Saturday, April 30, 2011

Nothing this past week

With patience running out, I think I shall wait until Monday evening. If I don't have any news by then, I shall withdraw "The Ring" and resubmit it to A1.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

No news up to now.

Back to the waiting game.
Hopefully this week will see a final decision made.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

And here is Marta

Like her?

A new chapter of the new book

My level of frustration grew more as time passed. My visit to William Pierce had, I believe, the desired effect. Shortly after I returned home, I had a conversation with Paul that would, I feared, or hoped, change everything.
"Paul, I have changed my mind," I said.
"How so?"
"I give you not only my breasts, but my whole body. You can have everything."
"Are you sure of that?" his questioning look spoke volumes.
"I love you," I answered, "and I am sorry I did not do this before, but I am yours, forever, without any reservations."
"I am sure," I added.
Lovemaking that night was awesome; he used my pussy with reckless abandon, as he used my ass.
But that was about it. Life returned to normal and, except for our lovemaking being a bit more intense, there was not much difference. Sometimes he tortured my breasts; sometimes enough for me to achieve the mega orgasms I craved, but that only happened now and then. Enough for me to remember them, to miss them, but not frequently enough for me to be satisfied.
I could not take it anymore/
"Why don't you play with me?" I asked him one evening.
"I do play with you," he replied.
"You know what I mean. I gave you everything, but you use me so rarely, and so carefully that, I might as well not have done it at all."
"Maybe I don't want to break my toy," he said.
"Maybe your toy wants to be broken," I replied.
Nothing more happened for a few weeks. At times, in bed, touching myself, I looked at his nightstand and thought of the miniature pliers lying forgotten in the drawer, and thought of using them on myself. I did not because I knew that did not work. I tried to hurt myself, with a hairbrush, but it did not help.
My summer vacation was approaching and, despite my sexual frustration, I looked forward to it. I wondered where we would go.
"Take next month off," Paul said one night.
"I only have two weeks," I answered.
"So take them without pay, or even better, quit," he said.
I looked at him in wonder. What was he about.
"I thought about what you said," he smiled. "I think I want to break my toy."
A river of juice spurted from my innards.
He gave me my instructions later in the week. My insides turned into ice when I heard them. He handed me an airline ticket.
It was a round trip ticket to San Jose, Guatemala.
"You will fly to Ciudad de Guatemala, and from there to San Jose," he ordered.
At the San Jose airport I would take a cab to a villa near the ocean, at a place called Pie de la Cuesta. The villa had been rented in my name, with my credit card. What chilled my insides was that I would be travelling alone, he would not come with me. I would travel alone into the country with the highest murder rate for women in the world, and the lowest conviction rate.
He did intend to break me.
I couldn't blame him. I had asked him to.
I did not have the courage to ask what his intentions were. I set no limits, put no conditions. I wasn't going to balk at the agreement even if I wanted to; besides, something inside me did not want to. Something inside me squirmed, deep in my pelvis. My rational mind wondered if it would be worth it. My pelvis churned and asked no questions.
"Yes Paul," I said with downcast eyes as I picked up the travel documents.
At work, I resigned my position and said I would be moving away. We had no real friends in town, so I would not be missed. I packed my bags and took a cab for the airport. Paul had left for Chiapas, Mexico two days earlier. I did not expect to need the return trip ticket.
At least he bought me a first class ticket all the way to San Jose.
I tipped the cabbie generously when he left me at the door of the empty villa with my baggage. He gave me his card and asked me to call him when it was time to return to the airport. Little did he know...
The villa turned out to be an old colonial mansion. The front gate was closed but there was a door on the side. I tried it and it opened. The mansion was set a way back from the road. I hung my carry on bag from my suitcase and pulled them behind me on the cracked asphalt of the driveway. Tall royal palms framed the driveway. I took a deep breath; it felt like hot soup. The air was alive with the humming of insects and, from the rainforest behind the mansion, I heard the screeching of birds.
The white paint on the outside of the mansion was peeling in places. A wide verandah surrounded the front of the house. Several trees dotted the wide front garden; it really could not be called a lawn. The scent of tropical flowers was heavy in the humid air. By the time I reached the front door, I was soaked through.
I rang the doorbell.
