Saturday, February 27, 2016

MICK AND TRINA'S STORY CONTINUES: May I have this dance, please?

Mick walked across the floor, keeping Trina in his sight.  She ducked her head, looking away.  He’d watched her peruse all the males present.  The teens that danced past her, she smiled at and shook her head no.  The older ones made conversation and moved off to find their mates or spouses.  The few women who stopped to talk, pointed to males at various points throughout the gymnasium.  He reached Trina as the opening strains of the melody began.

“May I have this dance, please?” he asked, holding out his hand.  He kept his gaze on her face.  The costumes hid much of their physique.   Not that it mattered.  Many here used scent and their other senses along with their animal sixth sense to pick out their chase.  There were no victims here.  Matting happened when all parties agreed.  Dancing didn’t resemble the sweaty pleasure enhance bed rumpling stints most of the youth here tried to do.  No, dancing was for conversation, getting to know each other, and asking for another dance.  Even time to nibble finger foods and sip the sickening sweet punch the cafeteria provided.  He’d heard whispers Louie from Rattigan’s was due at midnight; something about road kill stew and other more delightful cuisine.  

Mick smiled.  Trina turned toward him.  Her hands lay one on top of the other, resting on her fanny pouch.  Most of the women carried purses or clutch bags.  Not this one.  Dare he ask what she carried in it?  Too personal a question too soon?  He wet his lips ready to change topics when Trina spoke.

“Thank you.  I’d love to dance.”  Trina stepped closer to him.  “Been a while since I slow danced.”

Mick chuckled.  “Easy to remember.  Like riding a bike.  Of course, unless you like to lead.”

“Oh, I’m not supposed to?” Trina grinned, raising her arms.  “Maybe you better show me how this is done.  You know I might need a bit of private tutorial here rather than out there.”  She point to the open dance floor.

He glanced over his shoulder.  “Okay, one tutorial coming up.  Then we make our way across the gym and back.  This is the slow long songs portion of the evening.”

Trina nodded her understanding and moved closer until he could easily see her in the darker portion where they stood.  He took a hold of her wrist, instructing her as he did.  “You hand goes on my shoulder.  A light touch is fine.”  

He reached for her other hand; Trina held it out to him.  “This one goes with this one?”  She touched his palm with two of her fingers.  Heat burst off her deep into him and jaggedly made its way up his arm. Mick swallowed hard and nodded.  Did she realize what affect she had on him?

Trina pressed her lips together.  Letting out a startled gasp might send him moving away.  Heat like this hadn’t happened since her late husband.  The one man---human not shapeshifter---who understood her and ignited a sexual chemistry that kept its volcanic explosions going until illness claimed him.  Too bad, he turned out sterile. A child or two by him to remind her of the passion and love they shared would’ve eased the pain and sorrow.  She blinked pushing the five year old past memories back to where they belonged, deep in the memories of another time in her life.  She’d come here to start over and it appeared she’d chosen a good place to do so.



Looks like things are heating up between Mick and Trina!  This dance looks like the smoldering waves of passion and desire are sparking already.  And the first embrace hasn't begun.  I think this might set off a few of the fire alarms and sprinklers.  What do you think? 

I'm waiting to hear about a new story I've got out on submission.  As soon as I know more, I'll pass the information along.  You can visit my personal webpage at and click on books coming soon for a blurb on TOGETHER AGAIN, book one in my Pacific Cay series.

Keep warm as winter sneaks in its last few icy tickles and spring warms its way into your daily routine.  Sharing a good book or two with your spice and loves will warm you up too.  

Until Next Week,

Friday, February 26, 2016

Friday Funny...

OMGosh, I had a cat like this once...she got into everything!  Her funniest moment...being chased down the hall by the fishing rod she'd gotten stuck to her tail.  Her request for assistance was not nearly this calm, but hubs and I were rolling on the floor laughing.

Any funny pet stories out there you want to share?  Let us have it.  :)

*Mz. Muse is busy cracking out a post, thank goodness!  Come back Monday for a read.

Have a wonderful weekend!


