Neale Sourna's Blog, page 3
July 5, 2020
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Help an author out. Help the costs for more writing, editing, publishing, and marketing of novels and short stories. Neale writes mostly fiction and some nonfiction; both soft and hardcore erotica, erotic romance, black romance, black erotica, and more....
May 26, 2020
Sexy ebooks online for you to read
Hardcore Fiction
[short stories, novel excerpts] "Aegis" 3 novel excerpts (threeways with undercover cop), unpublished
"All Along the Watchtower" 4 novel excerpts (ancient historical fantasy), unpublished"All Along the Watchtower: Submerged" on sale (ancient historical fantasy)Black Rogues Series (historical novels featuring African descent leads)"Bound" & "Bound 2" (brief short story; bondage)"Call Center" (brief short story; erotic calls, anyone?)"Cock Wonder" (brief short story; oh yeah!)"Dez at the Silver Pole" on sale (longer short story; our favorite little stripper)"Dia: the Novel" (our favorite teen cheerleader!), unpublished"Dia's Coach" (1) [longer short story; hardcore, Lolita, teen sex] on sale "Dia's Weekend with Coach" (2) [longer short story; hardcore sex, Lolita, hardcore teen sex] "Dia's Team Gang Bang" (3) [longer short story; hardcore sex, hardcore teen sex] on saleDia #4, unpublished"Hesitation" A Playgirl Forum shower wet love story. extended short story version on sale"HOBBLE" [An Adult Novel] on sale. Contains 5 excerpts of other novels, stories!"Internet Connection" (brief short story; video sex, anyone?)"Laila: Cozy With Daddy" [short story; 7857 words] on sale - Vol 1, Issue 1"Laila: Smarty Schoolgirl - Daddy's Willing Little Slut" [short story; 3711 words] on sale - Vol 3, Issue 1.2"Laraina" (Historical Erotic Western Romantic novel), unpublished"Libidinous 1" on sale [short stories, poems, and excerpts only]"Libidinous 1A" on sale [same short stories, poems, excerpts with author notes for each story or poem]"Mile High Club" (brief short story; sex on high) NORTH COAST ACADEMIES DIARY or JOURNAL (NCAD)(NCAJ) compiled short stories on saleNorth Coast Academies' Journal 1 (NCAD Vol 1-3 compiled short stories; print and ebook) on sale"Professor Teaches a Tight End - MFM" longer short story; on sale"Professor Teaches a Tight End - MMM" longer short story; on sale"Ross: Daddy's Little Whore, uh, Seductress" [short story; 8401 words] on sale - Vol 2, Issue 1" Ross: Laila's Stepdad - My Daughter's Anal [Asshole] Cherry " [short story; 4337 words] on sale - Vol 3, Issue 1.3"Rough-Me Dot Com" [short story; Romantic Erotica] on sale" Sascha: Laila's Classmate - Public Parking, Sex Squared " [short story; 8289 words] on sale - Vol 3, Issue 1.1"Steve's Monkey's Paw & MORE" longer short story; on sale"Tad: The Switch-hitter, His Twink, and His Teacher" -- A Lust Novella (M/M/M) [22 horny chapters, 25,139 words] on sale - Vol 4, Issue 1"Tango With Me" [brief short story; hard core] "Three—By Invitation" short story single; on sale"3 Sex Views: Ross, Laila, and Sascha" [longer short story / novella 16,337 words] on sale - Vol 3, Issue 1"Yune: Suck My Kiss" [short story; 3677 words] on sale - Vol 1, Issue 2"Wedding Hookup" (brief short story; duh)
Published Client XXX Sex Game Stories / Game Scripts written / revised by Neale Sourna at Writing-Naked.com, ALL AVAILABLE FOR ONLINE SUBSCRIPTION:
Serbian Casino dating sim - A hostage to a gambling debt and a handsome, deadly casino owner, mmm. William Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing" dating sim with 7 endings!Metropolis: Lux Obscura, a Sin City-style Detective game"Arkham: The Dark Legacy", a kthulthu game of sexy fear"7 Day Quest" Play as the Detective"Ardor the Game" (rewrite) Play as a Couple"Girl with Tattoos" Play Her Choices"Mysterious Island" [adventure: zombies, witches, more], Play to Rule the Island Softcore and Medium Fiction
[short stories, novel excerpts]
"All Along the Watchtower: Submerged" novella from the unpublished book 1 novel; on sale
"Becca DuMaurier", an historical romance novel, Book 1 of The Black Rogues Series, publishes Late Spring 2020
"Garba Magic" (entire extended short story, html) / love and dance
