Tracy St. John's Blog, page 172

Shalia's Diary Thursday Post

Attack and betrayal.  http://shaliasdiary.blogspot.com/

WIP Wednesday – First Mataras: Michaela

 The big man spoke in a voice much softer than Michaela had expected from this giant who stood at least a foot taller than her.  As he bowed, he said, “Good evening, Saucin Israla.” 
There were two more men behind him, and Michaela goggled at them.  They were also giants, and one bulged with so much muscle she couldn’t help but stare.
She recognized them from the belly dancing exhibit she’d put on with her friend Jessica only an hour earlier.  There had been four Kalquorian clans present at the show, four potential groups of men to seduce into taking them off Earth-blockaded Plasius.  These three had sat at one end of the stage.  They’d been the most appreciative of the clans, howling and applauding her dance with unrestrained enthusiasm.  Michaela had caught herself doing her most salacious moves for them, too caught up in the dance of Raqs Sharqi to be inhibited.
Now she stood face to face with them, shaking as the leshella’s effects waned before her terror.
The one who had answered the door had shoulder-length black hair that was almost like a cloud with its frizzy texture.  All that soft-looking cotton candy hair framed a face made of sharp angles, the bone structure finely cut.  It wouldn’t have been a handsome face, except for the warmth that exuded from his expression and eyes.  The kindness in the Kalquorian’s face made him quite appealing.
As for the body covered in the clinging black formsuit the alien male wore ... that was sheer perfection.  Michaela’s mouth went dry to see such blatant muscularity, the likes she’d never seen except on Earther soldiers who’d been fed steroids.  Even they couldn’t compare with the gorgeous, balanced physique of this man. 
Israla’s smooth voice barely registered as Michaela looked at the man before her.  “Good evening once again, Dramok Korkla.  I’ve brought someone to meet you.”
Dramok.  That means he’s the leader of the clan, Michaela thought, one of the few things her brain spat out with clarity.  The Kalquorian was already looking at her, his beautiful blue-purple eyes with their cat-like pupils taking her in.  Her, not the beautiful, powerful, and sexually adventurous Israla.  How could he stare at her as if Israla did not even exist?
He bowed once more, this time to Michaela.  She was aware of the other two doing so as well, but for the moment, her sight and hearing were all Korkla’s as he spoke.
“Matara Michaela, this is a pleasure.  I cannot begin to express how much we enjoyed your dance tonight.”
Somehow, she remembered how to speak.  Her voice was even more than a whisper, though not by much.  “Thank you.  I’m glad you liked it.”
“Please do come in.”  Korkla and the other two stepped back to allow her entry.
When Michaela hesitated, Israla slipped an arm around her.  The Saucin gave her a gentle but firm push towards the room beyond.
The leader of Plasius said loud enough for all to hear, “I have other duties to attend to.  Take your time getting acquainted.”  Then she leaned to whisper in Michaela’s ear.
“Do you smell that spicy scent?”
A sharp aroma teased Michaela’s nostrils.  “Like cinnamon?  Oh, I guess you don’t know what cinnamon is.”
Israla was content to know she had picked up the singular scent.  “That’s the aroma of a Kalquorian’s arousal.  So now you know they are very interested in you.”
Before Michaela could absorb that little nugget of information, Israla turned and swept away, leaving her alone with the three alien men.  Michaela watched her go, her mouth hanging open.  It occurred to her that perhaps running after the Saucin might be a good idea.
A large but gentle hand closed around Michaela’s upper arm and pulled her towards the clan’s quarters.  She crossed the threshold and the door shut behind her.  She was in the room, alone with three huge alien men.   
No release date set

Shalia's Diary Monday Post

Confrontation.  http://shaliasdiary.blogspot.com/

Sunday’s Serving – Clan Beginnings: Clan, Honor, and Empire (WIP)

Hi all,

Before you read today's excerpt, I just want to let you know this is the last Sunday's Serving I will post.  It has become just like WIP Wednesday, so I'm not going to continue it any longer.  Besides, time I'm not worrying with the blog is time I'm writing books!  Here's the last one:


            Rajhir stood ramrod straight before Gegra’s desk, doing his best to portray confidence.  He’d caught Gegra before the end of his workday still in the legal office.  He made sure to keep his gaze locked with his Dramok father’s, careful not to let his eyes stray to the calmer beach scene showing on the vid behind Gegra.  Distraction would not do at this moment.            Over the low sound of waves dashing themselves to the pink-sanded shore rose the mournful call of the reptiles that tended to nest on the beach during the winter months.  Their cries seemed to warn Rajhir that bad tidings were about to be spoken.  So far, his Dramok father had only expressed exasperation and confusion over his decision to work for a young and newly elected councilman.  He had not yet unleashed a loud diatribe or, even worse, the withering look that Rajhir knew all too well.  The Look would no doubt made him feel smaller than any of the many mistakes he’d made in Ospar’s sight today.            Gegra wasn’t yelling at him ... not yet.  “You knew you were to accept the position in Teken’s office!  He commed me several times this morning asking where you were.  Then after lunch, he told me you had tendered your regrets having accepted a position elsewhere.”            Rajhir nodded.  “The line of applicants at Teken’s office was quite long, and I took advantage of the opportunity to interview elsewhere, just as you said to.  I found myself with an opportunity far beyond any I’d expected.  I knew you would approve, considering the circumstances.”            “Approve?  Working with an untried youngling who knows nothing of procedures and precedents?  First term councilmen get almost nothing of note done, Rajhir.  They haven’t the connections or knowledge of how things work.  How are you supposed to learn from someone like that?”            Now came the look Rajhir had dreaded.  Suddenly he felt ten years old again, facing Gegra’s disapproval.  The Look said it all:  I expected so much better from you, and you have disappointed me.            Managing to keep his tone even and his shoulders squared despite getting The Look, Rajhir defended his decision.  “Councilman Ospar is quite ambitious.  I was impressed with his motivation to make important things happen.”            Gegra sighed.  He sat back and the chair creaked.  “They all start out that way, Rajhir.  Then the veteran councilmen who have been there a while roll right over the new ones and take all the excitement away.  It’s not a flash of fire that gets you through the first years of council service; it’s the slow burn of duty.”            “Ospar has a lead on some suspect dealings with Ledsin’s Imdiko.  It could be that garbage legislation Ledsin is trying to push through is part of it.  Ospar says it smacks of not just corruption but undermining the Empire itself.”            The Look died.  Though Gegra maintained cool aloofness, Rajhir saw his father’s focus shift in an instant away from his son’s employment choices.  The elder Dramok’s gaze went sharp to hear his political opponent might be up to no good.
No release date scheduled.

Indulgence

Women.  Wives.  Mothers.  Daughters.  We are the gender known for self-sacrifice, making sure our households, jobs , husbands, children, and parents get everything they need.  Too often, we receive little in return.  Often, this is our own faults.  “No, no.  I’m fine.  I’ve got this.  Not a problem,” we tell everyone else despite the fact we’re staggering under a mountain of responsibility.  Then, if we do take desperately needed time for ourselves, we feel guilty for it.
We know it’s wrong to live this way.  Studies have been done, television psychologists and doctors (along with our own) constantly remind us the world won’t end if the house isn’t vacuumed or calls aren’t returned or dinner is delivered by the pizza guy rather than made from scratch.  Yet we continue to ignore ourselves in favor of everyone else.
‘Indulgence’ for today’s woman is almost a dirty word.  I often think it might someday rank right up there with cock, pussy, fuck, etc.  Yet I think we can agree we all need a little something special to keep our spirits up.  I’ve found a few little gems that I wanted to share with you...indulgences that I give to myself and don’t feel guilty about. 
Trust me, you deserve this.  Best of all, some of these goodies cost as little as nothing to enjoy.