Thursday, February 25, 2016

Sunday Afternoon, With Skeet


Leila activated the trap. Tasman Ghan took aim at the small clay plate and fired. The bit of crockery shattered. Six others followed in rapid succession. At that point, Tasman called a halt. “Enough. It’s gotten tiresome already.” He regarded the shotgun in his hands with a mixture of respect and resignation. “I still don’t understand the point of this sport. All the violence, yet nothing dies. Where’s the blood? The effort of tracking the prey? The thrill of bringing it down with your own fangs and claws? This takes all the pleasure out of killing things.”

Leila abandoned the trap to step to his side. She moved like a snake, smooth and sinuous, powerful and deadly. Even out here, in this remote corner of the Ghans’ estate, she wore her tailored business suit. Her platinum-blonde hair was swept up in a flawless chignon. Her flat heels were her only concession to the realities of the great outdoors. “Why bother to learn it, then?”

“Because the humans do this, among other incomprehensible things. If we’re to expand the Ghan empire, we must learn to move in their circles. That includes embracing the gun culture. The apes do love their guns.”

“Perhaps we could shoot something that’s more of a challenge?” She nodded toward their horses, grazing a short distance away. The animals had been trained to remain calm around gunfire, and especially around big cats. “At least we can eat them afterwards.”

Tasman made a face. “Considering what we paid for them, we’re better off shooting skeet. Besides, Sanjay would be heartbroken.”

“Birds, then. Those awful crows.”

“The humans have laws against that. They’ll fight to the death to keep their guns, then don’t want anybody to kill anything with them.” He shook his head. “Americans.”

She reached for the shotgun. “Might I take a turn, sir?”

“You can shoot?”

“It’s been a while, but yes. I like to stay sharp.”

Tasman shrugged and passed her the weapon. He took over command of the skeet launcher. Leila reloaded and called, “Pull.” Five shattered plates later she lowered the shotgun. “That will be sufficient. Thank you, sir.”

He eyed the remains of the plates and smiled. “Flawless, as always,” he praised her.

“I’m better with small arms, though I should practice more. Is Lord Ghan considering adding a shooting range to the compound?”

“Vishnu, I hope not. My father still prefers the natural ways. I’ll see about finding a range so you can hone your skills.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It isn’t kindness. I want you sharp.” His life depended on it. Perhaps not so much here in America, but he was not a man to take chances. He was Zhere Ghan's first born, the heir. Hence the need for a bodyguard. Because he was also both thrifty and practical, he’d hired Leila. And never regretted it. As his personal assistant, she knew his needs and wants before he did. As a snow leopard trained in attack and defense, she could handle any threat to his safety. As a beautiful, polished, professional woman, she presented the perfect distraction. His enemies saw only the face and the breasts and the legs, and not the silent, deadly killer standing so demurely at his back.

Perhaps he ought to marry her. With Father’s approval, of course.

She briefly lowered her eyes, then raised her gaze to his. “In all aspects, sir?”

“What do you mean?”

“I notice all this target practice has stirred your hunting blood.” She placed the shotgun on the ground and went to him. She pressed her hand boldly on his crotch, where most of that hunting blood she’d remarked on had gathered. “Perhaps we might use the situation to hone our other skills?”

Tasman smiled savagely. The perfect assistant. Always one step ahead of him, and always to his advantage.

He gazed down into her lovely green eyes and guided her fingers to his fly. “Pull,” he ordered.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

The story of Jarod Black

I found this little gem of a story a few days ago while poking around my old WIP files. I only vaguely remember writing it, and according to my PC, it was last updated in 2007. But, it is a complete, if very short, M/m/f medieval shape shifter story. I shall post it here for your viewing pleasure.

