that way.

“Please, I need you deep. Please!” I managed to choke out. “Deep!”

All day long he’d been telling me he had a twist to tonight’s rape fantasy for me and wouldn’t tell me what it was. I had forgotten about that, until he said, “You wanna know my little secret now?”

I nodded and whispered, “Yes, Sir.” I took a gulp of air as best I could.

His hand released from my throat and I took huge swallows of oxygen to fill my lungs.

He swallowed that sound from me when he told me, “Kiss me.”

I did as he asked, moaning in his mouth, sounding like I was being completely ravaged.

I was. He was fucking my mind harder than my body.

I couldn’t get enough. I was begging in my head, “Please, Daddy, fuck me harder!”

He leaned in closer, his body brushing up against mine as I tried to get as close as I could with my arms still above my head and not being able to see a damned thing.

“I’ve had my blue tooth on this entire time. She’s been listening to us.”

Oh my fucking God!

I gasped so hard the sound scraped through the back of my throat and actually lifted me off the seat for a second. My entire body went tense and my hands and feet tingled right away. I arched toward him, trying my best to wrap my legs around him. I really had to be pounded now!

He made a gasping sound right after I did, sounding so turned on I couldn’t take it.

“Please, please fuck me!” I cried out. “On a bed…”

I needed down. I needed him wrapped completely around me. I needed to be flat and spread wide for him so he could take all of me and consume every inch.

I needed her to hear me when he fucked me like an animal. If she thought our foreplay was good, she had no idea what he did to me in a bed with my legs strung up, spread wide and my cunt helpless to his onslaught.

He released my hands from the scarf, removed the blindfold, and I gasped once more when I saw his blue tooth.

“So, you’re gonna be here tomorrow night and join us, right?” he asked her.

I couldn’t believe he’d been secretly having a conversation with her by walking her everything he was doing to me.

I didn’t think much of his commentary because he does that some time when he’s enjoying every morsel of our play together.

But damn, was he good. I had no idea this had been going on.

He had a little conversation with her for the next moment and of course I couldn’t help but giggle and make small comments here and there.

She ended the call, because she needed to go take care of herself at that point.

He took my hand a moment later, chuckling as he went about leading me out of this room into the guest room where I knew he’d give me what I really needed.

We proceeded to play and fuck for 2 hours straight. I didn’t get home until 1 a.m. and had work the next morning.

So worth it. He came inside me 3 times, and I went home thoroughly used and sated. Hard to do since I’m an insatiable cock slut most days.

Wednesday, I was with my other play partner, spending time with him. I had gotten a text from my Sicilian Daddy earlier in the day saying he wanted me to wear white fishnet thigh highs for the threesome.

I responded by texting, “Awww, crap!”

Sicilian Daddy didn’t know what that reply meant. But when he sent me a few texts asking what was wrong, I didn’t respond because I was with my other play partner. And whoever I’m with at the time, they get my undivided attention unless my kids are trying to get ahold of me. So, at midnight when I hadn’t responded Sicilian Daddy was calling me.

Woops! I called him when I left to find out what was wrong, since he rarely rings me.

He asked, “What did awww crap mean? Is something wrong?”

I laughed. “No. I just don’t have a white garter, and I can’t afford to buy one right now.”

I was actually very disappointed and almost feeling a little despondent at the the thought that I could no longer feel completely myself in this upcoming foreign situation for me. I had worn my black fishnet thigh highs and corset when I had my first MFM threesome a few months ago, and it totally helped me to let go. I no longer had this option, so already I felt slightly off kilter.

I accepted his terms though and decided I’d just have to go without that comfort and if I struggled to let go and be completely in the moment when a woman kissed me or had her hands on me, then I’d have to really dig deep and find some inner strength to give in. Or I’d have to hope he played the song I needed so I could concentrate on that and feel like myself again and be centered.

Thursday he texted me off and on all day long, teasing me with his sexts, and talking about what he envisioned for Friday night.

I was looking forward to simply watching him let go in that stunning way he does when he’s all animal instinct, biting me, covering my mouth before I scream and squirt all over him, calling me a whore and just doing whatever the fuck he wants until I’m a spineless mass lying in the bed.

Friday I knew I was going to spend the night, so it was nice to know we could really take our time. Not that we ever really rush. Our play sessions that used to be an hour and a half have doubled. We lose track of time. Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday’s play sessions had all wound up being 3 hours long. All week I had been going on 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night, and that day I was really dragging.