Have a Makeover
I have had sensitive skin issues since I was a teenager.  I’ve even dealt with skin cancer.  My dermatologist is kind of a drill sergeant with my skin care.  I am absolutely forbidden to use drugstore makeup like Cover Girl, Maybelline, etc.  As a result, my go-to cosmetics come from Clinique.
Clinique isn’t all that cheap, but their product is super.  Even at its elevated price, it is still one of the least expensive of the high-end cosmetics.  Best of all?  If you go to their counter in your local department store, you can request the trained salesperson to try out their product on you.  They will be happy to assess the best colors for you and make you up.  Voila!  Instant makeover, and it doesn’t cost a dime.  With employee turnover rates being what they usually are for retail, you can go in every few months to try out new colors and products, and no one is the wiser.
Say you do want to splurge a little on some really good moisturizer or that gorgeous eye shadow...then make sure you hit up the counter at their ‘free gift with a minimum purchase’ promotion, done by many department store cosmetic counters (Clinique’s is usually a $25 purchase).  Double score!  They always give you a full-sized lipstick along with a makeup bag filled with decent samples of mascara, moisturizer, toner, blush, and/or eye shadow.  Here’s what I snagged the last time I bought makeup from Clinique during their bonus giveaway:


Buy Designer Clothes
I have a problem:  I love designer clothing, shoes, and handbags.  I’m a nut for them.  I don’t care much about things like the Academy Awards, the Golden Globes, or the Grammys...but I love looking at what everyone’s wearing. 
However, I despise the prices.  If I EVER stoop to paying over fifty dollars for a pair of dress shoes, you all have permission to shoot me.  (This excludes boots.  I love boots.  I will pay stupid prices for boots if hubby’s back is turned.  Don’t shoot me over the boots, okay?  It’s a sickness and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.)
Maybe it’s not so much the designer clothes themselves as the adoration for getting them at super cheap prices.  This is where one of my favorite frugal indulgences comes in:  hitting the thrift stores and consignment shops for fabulous high-end threads.
It’s like a big treasure hunt for me to find something for next to nothing.  Hence, my love for local consignment shops.  I am lucky to live near a couple of resort areas where there are enough ridiculously wealthy types to keep the consignments and thrift stores well stocked.  My recent weight loss has left me with a desperate need for clothing, so I have actually been encouraged by Master St. John to go shopping.  And shop I have.  Clothes with tags still on them beckon, along with gorgeous handbags for every outfit.  Shoes are a bit harder to come by since I am apparently descended from Bigfoot, but I do manage to score once in a great while. 
Here is the adorable Chinese dragon purse I found just the other day for eight dollars:


No such shops in your area?  Not to worry.  This awesome thing known as the Internet is all the store the fashion conscious need.  You can sign up for Shopittome.com, which will let you select what big sales from which designers you want to be alerted to via email. 
Then there is my absolute favorite site to shop:  Fashion Project.  https://www.fashionproject.com/  If you still insist on feeling guilty over indulging yourself, Fashion Project should cure you of that.  The offerings here are pretty much a yard sale put on by designers, fashion editors, and celebrities ... and the proceeds go to charity.  Designer duds that have been gently used – or not used at all, still with the tags – can be had for up to 80 percent off.  Yes, you can have Prada, Valentino, Versace, Vera Wang, and Chanel at deep discounts and help out organizations like Big Brothers Big Sisters while you’re at it.  Glenn Close recently emptied her closet to benefit a charity.  She apparently loves Italian designers. 
I find the lesser known designers are the best buys, as you can see from my recent acquisitions:

Thirty-three dollars.  I am party-ready in this gold lace Betsy & Adam dress for 33 fucking dollars.  The purse, a vintage store find at $18, matches dead-on.

This Nanette Lapore suit is a little pricier, but still a good grab at 50 bucks.  Business, social events, funerals, whatever...I can wear it any place for any reason.