"Garba Magic" (part 1, pdf), original client version"Garba Magic 2" (pdf), original client version"Garba Magic 3" (pdf), original client version"Hesitation" A Playgirl Forum shower wet love story. short story; on sale
"Mile High Club" (pdf) / sex on high), original client version; brief short story
"No Kisses" (html) / "No Kisses" (pdf), original client version / love despite kids; brief short story
"No Wedding Night" on sale; brief short story
"Raj" (entire short story, html) / British India
"Raj" (part 1, pdf), original client version"Raj 2" (pdf), original client version "Raj 3" (pdf), original client version"Rini and Kala" (html) / "Rini and Kala" (pdf) (budding lesbian college romance; brief short story)
"Temple & Silent Tommy" [an online novel excerpt]
"Temple & Silent Tommy: Bedrooms" [short story excerpt from novel] on sale
"The Freelancer" [soft core Romantic Erotica; brief short story] on sale
Published Client Softcore / Sensual Romance Game Stories / Game Script written by Neale Sourna at Writing-Naked.com, ALL ON SALE:
Heartwild Solitaire from Orchid GamesHeartwild Solitaire Quiz: Are You Heartwild? for Orchid GamesHeartwild Solitaire, Book Two from Orchid GamesThe Secret of Margrave Manor from Inertia SoftwareMargrave Manor 2: The Lost Ship from Inertia SoftwareTitle: "Graven: The Purple Moon Prophecy" for Orchid Games
Additional Scripts:
"FRAMES", Feature Intro
QUANTUM LEAP: "Rule of Thumb"
THE X-FILES: "Insidious"
Tommy's Rubbers [PSA commercial]
TOY GUNS ... AND TRUTH [a Juvenile Detective Thriller, Feature (Tweaked client script)]
May 20, 2020
"Becca DuMaurier" Book 1 of the Black Rogues Series (novel excerpt 3) Coming Late Spring 2020
It's 1688 AD, in the midst of the "Glorious Revolution," another British civil war between Protestants and Catholics with interested international players from Catholic France and Ireland, plus the Protestant Netherlands from whom England “invites” an invading force Britain’s loathed Catholic king with a new Dutch Protestant one.
But wealthy widow Rebecca DuMaurier, a brown-skinned African British royal court favorite has more personal cares. She’s running from a forced marriage to a famous white-haired earl and heroic general; going to her birth home in her stormy ocean-tossed Cornwall county, just to find a moment to breathe and think; but a many-faced Irish Catholic pirate troubling the Protestant English now sails her shores, walks among her neighbors and servants, and hides his ship in a cliff cove near her home.
Becca’s beloved rocky, treacherous Cornish coast proves a slippery stepping stone for the lively courtier runaway bride, her soldier English fiancé, and an intriguing, enigmatic gentleman and self-professed pirate with brown skin, many accents and faces Lady Becca will meet when he saves her life then steals her heart. However, her soldier is a tenacious man and it’ll take more than the ends of the earth and the wide ocean to escape his reach. Plus, on a ship of pirates, who’s to say all of them will welcome the lady's entry into their captain’s life.
Historical Romantic Adventure Fiction
Tyburn, London, England
1 July 1681
Draft, Chapter: BECCA WITNESSES ENGLISH JUSTICE
The unrelenting stench struck her nose, along with the cacophony of voices, which swelled and ebbed, and shrieked.
This must be what Death’s Wake smells like.
The jostling, unwashed crowd was too coarse, too vulgar, and too loud with its maggot-like teeming of thousands of grubby bodies. They had come for their cruel entertainment, their victory over Rome, and it sickened Becca. The very emotional feel of the crowd made her scowl in upset discontent, despite her elevation above them — all the better to see, and be seen.
“Compose your face, Lady DuMaurier; you represent me,” he spoke gently for her ears alone, but it was still a command. Becca glanced up at him, so tall above her and mirrored Her King’s own bland expression. She’d become so upset with all around her that it must’ve shown upon her visage, all her displeasure and disconcerting fear for her People’s Souls; so much so that she’d forgotten where she was — by the side of her Uncle Charles — and who she was — a reflection of him.