But somehow, by the time I entered his home Friday night, my body was a ball of energy, waiting for him to charge me up even more.

I went to the third room and got my neon wand out as he’d requested I bring so we could play with it. The power tripper was placed next to it. A frisson of electricity ran through my body just looking at this toy. I fucking love the way it feels, and have only played with it a few times. Good Lord, I was gonna be a soaking wet happy girl tonight—no doubt about it.

From there, I went to the spare bedroom and got out a few things to play with as well—my anal beads and 5 point Whartenberg pinwheel, just in case. Also, made sure my water bottle was out ready to go, since he gets me panting and screaming so hard, I almost go hoarse from it.

The first thing he did when he found me was he blocked me in the spare bedroom. I was busy spreading out my Fascinator throw blanket so I didn’t turn his bed into a wet, messy sponge from my copious amount of squirting he gets me to release. Watching from the doorway, smirking and freshly showered, he stood there, this crazy power emanating off him, filled with a sexual predatory-type vibe. But patient, all the same. It’s a combination that simply works for him.

I turned around, walked over and wrapped my arms around him, kissing him. He didn’t hold me back. He barred me in, his arms stretched out, keeping me from escaping—as if I’d try to go anywhere he wasn’t.

He kissed me in that way I know turned him on as much as it did me. He tugged at my lower lip with his teeth, sliding them slowly off. His tongue took control, pulsing, searching, showing me his hunger for me.

God, I love that kiss that gets things moving and tells me what I have to look forward to.

This was a not man disappointed by the threesome being canceled. This was a man who had already created new plans and was ready to act them out.

Fuck! I was going to be a well-used, limp, fuck doll tonight. There was no doubt about that.

He took me by the hand, grinning in that mischievous way he does, and pulled me into the third room.

He gave a chuckled delight when he saw my neon wand.

I got undressed and was placed on the ottoman again, hands strung up above me once more with that scarf I was beginning to associate with mind-blowing play sessions.

Of course after he figured out how the neon wand worked, I was blind folded and teased with the little delicious zaps my toy produced.

He started with my nipples, my breasts, my ribs, my thighs and then of course my pussy.

Each time I gasped, he chuckled with that very aroused, very Dominant laugh of his that said he was definitely hard as fuck from this and not going to stop anytime soon.

To prove it, he climbed up on the ottoman, held onto the bar above my head and shoved his cock in my mouth more than once.

I couldn’t really deep-throat him like I had earlier in the week since his hands were holding onto something else, and there was nothing to stabilize me since my arms were strung up and the wall behind me was too far away.

He growled and rubbed his wet cock all over my lips and chin. “Do you love how slutty this feels?”

“Yeah,” I whimpered. Seemed that was all I could come up with as my lips sought out his cock for more.

He chuckled again and then was back at using my neon wand.

I jolted over and over, my legs going to tiptoe and arms straining for God knew what, each time the electric current contacted me.

I was mostly glad this time I didn’t have my skirt on, since on rape night I drove home with the entire back side of my skirt sopping wet with my cum. He really liked sending me home that way. I was less than thrilled to be cold and wet and knowing I was going to make my car’s seat damp for the thirty minute drive home.

He set the neon wand’s attachment directly on my pussy so there was this low level sensual hum pulsing through my swollen cunt.

It was nice. I relaxed into it and almost hummed throatily right along with it.

And then . . . Oh fuck! And then he leaned in and with his hand bracing him on the ottoman, next to the electrified wan, he brushed his lips across mine and we both got shocked by it.

We gasped together, and I jumped in my seat.

“Oh fuck!” He made a lip smacking sound.

I whimpered.

He did it a few more times, and he gasped right along with me each time, laughing afterward with a slightly twisted sadistic sound to his chuckle.

Fuck, he was loving this as much as I was. Weren’t we the naughty pair.

Eventually, he found a better use. He set the wand presumably about a half inch from my pussy, then he assaulted my nipples, bit my neck, knowing it would make me jump over and over, which it did.

“Don’t jump. Don’t jump, little squirty toy, or it’ll get you,” he told me, a husky edge to his voice. “If you jump, it’ll sting you.”

And it did. Each time I jumped, it would zap my clit or my pussy lips or even my thighs.

He smacked my outer thighs. I jumped.

Zap!

He smacked my tis. I jumped.

Zap!

He smacked my pubic bone. I jumped really hard.

Zap!

He smacked my inner thighs. I jumped and squealed.