The Story of Jarod Black

Chapter 1

"Mercy," Jarod Black muttered thickly past a split lip and chattering teeth. He was cold and in pain, his whole body throbbing from the earlier fall off his horse. He'd fallen into the river, which had saved him from a broken neck and his pursuers had fished him out of the icy water, sparring him from drowning. The long ride back to Castle Blanche while wet and tightly bound had spared him nothing.
Perhaps the lord of the castle would spare him death. After all, Jarod hadn't actually stolen anything. It was splitting hairs but that was about all he had going for him at the moment. Though, in all honesty, it was more than he'd had going for him for a long time. He'd found adventure and made a name for himself but had nothing to show for it.
"Mercy for a thief?" Lord Morgan repeated archly.
"I stole nothing," Jarod said mulishly, knowing it was not the correct thing to say but unable to stop himself.
"Except for one of my horses," his lordship shot back. Jarod started to shrug but flinched when the motion jostled his throbbing shoulder. He clamped his eyes shut and fought the nausea that stewed in his belly.
"You got it back," he gasped through the pain.
"Because you fell off," his lordship replied. Jarod hung his head as the nausea turned to a cold sweat, really not a good thing considering the chill he had from being dunked in the icy river. He knew Lord Morgan was waiting to hear his next rejoinder but he was having trouble thinking as the shock of his injuries finally caught up with him.
"Mercy, then," he heard Lord Morgan say distantly, as though from far away down a muzzy, echoing cavern. He was fainting, Jarod realized just as he struck the ground. How undignified...
Lord Morgan looked down at the silver-tongued thief before him. Oh, he knew Jarod  Black, or rather he knew of him. The knight-turned-mercenary was becoming very notorious for his willingness to take on jobs with little chance of success, primarily because he always managed to scrape through. Not this time, of course. Morgan's guards had caught Black trying to scale the inner courtyard wall. But he did usually manage to pull off impossible jobs and might have succeeded this time had the moon not been full and the sky clear. The pale stone walls of Castle Blanche fairly glowed in moon light, making anyone trying to scale its walls stand out like a dark smudge.
What Morgan didn't know was who had hired Black and what he'd been after. Morgan was a thoroughly boring noble of the northern realm. He had no secrets and was involved in no intrigues. Unless Jarod Black had tried to break in just for the challenge of being able to say he stole into Castle Blanche. Which he didn't. Morgan sighed, knowing that the source of any answers was lying injured at his feet. He nodded to his seneschal to call the man closer.
"Have him brought in to the solar and send for the healer."
"Is that wise, milord?" Albie asked nervously. Morgan eyed the stooped, elderly man who had served his father and his father's father before that. The man was a capable caretaker of the castle but had never been overly bold.
"Do you know what he was after?" he asked.
"Ah, no, milord. I can't say as I do," Albie said shaking his head.
"Neither do I," Morgan replied. He nudged the thief's prone form with the side of his booted foot. "But he does. It might be easier to get it out of him if he's alive, don't you think?"
"Ah, yes, milord. I suppose," Old Albie replied. "But why the solar?"
"Because I said so," Morgan said, allowing a hard edge to seep into his deep baritone voice. Albie, getting the hint that he'd pushed his young lord as far as he could—which wasn't nearly as far as he'd been able to push his old lord—hastily bowed and backed away until he reached the castle doors.
Morgan waited until the old busybody was gone and then allowed himself a smirk. He transferred the smirk to the still form of Jarod black and shook his head. Albie knew why the thief was to be taken to the solar. His family had long been in the habit of keeping pets, men and women whose primary purpose was to be entertainment, and the thief with his plea for mercy had volunteered for the position.
Of course, Morgan had not taken a pet since his father had died three years ago. Tradition stated that a lord's pets were set freed upon his death, so there hadn't been anyone to occupy that part of the solar in a long time. Albie had probably thought he wasn't ever going to take one. The simple fact was, Morgan just hadn't been interested before. But the hansom thief at his feet  was very interesting indeed.
Black was of a good height, not quite as tall as Morgan's six foot three. He was well muscled but not bulky, with a broad chest and narrow waist. He had a smooth, pale completion and thick, straight black hair that fell untidily to below his collar and dark chocolate eyes. His features were even and regular, except for a scar on his chin and a nose that looked like it had been broken a time or three. All in all, an agreeably attractive but not pretty man. It wasn't his body that enticed Morgan to keep him, though. It was his mind. Morgan had strangely enjoyed bantering with the man, brief though the exchange had been.
He stepped back when two burly footmen came through the doors with a litter fashioned from a blanket stretched between two poles. He watched as the thief was carefully moved onto the litter and lifted. The stress woke Black, but he didn't struggle. Morgan met his pained gaze, silently telling him that he was about to receive the mercy he'd asked for. A look of resignation filled the thief's face and Morgan nodded. Good, Jarod Black understood what that implied.

