Friday, August 26, 2016

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Check out my tmblr:

It is just a collection of images or text of things that I find inspirational <evil grin>

Sunday, August 21, 2016

A question for my fans:
Do you listen to audiobooks? If so would you listen to my novels as an audio book?
I am considering turning some of my novels into audiobooks, but I am reluctant to expend the effort if there is no interest.
Perhaps the question would be better phrased as: Do you listen to your erotica or porn in audio form?
I am pondering.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Some more new fantastic art at Minos' site

Enter the main site here:

Monday, August 8, 2016

8 chapters and more than 19000 words to date.
And I haven't even reached the main story line!

Friday, August 5, 2016

A teaser.
Chapter 7

"We have three days," my Master addressed me, "Today you shall receive forty lashes with the single tail, forty strokes of the crop on your breasts, and thirty cuts of the cane, on your pussy."
I shuddered, thirty cuts of the cane on my delicate, sensitive pussy! But of course, if my breasts were to receive the crop, as mandated, what choice remained for the cane? I knew I couldn't bear it. I knew it.
"Master Alphonse will help me," my Master said, "he will take over when my arm gets tired."
I needed to go to the bathroom.
"Stand," Master Alphonse said.
I stood before him.
"Spread your legs," he ordered.
His hand caressed my face, descended along the side of my neck. His fingers slid over my breasts, I felt the tingle of his nail, dragged over my nipple. He fondled and squeezed them, not ungently. He came closer to me, so close that I felt the heat of his body on my naked skin. His hand reached my bush, he toyed with the curly red hairs before sliding inside my, now dry, sex. His finger lingered there, feeling, exploring. I shivered in fear and shame. Only my Master had touched me, since I became his.
"Turn around," he said without removing his finger from inside me.
I did so feeling his khakis against my buttocks.
"I shall help you, John, for a price."
"What is your price Alphonse?"
His finger left my sex and inserted itself into my mouth. I feared where it would go next. I dreaded what master Alphonse would ask of my Master.
His left arm holding me by the waist against him, he penetrated me, there, I straightened my body against the unwanted invasion.
"She is tight," he said, "You haven't used her ass?"
"Not yet," my Master replied.
"Then I won't ask for it now," I relaxed with relief.
"But I want it, as soon as you've taken it." My ass squeezed involuntarily. He chuckled.
"May I speak?" I timidly asked.
"What is it?" said my Master.
I asked and was permitted to use the restroom. There was no restroom in the unfinished basement so I had to use the powder room on the ground floor. All the curtains were drawn open and the lights were on so I would be clearly visible, nude, to anyone strolling on the street. There was no helping it. I dashed from the basement stair door to the powder room, did my business, and then had to dash back to the basement door despite that being the last thing I wanted to do.
When I returned the halogen lights were on illuminating the basement in their harsh, bright light. I had to stand underneath one of the crossbeams where my Master had strategically placed several iron rings. A solid rope ran through the ring tied on one end to the chain holding a pair of hand cuffs together. I noticed that these were the leather lined ones. I appreciated that as I feared I would soon dangle my full weight from them. Once the whip, or crop, or cane began to fly, I had no illusions of the ability of my legs to sustain my weight. I extended my arms, wrists together and watched as master Alphonse pulled on the rope raising my cuffed hands above my head. Once I was stretched to his satisfaction, meaning almost on tiptoe, he tied off the rope to a large ring on the wall. Two lengths of rope tied to my ankles forced me to open my legs until they provided almost no support for my weight. My wrists began to hurt almost immediately but that was the least of my worries.
My Master approached me, the whip in his hand, and kissed my lips. I kissed him back as best I could. His lips approached my ear.
"I know why you did this," he said, "but you should have warned me. It is because of that, of your blatant manipulation that I will punish you, as you asked and deserve."
"Master please," I said.
"What is it?"
"Master, I shan't be able to bear it," I said, "cancel my safeword."
He pulled his head back, surprised. Perhaps he expected me to plead for mercy, for a reprieve, or a decrease on the brutal sentence; instead, I requested to remove the only possible safeguard I had.
"Elaborate," said master Alphonse.
"I know I won't be able to bear it," I pleaded, "if I have a safeword, I shall use it. Thus you must cancel my safeword, if only for this weekend."
"What do you think John? She is yours after all."
My Master nodded, "All right. There is no safeword until the punishment is completed."
He stood facing me, the whip still in his hand, "Rose, we will make sure you suffer no damage, no permanent damage, that is. Granted that, is it your intention to release all control over what is going to happen here tonight?"
I took a deep breath, "Yes, my Master."
"So be it."