Zap!

Over and over, the smacks kept coming. They weren’t hard, but they were erratic, and I couldn’t see so I had no idea where they’d land next.

His ragged breathing filled the room along with the buzzing sound of the toy.

I was vibrating inside like a live wire filled with a building electric charge.

I couldn’t get enough of these erotic sensations.

A few times my toy caused issues with the electricity in the room, which made us both crack up.

At one point he thought the fuse went out, but it didn’t because the power to the toy eventually came back on. Very odd, but so fun all the same.

When he was done teasing me, he kept my blindfold on, undid my hands and led me into our fuck pad, as I now think of it in my head.

I know when he starts fucking me hard on that bed and I hear it rolling around on the floor and hitting the wall, I’ll be moaning so loud, his neighbors will most likely hear.

Assuming he doesn’t cover my mouth with his hand, which he almost always does, and almost always has me cumming so hard I’m squirting all over the fucking man. Not to mention screaming even louder behind his palm because it amps me up that much more.

Being that this was our eighth time to play together, it would seem like I’d be used to it all, but he still had me breathless and anticipating what he’d come up with this time. He always finds some way to surprise me and take things to a higher intensity.

We’d talked about letting go even more lately, even though neither of us was really holding back all that much.

Something shifted between us last week during a play session when I’d cried at a misunderstanding between us. He’d made love to me when he discovered tears leaking out of the sides of my blindfold, kissing away the wetness and sadness, keeping me bound at my request and making it all better.

We found an emotional tie. Tonight that seemed to fill me up as it lingered in the back of my mind.

I knew he wouldn’t ever really hurt me, so there was nothing but trust and devotion in this moment.

He backed me up to the mattress, and I felt behind me blindly with my hands, then crawled onto the bed.

Within seconds, he was on top of me, fingering me, sucking on my nipples, telling me between sucks and nips that I was such a naughty whore that my cunt was soaked.

I was still buzzing so hard from the neon wand play, that I could barely respond with anything more than a grunt and a loose grip on his arms.

Eventually, I told him because I couldn’t stand not to, “My hands and feet are tingly and a little numb. I’m buzzing from head to toe.”

“Good. I like you that way,” was his growling response.

My period started today, but it was really light. I knew he wasn’t going to fuck me because of this and I was trying not to squirt because I didn’t want to gross him out. But at the same time, I knew since it was so light, it really wasn’t going to be a big deal and wouldn’t make a mess.

So, with that slim hopeful thought, I pleaded, “Please, will you fuck me?” It sounded pathetic and raspy, but it was all I knew in that moment—that I needed his cock more than my next breath.

I waited for the “No, little one. We’re not doing that tonight. You can have it in a few days.” Or the inevitable, “You want cock, little slut? Oh, that’s too bad,” in that sweet, teasing voice of his that isn’t cruel, just playful and so him.

Instead, what I got was him climbing on top of me right away and my head tipping back in pleasure as he pushed his way right inside me without a word.

“Oh fuck! I’m so wet for you! I’m so wet!” I chanted between gasping breaths.

He said something to the affect that I was his beautiful whore. He also had me confirm it in some way after him discovering I was definitely in sub space and could barely hear him. He had to repeat his words a few times. All I heard was he thought I was beautiful and wanted me to be his whore in this moment. That was all I could be. What else was there other than the bliss I was being given, from him making love to me and commanding my body to give in all the way.

He alternated between sweet words of pleasure and making love, to fucking like an animal and calling me a filthy whore.

I loved all of it, and then we were holding each other, catching our breaths.

Only, I was shaking uncontrollably, freezing cold and clinging to him, feeling completely vulnerable.

I wasn’t lost though, since he was holding me and had put a blanket over me, even though he was dripping sweat and burning up like a furnace.

He caressed me, but I couldn’t stop shaking.

“I know what you need,” he said, and then oh my God! Sweet relief!

He draped his body over mine, smothering me with all his weight. I was stomach down. He faced the same direction, his mouth right at my ear so I could feel his breath fan out across my shoulder and neck, and could hear every little whisper.

What is it about a man doing this to me that sends me straight into euphoria? I moaned with a deep, shaky breath repeatedly as my breathing slowly calmed.

I still shook beneath him, but there was safety about it now. It was controlled and contained beneath him.

Oh God, if this wasn’t heaven, I didn’t know what was.

“I’ve got you.”