Saturday, February 20, 2016


Trina looked over the group of men standing close to her.  Two male wolves, three coyotes, and one snow leopard made up the group.  None of them particularly drew her attraction or thoughts.  Yet, dancing with one or two of them might get conversation flowing.  After all, chaperoning a high school dance didn’t require more than keeping the kids out of dark corners.  Making small talk with the other parents present and enjoying the music.  Miss Elly and Vernon were out on the dance floor cutting their path across the gym.  More fifties music blared out of the speakers.  Even Gill and Chloe tried their hand at some of the intricate dance steps the music teacher had shown everyone before the music started.

She wiped her hands down her heavily starched poodle skirt.  Missy Elly’s kindness included loaning her clothes in theme with the music.  Her teased and sprayed hair bounced each time she nodded her head in time with the music.  A few feet away one of the teachers named Mick stood wearing a black leather biker’s jacket, tight ass-incasing jeans, and a dark red t-shirt with the outline of wolf on it.  His slicked back hair refused to adhere to the gel.  Two lone curls close to the top of his forehead gave him an air of mystique.  An edge that caused her breath to catch and set off warmth the reached deep into her.  Sex for the sake of physical release stymied her.  Her chemistry required more.  An attraction and mutual interest revved her hormones.  If she wanted to get off—she snickered at her use of male thoughts and terms---her battery-operated boyfriend worked fine thank you.  No need for making small talk and acting nice when all she wanted and needed was a hard fast orgasm.  One that rocked her to sleep or into a blissed out state that lasted more than someone poking her saying ‘my turn now.’

Mick looked up from the table, counted the number of couples on the dance floor, and smiled.  At least four of his students were out there trying the steps he showed them earlier.  Many were standing in segregated groups of boys and girls.  Their parents were doing much the same.  When had kids lost the art of mingling and mixing with the opposite sex?  This was Talbot’s Peak.  Sex and what it entailed wasn’t shunned or stuffed in the closet.  No, every kid new the basics by age eight.  After all short gestations could manifest themselves quite easily.  Ah, making sure his students understood the birds and bees aspect of life wasn’t his teaching area.  Music and art took more than a few hour-long sessions per week to understand and enjoy.  Good thing Gill and the town council got the need for after school activities like these.  

He glanced over his shoulder back to where the redhead stood.  Her petiteness intrigued him.  She also ignited a protectiveness he was sure she didn’t require.  After all, she was part wolf and coyote, two animals that could take care of themselves.  Still making her acquaintance and enjoying a few dances didn’t entail getting involved.  Friendship added to life.  Why not add a new friend to his group?  A female one too.  Mick tossed his empty cup in the trash receptacle near him and turned.  The next song was a slow hold your partner close one.  Easy to dance too and long enough to learn a few things about each other.  Yes, a good choice.  He started toward Trina.


Happy Weekend Gang!
Oooh looks like a new romance is starting up in the Peak!!  Wonder where this will go.  Let's see what my muse, Pris, comes up with as the weeks progress.  Maybe some of my blog mates will chime in with their takes on the fall out from Cupid's visit to Talbot's Peak last weekend.

Remember to keep a few books handy to share with your loves and spice.  I'm busy penning a few myself.  Keep warm as winter takes it last runs and spring attempts to take hold.
Until next weekend,

Thursday, February 18, 2016

The Little Prince

Nirvana, Zhere Ghan’s club, was packed tonight. At Nirvana, so the adverts promised, the customer was king. The main floor housed the bar, restaurant and dance floor. Upstairs was a second, more intimate bar for parties and assignations. Downstairs were the special rooms. Here all whims could be indulged, and word of any indiscretions would never pass beyond the ornate doors. More exotic whims came with a higher price, with the same privacy guaranteed.

Such policies appealed to a certain segment of Talbot’s Peak’s population. Especially the wolves. Especially the lower-ranked wolves. For a few hours in a private room, every wolf was an alpha. The empty wallet afterwards was worth it.

But not tonight. Not for Devon Hancock.

He slouched at his table in the upstairs suite, and paid no attention to the limber she-wolf currently performing on the stage. “Old leg-lifter,” he muttered into his cocktail. “Old mangy flea-bus.”

