Tracy St. John's Blog, page 100
January 13, 2017
Weekend Wake-up Call – Netherworld III: Once Bitten Twice Dead
I stepped close to Dan, so that my breasts rubbed against the fine dusting of crisp hairs on his chest. He’d made his shirt disappear at some point.
Dan’s only got about four inches of height on me, so all our good parts touch. As my rigid, clamped nipples moved against him, he finally took his attention away from Tristan. The intensity of his expression turned from anger to lust. Thank goodness. Hooray for the power of boobies.
His kiss was one of pure territorial possession. I moaned into his mouth as his tongue, tasting of me, swept through my mouth to claim all. I was almost dizzy as I melted against him. His pants dissolved, and it was all burning male wedged hard and pulsing between us.
As he plundered my mouth, I rubbed eagerly against him, trying to make contact between clit and cock. I wrapped one leg around his thigh. He growled, as feral as a were, and picked me up. I circled my other leg around him, holding tight.
A few steps and my butt bumped against the edge of one of the library’s reading tables. Dan laid me down on the hard surface. When he rose, pulling the sweetness of his lips from mine, it took all I had to keep my hands clenched behind my neck instead of yankiSng him back. I so didn’t want him gone.
Dan grabbed a chair and slid it over. “Now where was I?” he wondered out loud. He looked down at my pussy grinding against him. “Oh yes. I remember now.”
He pulled my legs apart and sat between them. I panted as he scooted his chair close. His face hovered just over my mons. Oh glory. He was going to finish what he started. I whimpered and thrust my hips up.
“Usually, I’d make you wait a very long time for being so insistent,” he grinned, going all uber-Dom on me. “But the object of this game is to give you what you want, so—”
With that, he went down on me, his mouth seizing my clit. He sucked hard, creating dimples in his cheeks. His tongue lashed the swollen cluster of nerve endings with brutal force.
A cry tore from my lips as lightning flashed through my senses. My nether parts clenched like a fist, drawing tighter, tighter. The pleasure was too much, almost painful. My hips jerked with an instinctive need to free me from the agonizing ecstasy. His hands clamped down, holding me still and helpless to the table as he continued the onslaught.
Climax ripped through me with great, bloody claws. I shrieked fit to split the heavens wide open as my innards heaved. My body flailed, unable to take the ecstatic hell pouring through it.
I sobbed as my body pulsed in the aftermath. “That’s one,” I heard Dan say from far away.
Available from Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords. Also in print.
January 12, 2017
Shalia's Diary Thursday Post
Tantrums and consequences. http://shaliasdiary.blogspot.com/
January 9, 2017
January 6, 2017
Weekend Wake-up Call – Alien Interludes: An Improper Proposal
“You may have it while it’s at its hottest,” Bacoj said magnanimously. They all knew Vax’s favorite sexual activity, knew he liked it best just after Lindsey had been spanked, and no one, least of all Lindsey, naysayed his preferences.
“On your belly on the bed, slave,” the Imdiko said.
Lindsey found she could barely move. Intense climax and renewed arousal added to the inebriating mix of leshella and Kalquorian intoxicant. After she nearly fell to the floor, the men laughingly helped her assume the position for laxan.
She was laid on the bed on her stomach, and a cushion from the head of it was placed under her hips, pushing her buttocks up into the air. She hummed a happy sound as she felt Vax kneel between her splayed legs.
With a sigh he positioned his rigid lengths against her openings, the larger homing in on her tightest passage. Lindsey burbled happy nonsense sounds, her brain still scattered. She earned good-humored chuckles for that. Someone stroked her hair lovingly as Vax pressed gently in.
She’d had plenty of practice at this in the nearly two years they’d been clanned, and her body not only accepted his generous endowment, but welcomed it. There was an area in her back entrance that was incredibly sensitive, giving her a warm, heavy pleasure similar to the G-spot in her pussy. Lindsey groaned when Vax found both responsive places as his cocks traveled into her.