“Can you grip my left wrist,” I asked, my lips trembling and voice cracking a little. His hands were so warm and mine were cold and prickling beneath the skin still.

He gripped it, and I about came undone again. I was so close to orgasming from such a simple thing.

He gripped the right as well, keeping me completely pinned down, and I sighed, moaned and shook inside my body, held together by him.

He lay on top of me, spoke about anything and everything and I tried to absorb it all.

Eventually my crazy body stopped being an electrified, frayed, tripping-wire and calmed the fuck down.

He rolled off me and we cuddled.

That led to us discussing our play session. Which led to us both kissing with passion. That drove us back to fucking again like it always did.

The first round was over. That was now considered our foreplay session. Now on to the real thing . . .

This time he completely let go in a way I hadn’t seen before. And all I could do was hold my legs spread as wide apart as possible, being praised as a slut for doing that on my own.

“That’s it, hold those legs open, slut. Let Daddy fuck you hard like a little whore—the way you need.”

Fuck, I could barely take it all in.

I was consumed on every level.

He loves smacking my tits and face and did it over and over. At first I didn’t like either one of those at all when we initially became play partners. Partly, because I didn’t know him well enough to trust him to do that. I didn’t know the intent behind it.

He waits now until I’m buzzing and blissed out and then the love pats start that lead up to smacking.

The smacking makes me clench his cock and cry out with pleasure.

It also leads up to his cock swelling instantly, getting as hard as possible, and his cock head filling me up, along with me going nuts over that plump, lush head as it slides in and out past my G spot.

The face smacking makes him go nuts, so then I wind up cumming hard.

Only this play session, he had my ankles up on his shoulders, one arm wrapped around the backs of my knees, keeping them bound together and hugged to his body. His right hand was free to smack my tits, my face and to choke me or cover my mouth. I knew this drill. We’d done it several times before and it drives both of us wild.

But this time . . . I don’t know what shifted, but something definitely did. He was almost shouting at me, which he never did before. Calling me his beautiful whore, saying he owned me, and then he smacked my tits harder than he ever had before.

“You love this now, don’t you, my sweet little squirty whore?”

Before I always either didn’t answer or said no, because I don’t love being smacked. I’m not into pain, and I can’t stand to ever be called a pain slut, since it’s exact opposite of what my submissiveness means to me.

I could admit though that I loved what it does to him, and that’s all I love.

But now, things were different. I did actually love it.

So, I said, “Yeah, Daddy.”

“Tell me.”

“I love it.”

“You love what?” His voice deepened.

“I love it when you smack me, Daddy,” I said, my head tilting back, sighing in pleasure.

He smacked my tits and told me how much he loved that sound, his voice grittier.

“Then smack my face, since you love that more,” I said out of nowhere, not even thinking about the words before releasing them.

“Sssfffff,” he sucked in a tight gasp of air, growled and then he did it—with a firm slap to my cheek, his cock thickened.

The odd thing was I didn’t even register it as stingy, painful or rough, though it was the hardest he’d ever smacked me. It was simply an intense explosive connection that hit me square in the cunt. He did it two more times, his words getting nastier and as rough as the way he was pounding my pussy.

I screamed and squirted so hard he released my legs, settled between my thighs and then took his cock in his hand and rubbed my pussy all over really hard with his cock head.

I arched into it, both my legs still bent, my calves hugging the backs of my thighs, legs open yet draped around him, since I had this undeniable need to be closer to him. When he’s kneeling like that, he just seems so far away, and I don’t like it. I can barely stand to have him that far away.

“Yes, come on squirt on me again!” he gritted through his teeth.

The pleasure built and built, and I didn’t know if I could, but then out of nowhere I sprayed so hard, it hit him and ricocheted off, soaking my left thigh, coating between my calf and hamstring and even hit my left hand and forearm as I held my leg open for him.

“Oh yes! God, that’s so dirty,” he groaned. “Do that again, slut.”

He rubbed harder, jacking himself off in between a little. His frenzy for me hit me hard, and then I sprayed him once more, only it kept coming and wouldn’t stop. I squirted so much, so forcefully he cried out, “Oh, God, that’s so nasty! My little whore!”

Then he was on top of me, his cock harder than it had ever been, and he was fucking me with everything inside him. He smacked my face hard once more. Any reservations he used to have were completely gone. That was evident in his tighter grip, his ferocious fucking, his intense breathing.

I squirted again, and it gushed and bubbled up out of me as I emanated a low, vibrating scream from my throat.