Rakshasi draped herself across him and nuzzled his neck. This was an old refrain. Most of the time he was a pleasant assignment: fun, free with his money, exciting in bed. She’d quickly learned, however, to keep him away from excess drink. Too many Punjabi Punches and he tended to turn morose. She much preferred the devil-may-care heir to the Hancock fortune who, she was certain, had fallen in love with her. Who she, against her father’s orders, had found herself falling in love with.

Yes. She, Rakshasi, trained assassin, daughter of Zhere Ghan. In love with the son of her father’s greatest rival. Karma was a bitch indeed.

She’d been told to get close to him, glean what she could of his sire’s doings from him. Kill him, if the situation called for it. That last had been swept off the table some time ago. How her father would roar if he knew!

Her brother Tasman, the club’s manager, prowled along the edge of the room, as always aware of everything. Though not aware of her shifted allegiance. That tidbit she’d kept to herself. He nodded fractionally to her with a wisp of a smile. Keep up the good work. She faked a smile and nodded back.

“You know who I feel sorry for?” Devon said abruptly. “Charlie. Here’s to you, Chuck.” He raised his glass and drained it. A waitress in a skimpy harem costume hurried over to bring him another. Rakshasi waved her away.

“Charlie?” she asked. “Is he a wolf?”

“No, no. Prince Charles. The human. Big shot British ape. Now there’s a dude with a destiny. He was supposed to be the King of England. That’s the only reason he’s here. Heir to the friggin’ throne. And what happened to that? His mom is what happened. The old bitch won’t get off the seat. Won’t retire, just won’t freakin’ die. Where does that leave Charlie? He’s been raised his whole life just for this one thing and now it’s not gonna happen. When Her Maj finally does keel over, Charlie’s pup will be King. Not him. His entire life’s been a waste. He might as well cash it in right now. His time came and went while he was playing polo and waving at the crowds.”

He glared into his empty glass, then stared about for a waitress. Rakshasi caught his face in her hands and turned his head toward her. “This is about your father again, isn’t it?”

“What, me? Mad at Daddy?” he snarled sarcastically. “Now why would I be mad? Just because he hasn’t bothered to train me to take over. Just because he barely talks to me. Always busy. Always the big bad wolf. I might as well not even be here. Why the hell did he even have pups if he never planned to step down?”

Rakshasi laid her hand on his crotch and let her claws out, just a little. Ah. Now she had his full attention.

“Perhaps,” she suggested, “he’s waiting. Waiting for you to challenge him. Prove yourself worthy to lead the pack. Isn’t that how it’s done among wolves?”

Devon blinked, as if this had not occurred to him before. “You think that’s it?”

She moved her hand and slid onto his lap. Her rough tongue brushed his lips. “He fears you,” she whispered. “Your quickness, your youth. How much the other wolves admire you. He won’t give up his power. You’ll have to take it.”

He glanced uncertainly at his cocktail glass. “Is that how tigers do it?”

“Tigers don’t bother with succession. They carve out their own territory.” As she was doing now. A life apart from Father, away from the machinations of the Ghans. Why be content to be a wife, when she could be a queen?

True, a queen of wolves. But wolves were predators, only little different from a cat. And wolves ruled this little piece of America. She could live with that. It was enough to satisfy her, but only if Devon came with it.

All he needed was a nudge in the right direction.

“It doesn’t have to be a public challenge,” she purred. “Private would be better, in fact. No support, no guards.”

Devon paled. “You mean kill him?”

“Not necessarily.” She shrugged. “Defeating him should be enough. He’s old. Ruling a pack so huge must wear heavily on him. He’ll probably be relieved to have you beat him. I understand wolves admire shows of strength.”

“But he’s … ” Devon swallowed. “Big. Bigger than me. He keeps himself in shape.”

“That can be dealt with. I can teach you. Tigers know how to take down prey larger and stronger than themselves. You have only to want it.” Her hands on his face turned demanding. “Do you want to be king?”

For a moment he wavered, and so did her heart. Then his eyes hardened, and she relaxed. There was her predator. Her king wolf. “Yes. About time. About damn time, by Lupa.” He caught her hand in a grip that thrilled her. “You’ll help me prep?”