Deeper, deeper. Had she not been so loose-limbed from euphoria, Lindsey would have pushed back onto her Imdiko, aroused eagerness making her greedy. But Vax liked to enjoy being slowly enclosed within her, loved making the initial taking last. His fingers spread her aching cheeks wide so he could watch her accept him.
Bacoj had once recorded such an encounter, placing a live vid in front of Lindsey’s face so she could watch her body pierced by the thick dark cock, a shade deeper than Vax’s mocha skin and shining with wetness. She’d come three times during that encounter, terribly excited by the sight of him moving in and out of her this way. It was this vision that assaulted her memory as Vax pressed inside, making her wet and hot and aching.
Available from Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, and All Romance. Also in print.
January 5, 2017
January 2, 2017
December 31, 2016
In Response to the Events of the Past Week
Many of you might have heard about the abrupt closing of All Romance eBooks, announced just this past week. Plenty of authors have had a lot to say about the stunning development. The fallout will be felt for some time. Hearts are broken, authors and readers alike are angry, and many are hurting both emotionally and financially from what’s happened.
This is not a post about being wronged. I’m not going to rail against this specific situation. This is to tell you where I will be in relation to this, the latest painful situation to be visited on authors. You see, I’ve heard that some authors have had enough. They feel that writing has become too much of a minefield. They’re tired of getting their hopes and hard work blown away…not to mention their financial well-being.
I understand. It’s frustrating – no, it’s heartbreaking – to spend months or years pouring your soul into a story (or many stories) only to be met with books being banned by large don’t-give-a-fuck corporations. To have publishers screwing you out of rights and/or money. To be faced with book sellers who up and tell you they aren’t going to pay the royalties you earned. These are the worst of a thousand irritants that dog an author. So when we yet again suffer a major setback, there will be those who can’t invest another word, another page, or another teardrop into the effort.
I get it. I respect it. I wish those who have had it with this business all the very best on their future endeavors. I thank them with all of my heart for hanging in as long as they did. Only they could create their unique and lovely worlds for the rest of us to visit.
As for me, I’ll continue to plug along. I have to. Writing is my therapy. See, I don’t much like the real world. It’s always been a fearsome place to me. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I have seen plenty of good in it. I’ve known people who are heroes. I have a husband who loves me in spite of all the crazy I throw his way. I have a son who is the center of my universe. I have plenty of terrific things to be thankful for.
But some of us are built to register the bad on an epic scale. Where some people can shrug off natural disasters, armed conflicts, and general selfish ignorance perpetrated against others, I feel it on a personal level. I always have. Therefore, the world does not seem to be a kind or caring place to me.
My refuge has always been the written word. I started as a reader. In a childhood full of personal upheaval, I retreated into books that took me away from the scary events of my life. I hid in them. Hell, I lived in them. I found sanctuary with heroes and heroines who were as much friends and parents and protectors as the real things. I could count on them to be there for me when things turned dark. While the world went to hell outside, I huddled over and over again within well-worn pages.
As I got older, my fortress of books grew to include my own writings. Now I had the keys to heaven itself. No longer did I have to depend on someone else to find the right words to transport me away. I built my own exit from a world that held more monsters and mayhem and evil than my battered copies centered in Pern, Middle Earth, Dune, and Narnia combined.
I could be the master of my own escape. The older I got, the wider the Pandora’s Box of the real world opened. So I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. Writing was that ray of hope that mitigated the hurts. I could take the misfortune I saw around me and prevail against it in the pages I created. Writing reminded me that there was good all around, that courage and strength could win out.
I was around long before the technology-infused world we live in today. When I started writing, self-publishing was not considered a viable option. Certainly, it didn’t allow access to many sales venues as it does today. I tried to get published for almost twenty-five years with no luck. With each rejection, my heart broke. I felt physically wounded that I couldn’t share my worlds with whatever audience might be out there for me. I even reached a point where I said, “This is the last book I’m going to try to get published. I won’t bother after that.”