The King had come to witness, as they all had; from the most common of men to His Most Royal Majesty.
Marcus was away, again, on the king’s affairs, traveling with Eccleston to discuss important matters with their allies of the moment, and to implement growth changes in her husband’s intelligence network. Allies changed, constantly; both abroad and at home; plus, true information gathered swiftly was always a premium product.
Lady DuMaurier felt nauseous and earnestly wanted to express to His Majesty that she wished to, no, needed to leave; but knew he would not let her. He had requested her presence, in particular, not his queen’s, not any of his mistresses’, or any of his children, not even his eldest, the bastard Monmouth, who so desired to be king, and never could be.
The entire place smelled of offa, rot, and death; a mixed offense to nose and taste and eardrum, as this pathetic farce passed as a holiday for stony-hearted apprentices, whilst amusing themselves as the lives of the unfortunate condemned were extinguished through capital punishment, weekly. The condemned’s chance to have the crowd stop their death trundle and let them “fall off the wagon” for a final pint of ale with their audience, before getting “back on the wagon” was a condemned prisoner’s second to last privilege.
Their final privilege was to speak their Final Words.
This tainted place was the Place of Punishment, at the crossroads—Tyburn. Criminals and traitors, and the occasional martyr voiced their final farewells and exited here; sometimes quietly with insouciance, sometimes with heartrending screams, but never prettily.
Sometimes even a ripened corpse, like that of the late Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell himself, was disinterred to be posthumously “executed” by a Traitor’s Hanging in Chains for his Treasonous Crimes, by order of King Charles II; Cromwell’s head was yet on display on a pole before Westminster Abbey’s Parliament. His was a belated humiliation for successfully usurping and “murdering” by humiliating public beheading England’s lawful king with Divine Right as Ordained by God, Charles I, before Cromwell ascended his own type of throne; a commoner ascended to mock king, but usurper king just the same.
But that this was 1681, in the tangled ends of the confused and convoluted debacle of The Popish Plot; both the lie it was, the lives it was destroying, and the souls it stained and ruined.
“There were things One does not want to do, and appearances One has to make. For them. For the People,” Her King had said.
Things one did for the continuation and security of the established hierarchy. All Traitors to it, whether royal, noble, or common, suffered and died, publicly, because Treachery was an Insult to every Soul in the State.
“We watch with neutral faces as Witnesses of Justice, Witnesses of this Wheel that cannot be stopped, and that We cannot change, though We struggle against it and pray for Divine Intervention and Human Clarity and yet are undermined by our own true and loyal councillors and allies,” Uncle Charles had bitterly concluded.
She would always remember his voice, the sadness in it, the exhaustion from both the Frustration and … the Outrage; knowing he was surrounded by those “barren of Faith and Rightness” forcing him to be “too impotent to defend and protect a true Saint of Innocence.”
Becca’s face remained apparently aloof to all the vicious mockings, the pleading tears, and the disgusting cajolings and exhortations for and against. The entire “ceremony” was an affront to God, man, woman, and King, as she stood close enough to him for he to feel her and he her; that was their only comfort in this trial.
The horrible day had finally gone, the harrowing night to come with its feverish nightmares in disjointed dreams embellishing the day’s workings. His Majesty had asked for her and she stood by him still in the Banqueting Hall of White Hall overlooking the balcony where his father had died; Murdered, by ignominious public execution on the order signed by the usurper Cromwell.
No candles were lit in the Hall, and no fire was in its hearths. King and Courtier were covered in Darkness, hiding in its obscurity.
“This was a bad thing, Becca, my little dear.”
“Yes, sire.”
“I am no monarch this day and night. Perhaps on the morrow; but not this sad Day of Evil Done.”
“Yes, Uncle Charles.”
She had hugged him, tightly; and cried for her own soul and for his. And he had held her, tightly, taking innocent physical and emotional comfort in a young soul who loved him utterly. Her Loyal Ardent Love made him smile a little, but she did not see it for her eyes were closed and she listened to the strong heart of her Monarch and was glad she knew what others did not—for their blindness, deafness, or Uncle Charlie’s consummate verisimilitudes.