She had been trained to kill in a dozen different ways. This move would all but kill her father. She relished the idea. “I can teach you how to compensate for his size, plus a few things he won’t be expecting.” Such as a tiger in charge of the Hancock lands. A tiger who was not Zhere Ghan. She savored the taste of that notion as well. “And afterwards … ”

He smiled at her and shoved the empty cocktail glass aside. “I’ll bet there’s a room free downstairs. Would you like a taste of ‘afterwards’?”

“My lord,” she murmured, as her mouth moved to devour his.

Late Post. Pretend It's Still Wednesday, Please...

Sorry, forgot to post yet again. I have seriously been having trouble writing anything but Star Wars fanfic here lately, which means not only did I forget to post, I actually have no flash fiction to post that has anything to do with shape shifters or romance at the moment. So, here's some pictures. Have a great "Wednesday."


One pic for shape shifters.

One pic for Romance.

And one last pic for sheer beauty!

Saturday, February 13, 2016


Gill glanced out the window.  White everywhere and more fell from the sky.  The outside thermometer showed minus five degrees.  Inside behind him, a fire roared.  Phil and his crew toasted marshmallows prepping them for the smores Chloe and Miss Ellie asked for.  The children sat near Vernon who entertained them with shadow puppets and tale tails from his youth.   No matter the temperature outside inside the mayoral mansion, warmth, love, and acceptance abounded.

Chloe hadn't blinked an eye when the weather turned worse as the adults played cards and the children watched television.  Somewhere into the first twenty hours of the storm, his wife turned into a hostess that gave and took without problem.  Gill smiled watching Miss Ellie set out the bowls filled  chocolate and graham crackers.  A stack of dinner sized paper plates sat close by as well as a stack of napkins.  A pot of green tea and mugs occupied the table too.  Smaller mugs sat next to a pitcher filled with warm milk.  Bedtime snacks were about to commence. 

Seregi's loud singing filtered down the stairs as he showered.  He'd romped with the children making snow angels and tossing snowballs at each other for almost two hours.  The petite mixed breed shapeshifter traveling with Phil and family caught Seregi's eye.  Her wolf and timber fox mix caused most to shun her according to her.  In the Peak, folks accepted people for who they were.  What their hearts and values said about them.  If they walked the talk about what they said, short of those who sought to hurt and took delight in it---not BDSMers--well they could find another place to call home.

"See the bright star in the sky?" Vernon asked, pulling back the curtain, motioning the children to him.

"Yes, Mr. Vernon," one of Phil's youngest said.

"Know always where that star is.  It will lead you home."  Vernon dropped the curtain and faced the children.  "Many of us chose this spot to claim as home.  The one place where we love and help each other because we all matter."

Miss Ellie walked over to Vernon, holding out a plate with two smores on it.  She leaned toward him, lips puckered.  Vernon ducked his head and came up with his lips puckered too.  Their lips met.

"Dad, Miss Ellie and Mr. Vernon are at it again." Gill looked over at his son sticking out his tongue and making a face.

"You don't think your mother and I do that?"  Gill asked, walking over to Chloe.  He slipped his arm around her waist, hugging her close.  "Shall we show them?"

Chloe laughed.  She pointed toward the fire.  Phil took turns kissing each of his wives.  They faced the kids.  Arms spread and lips puckered, they moved toward the children making exaggerated kissing noises.  Phil followed them calling out. "Hug Monster on the loose.  Kissing one too."

Giggles erupted.  Laughter flowed.  Tickling matches started.  Soft 'love you' sounded followed by 'love you mom' or 'love you dad.'  Minutes passed as the joy of love enveloped everyone.

"I'm in the mood for love..." echoed down the stairs followed by Seregi's growls.  The children giggled more as they ran to hide under the table.

"I see there is chocolate, marshmallows, and crackers.  All this will give me a large belly ache.  Who will help me eat this?"  Seregi  poured himself a mug of tea.  He sipped and waited. 

Trina, the mixed breed shapeshifter, rose from her place close to the fire.  She moved toward the table, pointing at it.  "I'll help.  I think these mice under it will help too."

The children popped out one-by-one from under the table calling out.  "I want to help."

Soon smores and mugs along with glasses littered the table as all ate and shared their favorite joke.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten times drowning out the laughter filling the room.  Gill held out his hand to Chloe who in turn held hers out to Miss Ellie and she to Vernon until all present formed a circle holding the hand of someone next to them.