He did it again, smacking my face, and the same thing took place. I heard it hitting the blanket under me, making a huge sloppy puddle.

Once more he smacked me, and again, that faucet inside me has turned on and won’t shut off.

I was cumming and cumming and cumming.

He was fucking and fucking and fucking.

And then I begged. I had to. “Please, cum, Daddy. I need it. I need your cum.”

I stroked his bristly jaw, loving the feel of his unshaven jaw. He didn’t shave on purpose—for me, since I revel in whisker burn, especially across my back, the nape of my neck and the backs of my shoulders.

“Beg for my cum,” he said, his jaw tight and him appearing to be fighting off his impending orgasm.

“Please—God, please, cum. I want to sleep filled with your cum tonight.”

That did it. He let loose a wailing cry and jerked as I squirted all over his cock and balls. He flooded my sopping pussy with his load, and it intensified my own climax, making it go on longer.

Each time he spasmed inside me, I jerked right afterward.

Each time his breath caught, mine echoed his.

Each time he shoved his cock in a little deeper, getting those last drops to let loose inside me, I clenched down and moaned at the startling sensation deep inside me.

Oh my Lord, I was dizzy from that whirlwind fucking.

I was sated from the beast inside him being freed.

I was well-used and couldn’t stop smiling.

It was all electric, start to finish, and it didn’t matter if our plans had changed, because we found a way to enjoy ourselves to the fullest no matter the situation.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Interview and guest post by Lissa Bryan

I was very honored to be interview by Lissa Bryan about my perspective on Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. She did a guest post on her blog that went live yesterday, but I wasn't able to share it until tonight since I wasn't able to get online last night.

She was fabulous to discuss this topic with. We have differing opinions on various aspects of Anne and Henry's character, but there was a lot of common ground as well. It was fun to have a spirited debate with someone who knows the Tudor period well and doesn't balk when I talk about Henry VIII's garderobe (that's his version of a toilet).

Check it out and see what you think when you read this interview by two Anne Boleyn/Henry VIII fans!

http://under-these-restless-skies.blogspot.com/2015/01/an-interview-with-chase-lowell-author.html?spref=fb

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Harkham's Case and Harkham's Choice on sale this weekend

To celebrate the release of Harkham's Corner, Harkham's Case is free this weekend from today, December 13th through December 15th.

Harkham's Case: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MQIKA2W

In addition, Harkham's Choice is on sale for $.99 for today and tomorrow.


Spread the word!

Harkham's Corner live!

Yay! Harkham's Corner, the third and final installment in the Harkham's series is now live and available through Amaon.com. Here's the link:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QTAAFZA

So excited to share the final book with my readers. Thank you all for your patience!

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

ARCs for Harkham's Corner are going out now!

Better late than never, or so that's what Adam says... I had meant to get these ARCs out much sooner, but such is life. It's ready now, and being shipped to you, my lovely readers. Thank you for your patience. I'm seeing a new Daddy Dom, finishing up school this week and dealing with the holidays, so that tends to slow a gal down.

Tell your friends about this series if you enjoy it. It makes a nice gift!

Thanks again!

Chanse


Saturday, November 22, 2014

Harkham's Corner update

Harkham's Corner was supposed to be published today. Obviously, that did not happen. It's not quite ready. I figured I'd have more time to finish with the edits and proofing, but just wasn't able to get it done. So sorry to push back the publishing date once more. I'm looking at December 13th for it to go live.

Those darn holidays just have a way of eating up time... :D

Sunday, October 26, 2014

A Light in the Window -- a short story

As some of you are aware, I'm in school taking some online classes. One of them is a creative writing course. I just wrote this short piece for a grade, and thought maybe some of my readers who enjoy my historical fiction stuff with Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn might enjoy this. I'm considering turning it into a fan fiction if there's any interest.

It's a little well known fact that Anne actually did seal her fate by making jokes about Henry behind his back and showing off his undergarments, mocking him. This took place right before she was seized and locked away. She gave him little choice. This was treasonous and punishable by death, not to mention enough to break his heart into a thousand pieces since he'd just put on some weight after his leg had been crushed in that jousting accident and his fully armored horse rolled over onto his leg, supposedly causing Anne Boleyn to miscarry their son...

Enjoy this little piece I created, hoping to get a decent grade. Hope you like it!