He stepped behind me and I could see him no more unless I turned my head all the way to the left; however he was outside the bright circle of halogen light so I barely saw the outline of his body. He shook the single tail free, tossing the tip in my direction, judging the distance. Master Alphonse stood to my right, watching intently.
I could not believe it. I had just handed all control to these two men. My Master I knew and trusted, but master Alphonse? Who was he? My Master drew the whip back. I jerked my head forward.
I did not have time to close my eyes. The crack of the whip cutting through the air preceded by an instant the wheal of fire across my shoulder blades. I had never known such pain. I shook my head, and screamed again and again. I could not bear it. Could not. And this was just the first lash. There were twenty nine more to go. Fortunately for my sanity, or what remained of it, the atrocious pain on my back absorbed all my attention. I could not think further than this stroke of the whip. It hurt. It hurt. Just as the burning fire turned into a duller throb, I heard a crack again.
The single tail landed on my back once again demanding my undivided attention. Gone was the pain in my wrists, gone was the incipient cramping in my calves. My world rapidly reduced to less than a yard to my burning back. Through my screams I heard master Alphonse say:
My Master continued to strike my back, allowing me time to feel each lash, but in a way he was merciful. He followed a rhythm, a pattern. He did not strike me in a haphazard way. I knew when the lash was coming by the rhythm even before I heard the crack of the tip of the lash cutting through the air. And he did not wait too long between strikes. I screamed just as loud regardless.
"Fifteen," master Alphonse said.
"You should have this basement soundproofed," he said.
"They can't hear us from the street," my Master responded.
"I understand, but I'm going deaf from all her screeching, my ears are ringing."
"I can fix that," my Master said.
He went to the corner cabinet where he kept his long guns and brought back ear plugs for him and master Alphonse. He gave him the whip.
"Shall we continue?" my Master said, and then, to me, "Are you ready dear?"
I had stopped screaming, "Yes my master," I said, my throat hoarse.
Now it was master Alphonse wielding the single tail. I resumed my screams while my Master counted the lashes.
Master Alphonse took his cue from my Master allowing the pain from each lash to begin to ebb before striking again. His pace was all his own but kept an even rhythm so once again I could predict when I would hear the crack of the whip before it landed on my unprotected, burning back.
The last five fell across my buttocks. "Forty," my Master said.
He approached me. Hanging from my wrists I cried and babbled incoherently.
"It's over my love," he said embracing my neck.
I noticed he took great care in not touching my back. Master Alphonse offered me a glass of ice water. While I remained in my Master's arms, he released my ankles and the rope that held me up and I almost fell to the floor. My Master caught me and held me up but his embrace, his arms around my body took me to a new height of agony. He took my up in his arms, holding me by my shoulders and underneath my knees. My wrists were still manacled so I passed them around his neck and kissed him.
"Did I do good?" I asked.
"You were great," he said.
He took me to a chair but one glance at its back and I opted to kneel. I will be the first to admit that I wasn't kneeling in perfect Nadu; of course my cuffed wrists impeded the proper hand positioning, and my thighs were not spread as wide as they should be, but no one seemed to care. Master Alphonse refilled my glass from a glass jug that had appeared on the table. My Master must have gone to get it while Master Alphonse shredded my back with the whip.
Beside the jug I saw the crop and the cane. I began to cry in silence, trying to control myself but only succeeded in losing it even further. Despite all my efforts I began to sob loudly.
"Perhaps we should stop here," said my Master.
I looked up at him startled.
"Yes," said master Alphonse caressing my hair, wet with my sweat.
'No!" I shook my head, "I mean, please Masters, no, we mustn't stop now," all of a sudden my tears and sobs had stopped.
I saw them looking at me, curious. I spread my thighs as wide as I could and turned my hands palms up. "I can continue, please," I pleaded.
"I think I shall call my girl," said master Alphonse, his erection barely contained by his khakis.
He went upstairs to call her. My Master's jeans did a better job of restraining his cock, but I figured he must also be in need of relief.
"Master please, may I serve you?" I reached towards the general area.
He nodded and reclined against the wall. Still on my knees I slid closer to him and, reaching up with my cuffed hands undid the button of his jeans and unzipped them. His turgid cock sprouted in all its glory from his boxers. I teased his balls out with my fingers and took the head between my lips peeling off the foreskin with my tongue as I took him deeper inside my mouth.
"She will join us presently," said master Alphonse, "Ah," he added on seeing us.
My Master caressed my hair as I bobbed up and down faster. I could tell he was close.
"Rose can service..." he stopped talking; he spurted his seed in my mouth while I struggled to swallow it all, "ahhh, meanwhile," he concluded.
After making sure his rod was clean, I replaced it inside his boxers and pants and zipped him up.