She hadn’t known in full as a child, but as a woman, now, she’d had time to ... reconsider, and love even more with perfect perspicacity a man who was flawed. Charles Stuart was a good man in most extraordinary circumstances, a tall man who could see far, but was always blinded and hobbled by those grasping at his heels, and his own ineptitudes.
He had often told her his truths, though she had been only a child, but a discreet counsel, she, more so, in her adulthood; oftimes it was just a look, unguarded, just for her to see his true thoughts and feelings, which she reported back to Her Majesty in those times when their Queen was not healthy enough to accompany him, or living in separation.
The execution pamphlets were out, more being printed and the severed pieces of the famous now infamously deceased scattered as a lesson in criminality or to be cherished and suredly used in sacred blessings to cure most things incurable; from scabies to impotence to God only knew what.
“This day, Britain had created a saint,” His Majesty bemoaned, in sorrow for a priest accused of “high treason” and “for promoting the Roman faith,” by no less than the Chief Justice of all England.
“That blackguard Titus Oates’ fictitious conspiracy, his ‘Popish Plot’ has betrayed and murdered the last innocent in my name and those of my Great Britain, made by my grandfather’s own hands. Three years of this anti-Catholic hysteria and arguments of the ‘true religion.’
“Where was this man’s bitter tongue when true assassins were sent from the pope to murder Elizabeth. Or when no man could save my great grandmother, Mary, of the Scots.
“This unfortunate ... ‘Traitor’ makes twenty-two by my reckoning, whilst others try to codify in law the religious exclusion of my brother as my heir presumptive because he is an avowed Roman Catholic.”
“It is a thing most hideous, Uncle Charles; but you spoke numerous pleas for Christian Mercy, for most of them, who came before, and most especially for this man.”
Charles stepped forward nearly to stepping out upon the balcony, where his father had breathed his last, wearing an extra shirt so he would not tremble in the winter cold and others believe it was his Fear.
It was a long while before Charles spoke.
“ ‘Mercy’. Words too few and too late, lost to deaf hearts and cold souls. This religious intolerance will beggar this nation’s Spirit, arguing to the death what is the one true and only path to God’s Loving Grace. And whether a Scottish tongue or English tongue, or even Irish tongue is the way to….”
He sighed greatly, and spoke his true heart to Becca.
“Why is there such hate for the Innocence of Spirit, for a different view of worshipping God? We English are so ... terrified that any neighbors’ different Faith, whether Quaker, Puritan, and especially Catholic will drag us all inexorably to Hell or, worse, back into Rome’s Catholic embrace, half a continent away? My English People’s fear is so palpable that I am too fearful that this man’s life is too politically dangerous to spare his life with a Royal Pardon. That they man come for my brother—.
“But I care not anymore! My heart and soul are aggrieved with this weighted stain.” He paused, breathing heavily, until he was more contained. “Becca…?”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“If you or Marcus should ever come to have to make a decision of who dies and who does not; if there is any question as to innocence against guilt, Vote for Innocence. But if the Evil is clear, be Ruthless, Becca dear, and rejoice in clean work under the unflinching gaze of God and His Judges. For this was not ... clean.
“Perhaps it is time I let you return to your little children, they must be eager for your hugs and kisses, and have missed you this....”
He didn’t finish and looked exhausted.
“What will you do, now, Uncle?” He didn’t answer her and now how he looked even more than exhausted; he looked … old, fragile, and weary.
He finally kissed her forehead and cheek with gentle affection, then retired from the dark-filled room for Somerset House and his sweet Queen’s gentle comfort; comfort of a different kind than he had with his many mistresses, a comfort only his Queen Catarina could give. Charles was many things; but he was also loyal to this woman who had produced no heir for his throne, and nearly died in her failure.
And unlike Henry Tudor, the eighth of that name, Charles Stuart, the second of his name, never petitioned for divorcement or annulment, even whilst knowing he was a confirmed and strong sire of children.
Left alone, in the dark, with Marcus far from her and her small ones fast asleep, Becca’s emotions went back to the day, whilst composing a letter to her faraway love.
“How do you say a man ‘dies well’ when he is Betrayed, Vilely Abused, and Displayed; his body and mind, if not his very heart and soul were ripped apart, Marcus.”