A Light in the Window

The light in the doorway called to him, but Henry refused to go in. It was his right to do so, but he sat stoic.
“Sire, she is speaking ill of you. I insist, you must see for yourself, since you have refused to believe me thus far,” Thomas Cromwell said, leaning toward him.
Henry swallowed down the bile at the back of his throat. His heart constricted violently. “She is having a party, and I shall allow it. She needs a moment of happiness to herself.” He went back to looking over the newest peace treaty proposal with France. His head pounded, and his fingers shook as he heard the merry music coming from his wife’s chambers.
“It is to your own detriment that you do not stop her. Her tongue has run away with her like a charger on the lists. She brings you shame.” Cromwell stood straight and looked down on the king.
“As my adviser, it is your job to stick to matters I assign you. My wife’s private moments with friends are not your affair.” Henry flipped his wrist and shooed him out.
He could not take much more of this constant assault on his wife’s character. Anne was a wonderful woman. The best he had ever known, even if she had taken to ignoring him as of late.
She never believed him when he denied the rumors of his taking on a mistress, and Jane Seymour, her new lady in waiting, was constantly watching him, making it seem as if they were indeed sinning together behind closed doors.
He leaned back in his chair and heard something fall in Anne’s chambers. It sounded heavy.
His wife screamed, “Ahhhhh!”
In a moment, he was out of his chair and running as fast as he could with his hobbled leg that had been crushed by his charger not long ago when he was at the tilts.
“Dammit! Faster!” he told himself.
He could never move fast enough. He could never be there for her. He could never please her.
He was never enough for her, and his heart twisted over it.
It was his fault she miscarried his son. His son he needed as heir for his kingdom.
Henry crashed through the door, only to find Anne laughing, holding up his large underwear for all in attendance to see.
Her brother, George, was on the floor and had evidently fallen down due to his drunken state and roaring laughter.
“What is the meaning of this?” Henry’s jaw tightened and his heart shrunk until he could feel it no longer.
“Nothing, Your Grace,” Anne said, stuffing his underclothing beneath her skirts, smirking.
“This is treason. You know this, Anne.” He placed his hand over where his heart had once been. His hands were icy, and his vision almost blurred. If anyone found out about this, she could be put to trial.
“This is truth!” She rose to standing, facing him. “You whore around this country trying to make illegitimate children with every woman that passes you by, while I wait for you to come to my bed!” She strode over and pointed in his face. “It is your fault I am not increasing!” Her other hand landed on her belly.
“I . . . Please.” He took forward. “Anne . . . Stop this at once.” His voice trailed off. She blamed him for all her woes. It was not his fault. She scorned his advances each morning and night at the dining table. He tried to kiss her, say some words of affection, but she looked the other way as if he was viler than any creature she had ever known. “You misunderstand. I love no one but you. I fought for seven years to have you—took on the church, and all for you!”
“You cannot blame me that the church was corrupt and needed reformation. I only helped you see what was broken.” Her eyes turned to slits and her lips pursed. A moment later, her nostrils flared at him as she huffed. She turned away from him and staggered back to her seat.
She was drunker than her brother.
He slumped in his spot and sighed. “I will help you to bed.”
“Too late! I do not require you to warm it.” She cocked her head at him.
“Take care, my lady . . . There are eyes all over the castle, and what you think is not seen is.” Henry marched over to her, picked her up by the upper arms and dragged her through her outer chambers to her bedchamber.
“Tonight there are no excuses! You lie with me and no other!” He shut the thick door with his foot.
“I do not stray—that is you!” She swung her hand at him, but missed and fell over in the process.
He caught her before she fell to the floor.
Instead of slapping her to wake her from this drunken stupor, he held her bound to his chest with his thick arms.
“Will you stop listening to idle tongues? I adore you and no other!”
She struggled to break free, so instead he pinned her against the wall and kissed her until she went breathless. If she would not listen, then she would feel his ardor. His hands dug into her hips, and she clawed at his clothing, trying to remove it.
“Why do you not love me anymore?” she asked when he broke away from the kiss.
“I do. So much, darling. I want you.” He pulled at the laces on her left sleeve to undo it.
“You do not listen to me anymore. I try to tell you about monasteries and how they are corrupt and hurting your people, but you turn away from me. You used to listen to me about architecture and music and—”
He covered her mouth with his hand, letting her sleeve slide off her shoulder. “Shhhhh. Listen to me and hear this—I cannot do everything you say. I cannot always act as if your word is law. I hear you, wife—I do. But if I am to maintain some semblance of respect from my advisers and council, I have to stand firm. They have to know I rule supreme, not my wife.”
She nodded, but barely.
He lifted her skirts with his other hand and tickled his fingers up her right inner thigh. “Tonight you conceive, and there will be no more of these disgraceful parties with the likes of Mark Smeaton or Thomas Wyatt or your brother. Do you hear me? They are in lust with you, all except your brother, and they encourage you to act like a lady less well born than a queen. You are mine. And you are to act with propriety like you used to.”
She bit his hand, but instead of him taking offense to it, he took hold of her and picked her up, placing her on the bed. He ripped both her sleeves off her dress and then stopped, towering over her, breathing hard.
“Get undressed. Now.”
Her eyes went heavy, and her chest rose as she took a ragged breath. “You mean to give me a son?”
“I do. I mean to remind you who you belong to in the process. Now, you will get naked and you will spread out for me so I can do what a king must.”
She lifted her skirts, scooted back on the bed and unpinned her hair. It flew down around her shoulders and trailed behind her on the flocked filled mattress covered by a vibrant purple counterpane.
Most likely their wet desire would ruin it, since it was made of the finest French silk, but he cared not.
He would buy her a thousand counterpanes to replace this one if she would only submit to him and mind her tongue in court.
She slowly peeled away the rest of her clothing and watched him as he removed his.
He had put on some weight over the last few months, but it was because his leg was still mending. When it was whole again, he could go back to hunting, wresting, tennis and jousting. He could be the charming young prince he once was . . . The man who won her over a decade ago.
Henry hefted himself up onto the bed and straddled his wife.
“It is lent still. We break God’s laws by you bedding me,” she said, grinning with a dark look in her eyes. She reached for him and spread her legs wide.
“I care not about those rules. God did not mean for a king to keep from procreating because of lent. Those are men’s laws!” He growled and lunged forward, taking what was his—penetrating through her body and hopefully her mind.
She would remember he was the reason her whole world existed.
“You are a wicked man,” she said, arching into him, grinning.
“Only when I am with you.”