Master Alphonse stood beside me and offered me his own rigid member. I took him in my mouth, blushing at how wanton I was, kneeling here, sucking off this man, in the presence of my Master, just getting him ready to do a number on my breasts with the crop. His girl arrived just as he spurted on my tongue. I began cleaning him but was rudely interrupted.
"What are you doing slut?" a young brunette interrupted me pushing my head away from her master's cock. She knelt in front of him seizing his member and and licking it the last traces of jism off it.
I was not more shocked than my Master or master Alphonse at that outburst.
"Annette!" master Alphonse scolded her, "Where are your manners? What kind of behavior is that?" His fists clenched and fire shot from his eyes at this lack of discipline.
Annette looked up at her master with fear in her eyes. Only just now she realized the gravity of her action. On her knees, she spread her thighs as wide as she could as she slipped her black mini dress down, exposing her firm, voluptuous breasts.
"Mmaster," she stammered lifting the hem of her dress above her waist, she wore no panties, "I am so sorry. Please have pity on me."
She threw herself on the floor holding on to her master's ankles, "Please do not be angry with Annette," she said.
Master Alphonse looked down on her his face stiff with rage, "How dare you!"
Annette rose from the floor back on her knees, her eyes darted this way and that. She must have seen the shock and amazement in my Master's and my eyes. Her eyes fell on the table. She took the crop from it and kneeling again she extended her hands offering the crop to her master.
"Beat me," she begged, "Anywhere, my breasts, my pussy. Make me bleed Master. But don't be angry with Annette."
Master Alphonse took the crop from his slave's hands. His face, a moment along contorted with rage, had resumed his usual calm demeanor, only the tightness on his lips betraying the extent of his emotion.
I understood and joined my pleas to hers, "Master Alphonse, Annette was just jealous, she was surprised, she reacted, did not think."
He smiled and handed the crop to my Master.
"Do not believe you will escape your punishment," he said.
"I beg you will punish me most severely," Annette said.
"Not I," master Alphonse said, "Rose will punish you, next Friday."
I looked up at him, at my Master, and at the slave in quick succession. Annette looked at her master a questioning look in her eyes.
"After this weekend is over my dear, Rose will have good reasons to punish you," he chuckled.
"You may rise," he told her.
She rose to her feet and dropped her dress. It fell around her ankles in a puddle of black fabric. She picked it up folded it neatly and placed it beside mine. I gazed at her when she returned. She had beautiful, milky white breasts, at least a size C, with small pink areolas crowned by pert nipples. Her skin was also very fair, her master must not allow her to take much sun, and her pussy was completely bald. She knelt at my side, in Nadu, and awaited instructions.
"We should continue," my Master said.
"Yes, we should," master Alphonse concurred, "Are you ready little Rose?"
"Yes master," I said.
"May I?" he addressed my Master. He extended his hand towards me, "Be my guest."
Master Alphonse picked up a new set of handcuffs, released one of my wrists which he then cuffed to my ankle on the same side. He cuffed the other hand to the other ankle. I was thus immobilized, my body and thighs forming a neat triangle, with my calves forming the base, and my extended arms the opposite side.
My breasts were too low for them to comfortably beat them with the crop. He passed his arm behind my back and easily lifted me to put me on the table that my Master and Annette hastily cleared. That my shoulders felt as if they would dislocate was totally irrelevant.
"It will be forty strokes with the crop on your breasts," my Master said picking up the crop.
I swallowed, or tried to, my throat was dry.
"I am ready," I croaked.
I wasn't.
My eyes were riveted to my Master's hand wielding the crop. I watched the back swing, the momentary pause at its end, the precise moment when the tip of the crop changed direction and began its descent, picking up speed, to crash on my exposed, unprotected breasts. I missed seeing the actual moment of impact, but felt every atom of the unbelievable explosive pain that erupted from my poor mammaries. I screamed, of course, I screeched; later my master told me that Annette covered her unprotected ears with her hands. He paused to let me savor the full effect before once again hitting my boobs with the crop. At some point, I could not hold position, or my thrashing threatened to throw me off the table. Annette was ordered to stand behind me and hold my shoulders, keeping me steady.
At twenty strokes, my Master handed off the crop to master Alphonse. Annette brought me water. After I drunk deeply of the cold water I heard my Master say to master Alphonse:
"May I?"
"Of course, John," he replied.
My Master told Annette to kneel in front of him. The slut did not wait to be asked but reached up to unzip him. He dropped his pants and boxers. Despite the throbbing in my breasts I could not help admiring the rampant strength of his cock, and his fast recovery. As her lips brought him to his full length and girth, he said:
"Get it all nice and sloppy, it's going into your ass."
She let go of his rod for an instant, looking up at him with a wide smile on her face, "But of course master."