_continues in the novel "Becca DuMaurier"
http://becca.neale-sourna.com/becca3.html
"Becca DuMaurier" Book 1 of the Black Rogues Series (novel excerpt 2) Coming Late Spring 2020
It's 1688 AD, in the midst of the "Glorious Revolution," another British civil war between Protestants and Catholics with interested international players from Catholic France and Ireland, plus the Protestant Netherlands from whom England “invites” an invading force Britain’s loathed Catholic king with a new Dutch Protestant one.
But wealthy widow Rebecca DuMaurier, a brown-skinned African British royal court favorite has more personal cares. She’s running from a forced marriage to a famous white-haired earl and heroic general; going to her birth home in her stormy ocean-tossed Cornwall county, just to find a moment to breathe and think; but a many-faced Irish Catholic pirate troubling the Protestant English now sails her shores, walks among her neighbors and servants, and hides his ship in a cliff cove near her home.
Becca’s beloved rocky, treacherous Cornish coast proves a slippery stepping stone for the lively courtier runaway bride, her soldier English fiancé, and an intriguing, enigmatic gentleman and self-professed pirate with brown skin, many accents and faces Lady Becca will meet when he saves her life then steals her heart. However, her soldier is a tenacious man and it’ll take more than the ends of the earth and the wide ocean to escape his reach. Plus, on a ship of pirates, who’s to say all of them will welcome the lady's entry into their captain’s life.
Historical Romantic Adventure Fiction
The Hawk on the Celtic Sea;
November, 1688
Draft, Chapter: BECCA GETS BLOODY
The bottom of the ship left her feet just as—.
B-BOOM!!!
Becca fell securely back into the Present.
The Hawk was hard in the grip of a heaving tempestous sea as the assaulted little ship reverberated with bone-jarring intensity, bespoiled by cannon shot and quick turns as The Hawk snaked down along the sickening edges of swells to briefly hide at the bottom of them, before nauseatingly rising up, like sliding up a wall, as all clung to whatever they could and water sloshed everywhere and many a thing not secured ended everywhere upon the floor with Her Ladyship.
Out of nowhere, Ezekiah helped her back onto her feet, then led her foreward by hand, through the dancing chaos of cannon, whilst the flooring heaved out from underfoot and the walls tilted in to strike you.
“He needs you safe, Lady ... March….” He stopped talking, not certain about her titles or how to address her, whilst under duress himself.
He dragged her across the deck lined on both sides with open ports and loaded cannon, and someone opined:
“That woman’s a Jonah. Throw her over for the Dutch to fish out and be their plague!”
She looked about to see who’d said that or the shocked reaction of the men, and saw only men and powder boys at their posts.
“This is the safest place.”
Ezekiah left her in the medico’s tiny cabin, adjacent to the surgery, from where hard smells and sounds came. Men moaned. One shrieked in terrible pain, fear, or both. Becca understood the man having fear, because she was feeling her own coursing through her. She even feared that her fear was about to be terror soon, as the scents of frightened men undermined her control.
Watch the physician, not phantasms in your mind!
He seemed an appropriate fellow, this medicine man; but whether he was a full physician or even trained in any formal or useful surgical skills, Becca could not tell, from this distance; and didn’t recall anyone saying he was. Actually, she hadn’t known there was one aboard, had not seen him, as far as she could tell, at this angle; but, no one had mentioned him in his medical capacity, nor had she been formally introduced to him. However, since few to none of the men had conversed congenially with her, nor volunteered appropriate introductions, her ignorance was quite the obvious thing.
She was abruptly distracted from her offended thoughts on a lack of basic, common civility, when the ship heaved in a great roll, and the Marchioness did likewise; emptying her stomach more than once in a Heaven-sent bucket, perhaps placed for her, in that area so densely fetid with a mix of cold fear’s musk, hot blood, pungent urine, and excrement.
Disgusted with herself, Becca proclaimed her intention, “I will not be useless here, not now, not when there is need.” Thankfully, the storm was softening its rage, the sea settling from angry swells to less nauseating ones.
She rinsed her mouth, ate a bit of salt she’d found by a neglected meal, to angrily force her stomach to settle by salt and by Will, then stepped from her shelter into the main space.
“Hold still, Liam,” the medico commanded. “Hold still, man!
“How can I be of help to you, sir?” Becca said clearly to be heard above the battling above between Pirates and Dutchmen.