Declare One Day a Week Yours
Or at least a stretch of several uninterrupted hours.  I know, I know.  It feels impossible.  Yet it can be done.  I have a special needs kid, this writing gig you might have heard about, a husband, and an ailing aged parent.  Yet I still declare one day a week as mine.  I can’t hang around the house that day as I will inevitably get sucked into something I don’t want to do, so I leave.  The housework is not my problem for that day.  My husband will get my son off the bus.  I do not write.  For my sanity, my family’s safety, and my writing’s well-being, I am not available for several hours.  Whatever day is best to avoid all entanglements, I take it and run away.
I might shop.  (Do you get the idea that’s a favorite hobby of mine?)  I might go to the coffee shop and sit with a book.  I might go for a walk.  Whatever it is I choose to do, it is my time and no one else’s.  This is when I recharge and regroup.  You need to make this investment in yourself as well.  You cannot give to people when you’re all used up.  The well does run dry sooner or later.  It may feel like an indulgence, but in fact, time off is a necessity.  Declare this time sacred and don’t feel guilty.  You’re not only doing it for yourself, you’re doing it for everyone who depends on you.

Take 15 Minutes and Smile
This is probably going to sound corny to you, but I begin and end each day with a fifteen-minute ‘smile session’.  If you knew how I am when I first wake up, you’d split yourself open laughing.  I am not a nice person the instant I open my eyes in the morning.  I am not even really human.  I hate mornings.  I am mean and cranky and want to hit things. 
Starting the day off with fists a-swinging is not conducive to a good rest of the day.  I know this, so I practice smiling instead.  I think of something that makes me happy (naked Lidon usually does the trick) and keep thinking about that for 15 minutes.  If my head tries to take me somewhere that isn’t so happy (school troubles for my son, argument with my mom, ugly thing some douchebag said), I calmly re-direct my attention to what does make me feel good.  Add coffee afterward, and I am usually primed for a great day.  It’s well worth the time spent.
It’s an awesome way to end my day as well.  Again, nothing ugly is allowed to intrude.  I get insomnia often, and adding worries only makes it worse.  I have noted I sleep much better if I give myself happy thoughts just before bed (a whole troupe of naked Kalquorians if it’s been an especially frustrating day).
I mention this as an indulgence because too many of us complain about not getting enough rest, and surveys bear this out.  People simply aren’t getting their Z’s these days (eight hours is the average amount most of us need to function properly).  If you’re worrying, then chances are that you’re not sleeping so well.  Do yourself a favor and smile morning and night.  This ‘indulgence’ will make a big difference.

Now it’s your turn to share.  What indulgences and guilty pleasures make you feel good?  What gives you a respite from your hectic lives?