John, my Master had  rest her hands on the low table where I knelt in my triangular hog tie. She was facing me, her brown eyes right in front of my face. Her lips were half open and she gasped for air. Damned bitch was aroused, no, more than aroused. She was fucking excited.
My Master stood behind her, he held her bum in his hands and I could tell he was separating her cheeks before guiding his rod into her anus. Her lips opened in a wide O, her sharp intake of breath, and the motion of her body pushing back at him angered me. Fucking bitch! I thought. She's fucking enjoying this. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, her head shook from side to side.
"Master!" she said.
I hated her. I hated her every gasping breath, the swing of her udders, the obscene curve of her full lips.
"Master! more," she said again.
I'll kill her, I swear I will, I thought, and meant it.
At last, my Master spilled his seed inside her unworthy ass.
"About time," I said in a hoarse whisper.
Leaning against a wall, master Alphonse looked at me and smiled.
"Shall we continue?" he said.
Annette turned around to clean my Master's cock with her mouth turning her backside to face me. I saw her rosebud, still open, pink from the friction of her buggering, a white drop of my Master's jism peeking from it. I would show her, I thought, I shall show her who is the better slave.
I straightened up as best I could, "I am ready," I said.
I managed to resist ten blistering strikes of the crop on my already sore breasts, but when, with an evil smile, master Alphonse declared:
"The last ten, on your nipples," I felt my resolve waver.
I screamed for each and every one of those last ten cuts.
Then it was over. For a while.
Annette watered me, and serviced her master, in the same position she had serviced mine. She juiced and squirmed, panted and squealed just as much for hers as she did for mine. I seethed with anger, I was angry at Annette, the slut, not so much for servicing my Master, she had to , after all, but for how she did it, and for enjoying her buggering so much; angry at master Alphonse for bringing her here, for the humiliation of having her witness my punishment, angry at myself for my jealousy and for my arrogance at trying to control my Master; and finally, I barely dared to formulate the thought, angry at my Master, for bringing master Alphonse, and his slave, into what should have been a private session.
"There is no need to change her bindings," master Alphonse said, "We'll just roll her on her back."
They did so.
I had forgotten the lacerated state of my back. Now, lying on it, my legs and arms bound in the air, my back reminded me of its existence. If I tried to move to relieve the pain on one spot, a hundred new spots, a hundred new knives cut into my skin. I tried to remain immobile, frozen in position. Then my Master picked up the cane. I would not be able to remain still for that.
"Thirty cuts of the cane on your sex," my Master said, in case I forgot.
My body mercifully hid my Master from my sight. Only the whoosh of the cane speeding through the air towards my tenderest, most sensitive parts gave me warning of the impending shock and awe. I did not even pretend to endure. I screamed louder than I ever thought I could. I could hear the echo of my anguished screech reverberating on the bare concrete walls of the basement. My anger, forgotten with the first cut of the cane on my tender pussy lips, evaporated with my screams of anguish. The second cut fell without warning, the sound of the cane's passage obscured by my continuing squeals. The third cut broke me.
How dared I question my Master's decisions? The fourth stroke fell on my sex. How dared I question master Alphonse decisions? Fifth, sixth. I squirmed in my bonds oblivious to my shredded back. Seven. Make it stop. Eight, nine, ten. How can I not go mad? My pussy is on fire. The cane cuts deep, surely I must bleed. Eleven, twelve. I feel the cane cutting into my bone. Master help me! Thirteen, fourteen, I no longer scream. I just remain, jumping, or trying to with every stroke, My screams have died down to whimpers. A pause.
My whimpers turned into sobs. I felt a cool hand on my face. I opened my eyes.
"Master," I tried to say, but only sobs came out.
He embraced me. I noticed how he took care to avoid my back. He held me as I sobbed, broken, his.
"Is it over?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
I felt my pussy throb, I felt it swell. A straw at my lips. Ice cold water. Annette. I forgot my anger. I thanked her for the water.
"You were so brave," she said, "Fifteen strokes on your pussy. Amazing."
The rotten bitch! It was supposed to have been thirty. Why did she have to tell me? My Master began to unbind one of my hands while master Alphonse did the other. I shook my head frantically.
"No, no!" I rasped, hoarse from the screaming.
The masters stopped, they bent over me, "What did she say?" master Alphonse said.
"No," I gasped, "not done yet."
I had no strength to speak. My Master addressed my binding again. Once more I shook my head.
"Fifteen," I said.
"What are you saying Rose?" he asked bringing his head close to mine.
"Fifteen more. It has to be thirty."
My head fell back on the table. I tried to catch my breath.
"We are done, it is complete," master Alphonse said.
"Annette told me," I ran out of breath, "fifteen only."
"Must finish," I added.
Master Alphonse picked up the cane. I opened my thighs wider.