The medico looked up and stared at her as if not knowing what she was or from where she’d come; then he ignored her, whilst fully engrossing in Liam’s concerns. She now recalled the Medico’s face, one of many men, to whom she’d not been introduced. He had had the appearance and manner of a gentlema—.
Wait. She abruptly recalled someone saying his name. She must have cataloged it, without thinking much on it; it was a necessity at Court. Watching him handle this chaos in a competent fashion, and how the men sought his help, she had her answer; he had true education as a physician.
And whether he liked her or not he needed another pair of hands.
“Crace, isn’t it? Doctor Crace, how can—?”
“Ignatius Crace, Lady Cornwall. If you truly want to help, bring over that ointment there. In the blue jar,” he commanded. “Please,” he added, self-consciously.
She obeyed, whilst both Crace and the injured pirate seamen watched her, in disbelief. She held the jar out to him for his use, Crace said nothing, only continued staring, as the injured man, Liam—she recalled Liam’s face now as well. Plus, he was just “Liam” to her now, they all were, not merely a sailor … nor pirate even, any longer, but a frightened-eyed, injured man needing help, like all the others here.
“Shall I open it for you?” she queried, and her voice, her gentle questioning manner roused Crace from his stunned reverie.
“Yes, my lady. But, wrap this around you.”
He handed her a length of sturdy clean-ish canvas, well, it was clean until his fingers left bloody finger marks. She tucked a corner of the fabric into her busom and wrapped it around her clothing, and thus Lady Cornwall entered Dr. Crace’s medical service; helping him pull blood-stained finger-long splinters. For some time, she had her own line of injured; dabbing ointment on burns from the hot cannon, cannon tapers and one from a coal brazier that had made searing contact with a man’s face, then his bared foot. Becca had gingerly swathed that handsome man’s face then tended his singed foot with the soft aromatic goose grease ointment from the blue jar.
“Lady Cornwall I need you. Talk to him,” Crace commanded her, when he began preparing to cut upon a man’s messy adominal wound.
“What?” she said, in utter incomprehension.
“Distract him, my lady. Say anything, please. Look at the Marchioness, Diurmid. When surrounded by dark ugliness, man, look to beauty and its light.”
“Mm. Oh. Well...,” she stuttered, before....more at....
http://becca.neale-sourna.com/becca2.html
May 17, 2020
"Becca DuMaurier" Book 1 of the Black Rogues Series (novel excerpt 1) Coming Late Spring 2020
It's 1688 AD, in the midst of the "Glorious Revolution," another British civil war between Protestants and Catholics with interested international players from Catholic France and Ireland, plus the Protestant Netherlands from whom England “invites” an invading force Britain’s loathed Catholic king with a new Dutch Protestant one.
But wealthy widow Rebecca DuMaurier, a brown-skinned African British royal court favorite has more personal cares. She’s running from a forced marriage to a famous white-haired earl and heroic general; going to her birth home in her stormy ocean-tossed Cornwall county, just to find a moment to breathe and think; but a many-faced Irish Catholic pirate troubling the Protestant English now sails her shores, walks among her neighbors and servants, and hides his ship in a cliff cove near her home.
Becca’s beloved rocky, treacherous Cornish coast proves a slippery stepping stone for the lively courtier runaway bride, her soldier English fiancé, and an intriguing, enigmatic gentleman and self-professed pirate with brown skin, many accents and faces Lady Becca will meet when he saves her life then steals her heart. However, her soldier is a tenacious man and it’ll take more than the ends of the earth and the wide ocean to escape his reach. Plus, on a ship of pirates, who’s to say all of them will welcome the lady's entry into their captain’s life.
Historical Romantic Adventure Fiction
"Becca DuMaurier" Book 1
Before Now White Hall Palace, Westminster by London, SE England;
1 November, 1688
Draft, PROLOGUE: GLACIAL FLEEING
Blasted irksome it was! Lord Padraic’s infuriating maxims kept darting ’round the bare ankles of Lady Becca’s thoughts; like housecats startled, fur standing on end, the apprehensive felines’ claws unsheathed; piercing into her mind—demanding to not be ignored.
“ ‘May you live in an interesting age,’ he’d spoken so agreeably years ago, and “May you leave without returning,” she finished in a murmur now, chiding her adult shadowed reflection in a whisper; so her lower lady’s maids, in their room beside hers, could not hear.