Three weeks passed since he took her, and still no word of conception.
Henry paced in his privy chamber, his neck and chest heating to an unbearable degree.
Still, more rumors of how she made jokes at his expense when in her private chambers with that same foul company he had demanded she stay away from.
“She thinks I do not listen to her!” He clucked his tongue. “When she is the one ignoring my council!”
Cromwell sat silent, only watching him move to and fro like a piece of chaff caught in conflicting winds.
Henry’s leg ached, and he paused every few moments to massage it.
“Sire, is it infected again?” Cromwell stood.
“No, no. It is fine. Only slept on it wrong.” Henry dare not tell him he twisted it funny when making love to Anne three weeks ago and it had continuously flared up since then.
“I am glad to hear you are well.” Cromwell nodded and backed up as Henry approached him.
“What am I to do with her?” the King asked.
Cromwell’s lips parted as if to say something, but then he closed them abruptly when a hysterical Anne burst into the room crying.
“You liar!” She crossed the room to Cromwell and slapped his face. “You mean to besmirch my character? I am the Queen of England!”
Henry took her by the arm and sat her in his chair. His lungs burned as he held his breath to keep from bellowing in her face that if she was the Queen of England, then she better act like it!
“Anne, compose yourself.” Henry kept a hand on her shoulder to keep her seated.
“I do nothing but report the facts, madame.” Cromwell bowed.
“You twist the facts into whatever you like to gain power.” She looked up at Henry. “Please, you cannot believe a word he says about me. It is nothing but false accusations.”
Henry petted her long, dark hair. His eyes filled with tears. How many times had he stroked his hands through her shiny, satin locks like this? Why could she not be docile and allow him to adore her like he used to?
“Henry!” She gripped his hand, breaking him out of his trance.
“I have missed my wife, but reports reach me that she does not feel the same,” Henry whispered.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then sighed, his shoulders and soul sinking to the floor.
“You cannot mean . . .” Her face paled, and she shrank from his touch. “You cannot! What of Elizabeth, our daughter?”
“You have sealed your own fate.” Henry pointed at the evidence in the corner—testimonies of the crass jokes she made about him being a poor lover in bed. More proof of her infidelities with Smeaton and Wyatt. Other articles of his personal underclothing had all been found in her chambers after her parties took place.
“I can only turn a blind eye for so long.” Henry released her and shuffled away toward the table, fingering her necklace she used to wear that had the B on it with droplet pearls beneath it.
She had twisted it up on his sleeping shorts, signifying she owned him, not the other way around.
He could only tolerate so much. His heart could not take this onslaught of defiance and insult. He had a kingdom to run, and no matter how much he loved her he had to protect his people. If they did not support their king, there might be another hundred years war that his predecessors had made sure to end.
“It is that whore, Jane Seymour, is it not? You bed her, and now you mean to throw me out of my chambers to put her there in my stead.” She pushed off the table, knocking the chair out from under her as she stood. “I will not allow it! I am Queen, not her!” Anne tripped as she came flying at Henry and fell straight on her face.
When he rushed to her to help her up, she swatted his hands off her.
“Do not touch me ever again!” She moved to her knees, then stood on her own accord.
Her lower lip was busted open and blood oozed down her chin.
“My lady, you are bleeding!” Henry tore at his cuffs to break a piece off and staunch the flow, but she shoved him away from her, knocking him back into the table.
“I will make sure everyone knows what a wretched king and awful husband you are! There is no one who takes wanton lusty women into his bedroom at the alarming rate you do! Bastard!” She spit in his direction.
Cromwell lunged at her and dragged her out of the room.
Henry bent his head back and howled in agony, his heart thundering in his chest. “Annnnnne!”