Weekend Wake-up Call – Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9

 Tristan’s tongue probed my mouth, claiming all he tasted as his.  The blatant exploration left me breathless and wet.  His hands squeezed my breasts as if testing for ripeness, slid firmly down my ribcage to cup my hips.  One hand roamed to my mound, his long fingers checking for wetness in the crevice.  He found a deluge there, and he took a moment to spread the moisture over my clit.  I jerked in response as a spark lit from his fingers to enflame my pussy.  Then his hands moved back up my body to pinch my nipples hard, sending another lightning zing through my nether regions.    He broke from the kiss and swallowed my gaze with his.  My voice very breathy, I said, “Good argument, Sir.  I’m definitely coming around to your point of view.”
Tristan’s face lit with delight.  “Then let me make a few more points while I have your attention.”
Oh boy.  This was so my kind of debate.
Tristan’s tie was suddenly around his neck again.  I couldn’t help but giggle to see him wearing nothing but the splash of silk red.  He grinned like the devil himself and pulled the tie off.  He held his hand out to me.  “Wrists.”
Oh goodie, goodie.  Bondage always suits me just fine, thanks.  I wasted no time putting my wrists in that outstretched hand.
Tristan bound them at one end of the tie.  The other end he secured at the headboard, giving me no slack to play with.  With my arms stretched over my head, my breasts lifted like twin offerings.   Tristan smacked my inner thighs lightly.  “Spread ‘em.”
I did so, bending my knees to tilt my pelvis up and open me wide for his pleasure.  He looked me up and down, his expression stern but pleased.  “Good girl,” he praised.  “Stay absolutely still in that position.  No coming without permission.”
“Yes, Sir.”  Tristan loved having complete control, and I loved giving it to him, even though he’d torment me mercilessly.
He started with my breasts. He cupped them both gently, testing their weight in his long-fingered hands.  Then he stroked slowly all around, raising gooseflesh on my skin with his light touch.  Caressing me so sweetly, like an art aficionado appreciating a Michelangelo sculpture.  
His hands closed over the twin orbs, and he squeezed just hard enough to approach pain without quite causing it.  Electric pleasure flashed from my breasts to my clit.  I fought not to squirm in reaction.  My lips parted as my remembered breath came fast.  
Tristan kept his gaze on my chest.  He traced the edges of my areolas with manicured fingernails.  I bit back a moan to feel how they scraped.  Then his forefingers and thumbs seized the pebbled tips of my nipples.  He pinched down slowly, applying more and more pressure.  Heat grew to burning there, and then slivers of pain came.  I hissed but offered no complaint.  My breasts were his to play with, to torture if he so desired, as was all my body.  He pinched harder, and I shuddered as the pain and arousal doubled.  
The pressure eased, and Tristan rubbed the swelling red nubs with gentle thumbs.  He lifted his gaze to mine for just an instant to smile his approval at me.  I’d done well.  Then he went back to eyeing my breasts, his eyes dark, his expression hungry.
He lowered his face to the left one, his tongue flicking out to swirl around and around like soft velvet.  The gentle caress eased the still lingering ache, and I sighed with contentment.  Tristan at his kindest was a tender lover.  At his worst, he’s incredibly cruel.  I like him both ways, especially when he mixes it up.  He was about to make me a very happy girl.
His mouth latched onto my breast, sucking it deep into his mouth, rubbing that glorious tongue all over.  A moment later, he bit down, his teeth digging into the soft flesh until stabs of pain mixed headily with soft delight.  My pussy gushed a warm flood.  I arched a little, forgetting myself for about half a second before I remembered I was to be still.  I made myself go limp with acceptance once more.
Tristan licked and sucked and nipped the one breast while caressing and squeezing and pinching the other with his hand.  Pain alternated with bliss until I didn’t know one from the other, and they combined into one incredible sensation.  I felt as if I floated on the bed, acquiescing equally to torture and reward as if they were no different from each other.  For me, they weren’t.
Tristan sucked hard on the nipple he’d been mouthing so delightfully, making the tip a scarlet red point.  “Clamp it,” he ordered.
Like the clothing I affected, I conjured a tweezer clip to appear on the distended nub, the kind Tristan likes best on me.  He tightened it until I whimpered, the bright pain too much to keep silent about.  Then his mouth went to work on my other breast until it too was inflamed from his attentions.  At his command, I provided a clamp for that one as well, which he adjusted until I squirmed.
Red-hot and engorged, my nipples throbbed with my returned pulse.  Tristan spent a long time playing with those sensitive tips, making me shudder and enjoying his mastery.  His pinches and nips finally forced the words, “Please, Sir!” from my lips.
Another tie appeared at his neck, and he used it to gag me.  With my vulnerability increased to the nth degree, I was already desperate for climax.  And he had only played with my breasts.
Available from Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords

Shalia's Diary Thursday Post

Lies and betrayal.  http://shaliasdiary.blogspot.com/

WIP Wednesday – Clan Beginnings: Clan, Honor, and Empire

            Rajhir was of the firm opinion his new boss was downright obsessive-compulsive.  Ospar was right in asserting one should be fully informed, but who needed to know the more archaic details he’d collected?  Even the mind-numbingly boring legislative precedents class Rajhir had taken hadn’t gone into such small matters.            Definitely too much of this stuff.  I wonder if he’d notice if some of this went missing?  I sure wouldn’t mind recycling about half of it.  Seriously, will he have a clue if I was to get rid—            “Excuse me?”            Rajhir didn’t look up as a shadow fell over his desk.  He sighed tiredly.  “Councilman Ospar is not looking for an aide.”            “Oh, well, I don’t want to be an aide.”            Rajhir looked up.  And up.  And up.              Standing in front of his drive-littered desk was the biggest man he’d ever seen.  At six-foot-seven, Rajhir was not a small specimen himself, but this fellow easily topped seven feet.  It wasn’t just height either; the man was bulky with muscle.  He looked as if he could topple mountains.            Completely at odds with the brutish body was the open, sweet face that topped it.  He might have been gargantuan, but the man was definitely of the gentle Imdiko breed.            Rajhir realized he gaped at the young colossus.  He blinked a couple of times and said, “My apologies.  It’s open applicant day for all the new councilmen, so I assumed – damn, you are the biggest thing I’ve ever seen.”            The Imdiko reddened and looked away.  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”            Rajhir shook himself and stood.  He bowed to the other man.  “I’m being rude, and I beg your pardon for it.  I’m Councilman Ospar’s aide, Dramok Rajhir.  How can I help you—?”            “Flencik.  Dr. Flencik.”  The Imdiko smiled as he bowed, making his unlined face even more youthful.  He was a handsome thing, his heavy bone structure perfect for his stature.  He didn’t look brutish at all.              Rajhir caught himself admiring the perfect spirals of Flencik’s curly hair that reached to his chest.  Shining black coils that begged to be touched.  It was only now as he got over his surprise at the Imdiko’s size that he noticed the man was dressed in a green medical tunic and trousers.                Rajhir became impatient with the way he conducted himself.  “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Flencik.  How may I be of assistance?”            The man bit his lower lip as uncertainty crossed his features.  Yes, he was definitely young to be making such a childish expression, perhaps even younger than Rajhir.  Maybe not even old enough to clan. 
No release date set.

Shalia's Diary Monday Post

All tied up with Nang.  http://shaliasdiary.blogspot.com/

Sunday’s Serving – Clans of Kalquor 8: Alien Caged (WIP)

Captain Joseph Walker sat in his chair, staring at the vid transmission of a man almost everyone thought was dead.  Holy Leader Browning Copeland had not only survived Armageddon; he had escaped Earth and the subsequent trials the Galactic Council of Planets had imposed on those in Earth’s leadership positions.  Hiding on another rogue battlecruiser, he flew about space much as Walker’s vessel did, hiding from those who would see him answer for the deaths of billions of people.  The Galactic Council of Planets would not care that he had been the Voice of God on Earth.  He would be made to pay for murder if they ever caught him.
The Holy Leader showed few of the trials Joseph’s crew had endured since the end of Earth.  His wavy hair was carefully combed back, the white of it gleaming with an aura of almost divine radiance.  It put the white of his robes to shame, making them seem dingy in comparison.  His crystalline blue eyes were creased at the corners, a slight testament to his 68 years since gracing Earth with his birth.  Besides the few lines that marked the passage of time, Copeland’s complexion was flawless, almost ageless.  His shoulders were broad and strong.  Even over the vid he projected serene grace.  Despite having evidence that Copeland was not the infallible messenger of God all had revered him as, Joseph still felt insignificant and duty-bound to worship him whenever they spoke.
Right now, the Holy Leader looked quite pleased with him, and it took all Joseph had to not scream his unworthiness at Copeland’s satisfaction.  Damn it, the man was nothing but a charlatan.  The whole religion had been a sham, at least the way Earth’s government had used it.  Still, Joseph’s officers and a lot of his remaining crew continued to believe, to the point of being dangerous to the rest who now had every reason to doubt as the captain did.
So why was his first reaction to Copeland’s approval always unmitigated joy?  Why did he still feel unworthy when the Holy Leader seemed disappointed or, even worse, disapproving? 
Releasing October 2013