Thursday, August 4, 2016

I seem to be in a roll.
Ch 6 of Crucible is complete. 15,000 words done to date.
As a teaser, the plot is as follows:
Rose, our heroine, is John's devoted slave. At a party she meets Melanie and Sholto, her master. She admires Melanie's poise and skill but also feels jealous of her. John loans her to Sholto who is going on a fishing trip to Argentina. While there, she observes Melanie serving and servicing her master and her master's friends. There will be some of the usual mayhem, of course. When Sholto returns her to John, he sends Melanie for two weeks to return the favor.
Rose seethes for those two weeks as Melanie proves a much better slave than Rose is, despite her best efforts. Melanie confides in Rose that she went through training at "The School"
Rose wheedles and cajoles her reluctant master into sending her to The School where she is trained and tortured until she breaks and can be molded into the kind of slave that will drive men crazy.
Upon her return, John becomes more possessive of his slave, seldom letting her out of the house alone. He fears she will be stolen from him. However, during the social events that he does attend with her, Rose and Melanie notice some slaves whose charm, grace and poise outshine anything the two of them can muster.
Those few slaves went through "The Crucible" an exclusive center for selected slaves.
"You go to The School to be a better slave for your master," one of those slaves explains, "You go through The Crucible to be a perfect slave for any master. You go there for yourself."
Melanie and Rose try to get sent to The Crucible but their masters refuse.
Will they manage to make them yield? What will be the price? and What unspeakable horrors will they endure in The Crucible?