Gill cleared his throat, drawing everyone's focus.  "Earlier we learned snow is one of those four lettered words."

Chuckles sounded.

Gill continued as the gaiety died down.  "I think we learned another four letter word tonight.  Love.  The love of friends, family, community, and for ourselves too." 

He raised his and Chloe's joined hands.  "All together now.  Here's to love and us."

Other joined hands raised repeating the words.

The warmth and love filled the room and mayoral mansion heating it in a way that those present understood and cherish.  Cherished very much.


Happy Weekend Gang!
Cold got you down?  Put on a warm blanket, cuddle up with your spice and share a good book or two together.  We at the Spice Homestead are.  Spring is a few weeks more off. 

I hope you enjoyed today's flash fiction piece.  I thoroughly enjoyed writing it.

Until next week, keep warm--share a book or two along with a warm blanket with your spice and loves.  It creates a lot of lovely warm feelings and nurtures a linger heat deep in the heart.


Friday, February 12, 2016

Roll With It?

“French Vanilla Cappuccino, Mistress.”  Dom set the frothy cup before his friend and at one time mentee, before sitting across from her and sipping his own black coffee.

“Ah Dom, you know me well, thank you.”

She sipped the brew as she did all things, with firm intent and a touch of sex.  When they’d first started she’d had some idea that she needed to submit to a strong man.  He’d known differently.  Penelope was no submissive, she was a Domme through and through. 

Except for that small piece…

“How’s Burgess these days?”  He raised an eyebrow knowing she would understand what answer he was looking for.

“He’s wonderful, Dom.  And yes, he’s still on his dominant kick.”

Another sip of coffee and a deep breath later told Dom nearly everything he needed to know about the distress Penelope had been feeling since her lovers return.  “But…”

“How do you always know there’s a ‘but’?”

No words were necessary between them at this point, just a look.  He knew she would open up to him once she prepared herself.

“Yes, there is a ‘but.’  I’m worried… I’m scared our connection has been broken.”

“In what way, poppet?”  Dom purposely used the endearment he’d given her back when he’d trained her.  Reminding her that she was safe with him, always.

“I’m a Domme, Dom.  We’re struggling for the top position and, I’m afraid, Daniel will be the one to suffer.”

“When you play is Daniel the only one submitting?”

Her silence spoke volumes inside their private booth at the soon to be opened club, Haven.


She sighed before speaking.  “No, I submit as well.”

“And do you hate it?”

Fidgeting as she was it wouldn’t take the fully trained Dominant he was to read the truth.

“No, I don’t.  But Dom, how long can it continue, really?”

“Penelope, there are two people in your life that your body begs to submit to, me and more importantly, Burgess.”

“What?! N…I mean, what?”

“Can you deny it?”

“This is ridiculous, Dom. Please stop.”

“That was not an answer, poppet.” Dom smoothed his tie and watched her eyes follow his hand, from his chest down to almost his crotch. “Let me ask you this,” he said, slipping into his lower register, dominant voice. “If I told you to kneel, right here, and take me into your mouth.  What would you do?”


Penny’s mouth watered and she nearly went to her knees, right there in her new club.  Two things stopped her, first, was Dom’s hand on her wrist.  He wouldn’t make her do that as this was a discussion between friends, confidants, not a session.  The other thought was that the first time she knelt inside her club it would be for Burgess. 

“Well, poppet?”

“I get your point.  No, I can’t deny needing to submit to Burgess, but it confuses the Domme inside of me.”

“Talk to him.  You might be surprised to find he’s as confused as you are, then roll with it, Penelope.”

“Roll with it? Really, Dom, that’s your advice.”  Penny sat back in her chair and huffed at the laughably simple answer.

“Trust me, Penelope, rolling with it is not as easy as it sounds.  To truly ‘accept what is or roll with anything’ you need an inner strength of steel.”
Penny looked at her indigo penguino as he stepped into the bar.  Dom was right, but did she have the strength she needed to change the dynamic of her relationship with Burgess for good?

So Mistress P surprised me with some new insight into herself today and I'm passing it along to you.

Have a great weekend!