Execution day emerged—the trial had been swift. There was no way to convince anyone she was worth saving. The incest charges were false of course, but Henry could do nothing to keep those from being brought to court.
Henry glared at Cromwell. “You were supposed to save her!”
“I could only do so much inside the laws. Justice had to be served. She was found treasonous.” Cromwell swallowed and stood far back.
Henry’s limbs were heavy, and he could barely move over these last few weeks while his wife was incarcerated in the Tower of London. His hands were cold and clammy, and sweat trickled down his back. It did not matter how many layers of clothing he took off—he was always sweating and then breaking out in chills. His gut pinched tighter than his nerves, too. He fell apart night and day whenever left alone.
Tears were his constant companion, rather than his wife.
He roamed over to the window and placed a hand on the pane.
“Make sure the swordsman does his job well.” Henry motioned his head toward the table and got choked up. “Extra gold if he takes her head off with one swing. I do not want her to feel any pain at all.”
Cromwell nodded. “Yes, Sire. He is well trained—the best France has to offer.”
“She has but a little neck,” Henry said, smiling through his tears. Her joke—not his. He always loved how she cooed when he kissed down her neck and put his hands in her hair.
“She does that, Your Grace.” Cromwell bowed and took the bag of money.
“You are certain she is not with child?” Henry bit his bottom lip. It quivered and gave away his most urgent desire to save her if at all possible.
“No, Your Grace. She could not possibly be. It has been more than a full cycle of the moon since you last lay with her.” Cromwell stood in place, face devoid of expression, legs steady.
“I should go to her. Say something to her . . .” Henry moved away from the window.
“You cannot. You have already said—”
“I know what I said!” Henry shouted, spit flying in Cromwell’s direction.
“Apologies, Sire.” Cromwell bowed and kept his eyes downcast.
“She is a witch. She bewitched me from the start.” Henry’s heart screamed at him this was false, that she was lovely and fair, but that jealousy had changed her. She had become too ambitious and hardened her heart against him.
“She is that, yes.” Cromwell shook the bag of coins for a second.
Henry’s gaze fell on the bag, and he scowled. “Is this to be what I am remembered for? Two failed marriages, no son and a life of misery with a bad leg?”
Cromwell only blinked in response.
“Tell me what will history say about Henry VIII? Will they say Hal is a legend because he purged the church of its corruption? Will they say he joined his lands together in peace and brought them harmony at his own expense?”
Cromwell rose a hand and shook his head as if it to say history would be nothing but generous in regard to this king.
“I tell you this—they will blame me for all of it.” Henry’s hand slapped the wall. “They will say I am a monster because my wife had to die!” He pointed at his chest and wheezed. “It will say I am soulless and had my way with many women, when I am pious and pray several times a day, pleading for God to save my people by giving me a son so my country does not fall into ruin when I am gone!”
“What does it matter what history says? You know the truth in your heart. Your soul will be spotless before God.” Cromwell’s brow wrinkled.
“Will it?” Henry snorted. “No. I daresay it will not. I failed to save her. She is lost to me, and the facts will be, too.”
Henry limped to his bedchamber. She would be dead within the hour, and that meant his heart would be, too. There would be no light in the doorway to call to him.