A ravishing young woman opened the door. She was no taller than five foot two and her skin was the color of the cafe con leche they serve at street stands in Miami, Her long flowing hair reached down to her waist and her almond shaped eyes were the color of  clover honey. She wore a white linen dress that enhanced her breasts reaching down to the upper thighs. On her feet she wore high heeled espadrilles called "alpargatas" here.
"You must be Helen," her voice tinkled like Bohemian crystal, and her lips split in a wide open smile.
"Follow me," she said, helping me with the luggage.
The bedrooms were all on the second floor to take advantage of the sea breeze. From my window I could see the rainforest start where the property ended. Three large red birds flew across the green expanse screeching loudly.
"Guacamayos," she said.
"I am Melita," she extended her hand.
The introductions over, she opened the closet where a linen dress, much like hers hung.
"You'll be more comfortable if you wear this," she said before leaving.
I examined the large room. A gauzy mosquito net draped over the large, iron framed bed. There was no air conditioning and a ceiling fan hung from the ceiling. The breeze, blowing softly through the open windows smelled of salt and shellfish. The hardwood floor creaked slightly as I walked on the ancient timbers that had been polished through generations to a dark, almost black, shine. An iron tub had been wedged into the tiny bathroom, between the washstand and the toilet. I washed my face and removed my travel stained skirt and T shirt. After a moment, I also removed my bra.
Melita was right, of course. The linen dress was cool and more comfortable than a cotton one would be. There was a pair of high heeled alpargatas in the closet. I put them on; they were my size. They tied on to the calf with long baby blue ribbons. I looked at myself in the mirror surprised at how sexy I looked dressed with what were, in essence, peasant clothes.
I stepped out on the balcony. This place was so beautiful, a perfect place for a vacation. Instead, I came here to be broken, destroyed. A chill rose up my spine and I shivered in the warm air.
I returned to the ground floor. Melita and a second, taller, woman stood by a table in the white tiled kitchen. Melita approached me and offered me a large glass of chilled juice. It tasted delicious even though I could not identify what fruit it was made of.
The second woman wore a pale yellow linen dress and alpargatas; she was taller, and her white skin betrayed her European heritage. Her chestnut colored hair reached midway down her back and her large eyes were the darkest brown I'd ever seen.
"I am Marta," she said with the faintest Spanish accent.
She kissed me on the cheek, twice, the Spanish way.
"Where is Paul?" I did not know what role he planned for me, so I did not dare ask 'Where is my husband?"
"The men are out fishing," Marta said, "they will be back soon."
"Shall I show you the grounds?"
A gravel path led from the back door through the fruit trees that dotted the property. I recognized mango and avocado trees, but I could not recognize any of the others. Gravel replaced the grass where a picnic area and a gazebo had been built.
"It keeps snakes away," Marta said.
The grounds were well maintained and I realized that the peeling paint I'd noticed at the entrance was more a reflection on the climate and humidity than dilapidation.
"You know what will happen to you?" Marta asked me.
"Not the details," I answered with a quiver in my voice, "but in general, yes, I know."
"And you are OK with it?"
It took an immense effort to answer:
"I had to ask, you understand," she said.
"Of course."
"You will be tortured only between sunset and sunrise," she informed me. "It is too hot during the day."
"I see."
"You may rest during the day. You will need it."
Despite the heat and the humidity, I felt cold. I could not believe this conversation. I could not believe I was discussing what, in effect would be my destruction, in such fashion, as if we were planning a party, a social event.
"Melita will help the men if required," Marta continued, "she will also satisfy their needs. I hope you don't mind."
I shook my head.
"You will not be able to, most of the time."
My fear turned into terror. I felt acid gurgling up in the back of my throat. I could barely walk. Yet, with each passing moment, a pulse of heat throbbed inside me, fighting the icy fear, pushing it back.
Both sides of the property abutted on thick forest providing privacy. The property ended, in the back, on a creek where a small pier had been built. On the edge of the water, the largest alligator I had ever seen looked at us with uninterested eyes. He did not bother to even move as we approached the pier. Whether he regarded us as intruders to be ignored, or as a prospective snack, I could not tell. I thought he was looking at me, detecting my fear.
"Never fear the alligator that you can see," Marta said, "it's the one you can't see that will get you."
The hum of an engine approaching up the creek announced the men's return. As the fifteen foot cabin cruiser approached, the alligator decided it was getting too crowded and slid into the water.
Paul and Dr. Martin got off the boat. I did not know if this was reassuring or not.
The sun raced towards the western horizon.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Message from the publisher