But at no time did I plan to stop writing. I couldn’t. I knew that I would never stop building my fortress against the ugliness I perceived. Book-block by book-block, the walls would continue to be erected, the defenses strengthened.
It remains so to this day. I felt the betrayal this past week of yet another entity turning on us authors for its own gain. I was angry and hurt like all the rest. I clutched at my wounds and nursed another round of despair for the way writers keep getting shit on by the publishing world.
I also wrote more than usual, forging yet another block to hold the tyrant legions at bay. They could take the money my work had earned and they had agreed to pay me. They could have gotten the opportunity to take the rights to my books had I signed with them (I did not and dodged that arrow). They could take my trust in what I thought was a solid, respectable company and stomp it into pieces.
But they couldn’t take away my ability to write. I proved it day after day following ARe’s announcement. I escaped their assault by running off to Kalquor and other beloved places. I even found the ability to laugh, giving them the middle-finger salute as I wandered friendlier lands and lived with my character friends. I laughed at the attacking forces, sneered in their faces by writing, and they could not stop me.
Bilbo's got my back on this.
Though fortune may turn against me, though some day the bottom might drop out and I’m no longer allowed to pursue writing as my sole career, I will always write. I can’t not write. It saves my soul every day. So rest assured, though I might have to slow down to meet other obligations should things go south, I’ll still be building my fortress of words, one block at a time. I’m not going anywhere.
I'll see you all in the new year!
December 30, 2016
Weekend Wake-up Call – Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9
Dan’s clothes vanished too. If his body was ‘stating his case’ he was making it with an exclamation mark. He pulled me into his very eager lap, and I slipped him inside with a happy sigh. It was like a homecoming.
“Ride me, cowgirl,” he growled before getting himself a mouthful of breast. I rose and fell over him, my insides clenching around the girth moving inside me. Have I mentioned how thick Dan is, how he fills me tight so that all the good parts get stimulated? Oh heavens to mergatroid, having that delicious cock in my pussy is so very, very fine.
I achieved and maintained a steady pace, stabbing myself with Dan’s stave over and over. I was wet and sloppy, making his passage easy, like a well-oiled machine with perfectly fitted parts and plenty of lubrication. While I moved up and down, he mauled my breasts, sucking and nipping, pinching, and slapping. He knew just how rough to be. The tiny darts of pain were enough to let me know he was in control, and I gasped to be his to do with as he pleased. It made my insides tumble as he displayed only a hint of his strength, of his power.
“Who do you belong to, baby girl?” Dan gasped.
“You, Sir.”
His hands clamped down on my buttocks, moving me faster, his hips bucking upwards to shove deep inside. My lower parts seized with agonized delight, moving me towards the sweetest sensation of all. My head fell back and I unleashed a long groan.
“Feel good, baby?”
“Yes, Sir. Always, Sir.”
“You feel good to me too. I love you, Brandilynn.”
“I love you too, Sir,” I warbled at the ceiling as pleasure cascaded through my body.
Dan ceased moving. “Up, baby. Change of positions.”
Nothing feels emptier than an aroused pussy deprived of a nice cock. Fortunately, Dan was eager to get back inside me. Moments later found me bent over the arm of the couch. My face pressed against the cool leather seat, and Dan pushed his way into my sleeve once more.
His hands gripped my hips as he plunged in and out, pulling me onto him with force that made me gasp. Oh, I wasn’t going to last long, not with him thrusting so hard and fast. The friction felt hot against my G-spot, lighting me on fire from within until the heat licked all the way up to my hair. I shook all over like I was at the epicenter of an earthquake. My fingernails clawed smooth leather. My mouth hung wide open as if the pressure could escape through that route.
“Please Sir, may I come?” I fairly shrieked. I knew whatever the answer, I would be doing so anyway.
“Come, baby, come right now!” Dan yelled, his rhythm going bad as climax roared down on him.
Available from Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and print.
December 29, 2016
Shalia's Diary Thursday Post
A word from Betra and Oses. http://shaliasdiary.blogspot.com/
December 26, 2016
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