Had some health issues that delayed everything for a week.
Will continue to sit.
Meanwhile, the next one is on its final stretch.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Molasses in January

Thursday and no answer. I understand the print market is much slower than the e-book environment but still it is frustrating.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

A teaser on the new story. Still just a draft.

Ch 9
We repaired to the living room to finish our drinks. Java left the bottles of sherry and brandy on the coffee table, on a silver salver. William served himself a second snifter of brandy and offered me a second round of sherry which I declined. He lit a cigar.

"Don't you drink cognac?" I asked.

He showed me the bottle of brandy. It was dark,almost black in color in sharp contrast with all I knew about brandy that called for the liquor to be as pale as possible. It's aroma was potent and its taste, when he offered me a sip, was fiery yet smooth.

"It's brandy from Jerez," he said, "made from sherry wine."

"I'd never heard of it." I confessed.

"It's far superior to most cognacs," William said, "smoother and more full of flavor if you ask me." he placed the bottle down on the salver.

"We use cognac for cooking here. I never drink it."

"Do you require anything else sir?" Java asked from the entrance.

The sound of her voice, smooth as balsam, yet gravelly shocked me. That she would be a part of the upcoming festivities was, by now, to me self evident.

"Yes Java," William said.

"Please take Mrs Chartres down to the basement and prepare her."

I felt blood rushing, hot and red to my face yet, unprotesting, I stood up. 

"How shall I prepare her sir," Java asked.

I felt blood rushing up to my face and down to my pelvis.

"Arms up," he said, "breasts exposed."

"Only that?"

"Yes, just the breasts."

I approached the dark skinned young woman, who stood, waiting for me, by the door. Her large eyes, the color of a forest pool on a moonless night stood out on her smooth face. Her lips parted in a hint of a smile giving the tiniest peek at her perfect teeth. 

"Follow me madam," she said when I reached her.

I wondered what her racial background was. There was black in there, yet there was something vaguely oriental in her movement and her butt, perky and well formed was definitely not black.

At the bottom of the stairs she flipped a switch. The large basement was washed in halogen light from tracks on the ceiling. Spot lights, currently unlit hanged from the roof at strategic locations, as did more ominous chains. 

At the center of the large room she stopped and, turning around, said:

"Please madam, take off your blouse."

I did so, placing it on her extended hand.

Unasked, I removed my bra placing it too on her hand. She turned around and hanged them from a clothes tree in the corner. She picked up a remote control from a shelf and used it to lower two chains from the ceiling, one on each side of me. The chains had leather shackles on them.

Picking one up she said, "Madam, please give me your wrist."

I could have accepted it better if she was domineering or took superior airs with me, but she did not. She remained exquisitely polite, subservient even.

"Please to raise your arms madam," she said.

After I did so, she used the remote control to take up the slack in the chains, so I could rest the weight of my arms on them.

It was so degrading to stand here, thus exposed, in front of this house servant maid. Even more so because of her exquisite politeness. The churning in my lower abdomen revealing things I'd rather not have revealed. I was glad I kept my skirt and undies up to now. I wondered if I would be allowed to keep them all night.

A voice in my head asked me 'Would you want to?"

A door opened and I heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

"The master arrives," Java said.

William stood in front of me, admiring my naked torso, and my breasts, held obscenely up and forward by my arms. Java's face remained blank, inexpressive, although I caught her, in a moment when she thought I wasn't looking, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue, with a speed and discretion that made me wonder, for a moment, if I had seen it, or merely imagined it.

"Java," he said, "bring me two alligator clamps."

"Yes sir," she said.

While she retrieved the instruments from a cupboard on the wall, William approached me.

His hand touched my breasts, sliding lightly over the fair, smooth skin. 

"Did it excite you? Having Java prepare you so?" he asked.

"Why don't you check yourself?" I answered, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice.

I feared, for a moment that he would indeed check, revealing my anger to be bluster and shaming me, even further. 

With his face close to mine, I saw his nostrils dilate with his breathing and feared that he might smell my arousal. But I saw no sign that he did. His pupils remained the same size, and the sound of his breathing did not change. 

He turned around and stepped away from me. Java deposited two large alligator clamps on his hand. 

I squealed when the toothed jaws bit into the skin of my areolas. I swung from my wrists as I squeezed my thighs together, to contain the flow that threatened to come out of my female regions. I hope he saw the anger in my eyes as I regained my self control. 

He smiled.

Java stood, behind him, silent, expressionless, a knee slightly bent, awaiting orders from her master.

"Java," he asked, "bring me the three tailed whip."

I raised my face, looking at him, defiant. 

He began to strike my breasts with the flogger, slowly getting into rhythm, first one, then the other, not very hard at first, making me squirm in my bonds.

I struggled, in my chains to contain my screams, fearing what they would reveal. I crossed my thighs, under my skirt while twisting, almost dangling from my chains. William continued to strike my bosoms with his three bladed flogger while Java looked on, impassive.

I could contain myself no longer; the flogger hit my boobs harder and the thin crotch of my thong could not hold the juice of my snatch any more. I began to gasp with every stroke of the triple tailed whip, as the alligator clamps sunk their teeth deeper into my flesh with every squirm of my body.

And then my gasps turned into moans, then screams.

Then he stopped.

I gasped for breath, my knees bent, all my weight dangling from my wrists. My thighs clasped tight, trying to drown the little bolts of energy that radiated, like the legs of a spider, up from my depths.

William approached me again, whip dangling from his hand. "Does it excite you, to be whipped, with Java watching you?"

I had no answer for him.

He extended his hand, Java took the flogger from him.

"Single tail," he said.

The long bullwhip cracked the air, its tip cutting into my breasts. It took a fraction of a second for the pain to sink in. Deep, explosive, visceral. It took me no longer than that to begin to scream. Everything else wiped out of my conscience by the crack of the whip and the searing, cutting, blinding pain of the single tail striking my orbs. I did not even notice when one of the alligator clamps flew of its nipple amidst my thrashing. I did not even notice when he stopped. I continued to scream, and to thrash regardless. 

When I finally noticed, my boobs were twin mountains of lava. Only one of them still adorned with the clamp, swinging up and down with my labored breathing.

With a conscious effort I slowed down my gasps.

"Focus!" I said in a whisper.

I concentrated on my breathing, eyes closed, until my lungs were no longer a ragged bellows. Then I opened my eyes. 

William stood in front of me, the single tail whip dangling, inert, from his hand. Beside him stood Java, her huge eyes open, her lips parted, her breath moving, I knew, in and out between those two pink, perfect sausages of flesh. I saw the faint tightening, firming, of the muscles around her hips, mute witness that the sight of my body writhing under the whip, my breasts quivering under the lash and finally, the clamps biting on my tender skin, did not leave her as inert, as passive, as she pretended to.

My pelvis filled with blood, my tissues, inside me, engorged with the hot, viscous fluid, throbbed in unison with the beating of my heart. I wanted to clamp my thighs shut, to dam the flow that threatened to pour from my tunnel but the sheer mass of the red ball in my pelvis prevented me from doing so. My legs wanted to fly open of their own accord, the lips of my pussy, engorged and wet, wanted to open wide, to welcome his touch, her touch, the whip's touch.

I thought he would ask me the question he'd been asking all evening, yet he did not. Whether because he knew the answer already, or because he did not care, I do not know.

He handed the whip into Java's hands and turned his back to me.

"Give her a bath," he said, "and get her into bed."

He turned his head around and said, "Good night Helen. Get some rest; we have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

I heard the sound of his footsteps receding up the stairs, just as the pain of the blood rushing back into my nipple hit me, when Java removed the clamp that had hung through the whole evening on to my breast.
When she released my hands, unable to stand, I fell into her arms.

She helped me up the stairs and into a chair in my room. She went into the bathroom and I heard her open the faucets in the tub. She helped me into the small tiled room and, kneeling in front of me, she helped me step out of my skirt. The smell of my own arousal hit my nostrils like a punch in the gut. Exhausted as I was, I did not have the strength to blush. I did notice her nostrils opening up, to capture my odor, just before she removed the soaked thong from me. Now I stood naked, in the bathroom as I waited for my bath to be ready. 

She closed the faucets and poured some bath salts into the steaming water. The bathroom filled with the odor of eucalyptus, chamomile and rosemary. Without even testing the water temperature, Java took me by the hand and helped me into the tub. 

The water temperature was perfect. Not hot enough to scald, yet warm enough that it's heat soothed sore muscles, twisted sinews.

I soaked in the aromatic water, closing my eyes. I felt her hands massaging, kneading the tight cords on my neck. I opened my eyes and saw her, she had opened the black top of her maid's uniform which hung about her waist, but kept her black bra on. She smiled at me; her teeth, as I suspected, were perfect pearls.
Her hands slid down my chest, a sponge on them, sliding carefully over my skin. I whimpered when she soaped my breasts, and whimpered again when they slid between my thighs. 

Too soon it was over.

She dried my body with a plush towel and, at my urging, applied the cream I used to prevent bruising all over my breasts. 

I could not help my breath getting deeper, as she massaged the white ointment into my formerly white orbs. My blood rushed again to my pelvis and I felt faint. My knees buckled and I reached around her shoulders for support.

She helped me into bed.

I watched her put the top of her uniform back on.

I needed release and, somehow, I knew that my middle finger, seeking my nub between my nether lips was not going to cut it.

Was she going to leave me like this?

"Please," I asked.

She turned her strong, thin face towards me and smiled.

"Of course madam."

She pulled the sheet off my nude body and her hands found the skin around my waist. She knelt on the bed as my thighs came open of their own accord. Her lips sought my center. Her tongue found my nub. 

My pelvis exploded.

Later, I saw her face, wet with the juices of my spending, rise between my thighs, her wide smile betraying her own pleasure, her own delight.

I reached for her with my hand, willing to return the favor, but she got off the bed took a step back.

"Not tonight madam; it is late."

She opened the door and left me in the bed. Before closing the door however she said:

"Maybe tomorrow."

Question of the day.

A woman I know once asked:
"If you kiss a man, dressed as a woman, does it make you half lesbian?"

Friday, April 15, 2011

Word back from the publisher on The Ring

"The review from the editor is complete and I should get back to you within this next week."
I assume that's good news.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Getting tired of waiting.

I'll give it until next Tuesday. If I've not had an answer from the publisher I'll withdraw the novel from them and submit it to A1.
It's been long enough.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Spider is on Amazon!

The Spider is now available as an e-book for the Amazon Kindle at the Amazon e-book store:

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Next novel

While we wait, let's have an update on the next piece:
First of all, the title. It doesn't have one yet.
The topic is the story "Her Breasts" just posted a few days ago in this blog, expanded and told from her side. Of course, Helen doesn't just give her breasts away. Eventually, she hands all of her body, in installments to her husband and finds out a lot about herself in the process.
Without making any promises, I think I am almost half way through it.
I wonder if it will be done before "The Ring" comes out.

Monday, April 11, 2011

No news

Patience comes to those who wait.
What's funny is that, if we keep this up, my next novel (A taste of which you can find in the previous posts) will be done before The Ring is published!

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Still waiting

The publisher originally quoted two to three weeks before making a decision on "The Ring"
After three and a half weeks, I sent an inquiry and she told me she'd had some concerns when reading the chapter by chapter summary as some content was edgy. But that they had not finished reading it, and that it would not be much longer.
Another week has passed and no answer yet.
What's sad is that it would have been published already had I sent it to A1.
I guess I'll wait one more week.

Friday, April 1, 2011

The Ring

Got an e-mail from the editor today. They have not finished their review and have some concerns about content being quite edgy. They are waiting to see how it is handled in the story.

Doesn't look too promising but it is better than an out right rejection.
Of course, if it is rejected, it will go on A1 and it will get to readers faster than if it goes into print.
The wonders of the internet!