Both sayings were Lord Padraic’s, overheard by a mostly forgotten little brown-skinned girl at supper during an ambassadorial gathering of several ambassadors. He’d later told her that “interesting times” was not a good thing and too often dangerous, and that “leaving without returning,” meant you’d never come back, which was quite bad, if you left your home and wanted to return!
When Becca had learned the rather polite curse from His Lordship, her young escort was sitting higher at table, according to his noble born rank and esteemed favor, while she, a “common little wench” of the gentry, and the Irish Counselor had been seated just at salt; meaning they were neither favored to sit above it, nor disgraced or ignored enough to sit at table below salt.
Their position at supper said neither was of true importance; but were not to be fully ignored, either, even if, technically, he a full Lord was seating at elbow and below a Common Girl Child of no Wealth nor Power. Lord Padraic’s goals, both his Irish ones and Catholic ones, were in disfavor; but he was a nobleman born and powerful in his own right and endured the humiliation of this disrespect.
Little Mistress Rebecca DeLann, however, well, no one had known what to do with her that entire first year, when she’d abruptly come from “nowhere” and moved into the Royal Court. Her presence had frustrated, sometimes infuriated, and utterly confused Courtiers, both noble and political; especially since none could fully dismiss her because of her Royal Patron.
She still remembered Her Feelings at that long-gone meal; of Lord Padraic’s Frustration in communicating his People’s Needs, whilst being situated too below Power to be heard, and too close to a foolish low courtier bloated on currying higher favor by being malicious, spiteful, and scornful—yes, Becca knew these words all meant the same, but a Child’s Feelings are a Child’s Feelings.
His Lordship had clearly not appreciated being seated so low, nor being partnered with the youngest and only commoner at table, who was not either an adult nor of significance to Government or Court, as a Parliamentarian or Political Minister, or even the Significant Wife or Powerful Mistress of one. His Lordship had been seated next to “the King’s new little pet” and, unfortunately, even her glorious patron, Charles II of the Royal House of Stuarts, hadn’t yet known fully what to do with her in those early public situations, as she’d begun her Life at Court.
Becca’s eyes had grown round and large, as Lord Padraic had stated each Irish curse, in complimentary tones, and loudly in English, confusing the Low Courtier and ceasing his ignorant chatter so abruptly, that the man had gaped like a fish, whilst little Becca had giggled in a child’s delight, for she was yet not fully schooled in her Court Manners. Her highly inappropriate but highly affective, and infectious, laughter not only captured an inquisitive glance from His Majesty and a frown from Her Majesty on his left far away at the head of table; but caused the Irish Lord to finally acknowledge little Becca’s existence in a positive fashion; he winked down at her.
Lord Padraic had ignored Sir Low Courtier, Sir Gape Fish, as she renamed him in her retelling to her noble escort, young Marcus, and from that collusive moment of humor, Lord Padraic had spoken exclusively with her, little Mistress Common Nobody; making it quite apparent to all the “important people” dining there, that he was “giving up the fight, clearly killing his career and ambitions.”
“Where are you from, Mistress Rebecca?”
“Cornwall near Tintagel, I usually say, for more have heard of it or can find it upon a map. Oh! I can see the sea from atop our home!”
“That must be delightful. May I ask, what do you like most here?”
“His Majesty, Her Majesty, and all the colors of the Court. And my Tutor, who teaches me much; including the proper use of the new letters of our alphabet.”
“But, what of the people, these lords and ladies? What is wrong, dear girl?”
“I am told I am not to say my mind, for I am a child, a common child, and an uncommonly brown one at that. I must have no opinion about anything,” she said blandly, as having learned it by rote.
“Who has told you that? And you must tell me because I am your lord friend.”
“Lady Crawford—one of the poorer Crawfords, the other Crawfords do not care for,” she added in a discreet whisper. “She was displeased with me for the King had made her my maid, although she was born a Lady, and I was not.” He laughed, and heads turned. “And when she burned my hair and my neck with the curling irons he said he would send her to the Tower.”
“How shameful of her! Did he?”
“No. I begged that he not do so. She hated that, too, that I had begged for her; although she was terrified she would be sent there. It is one of her great nightmares I knew. He sent her from Court which ceased her funds as my servant. The Crawfords said their late brother, her husband, was gone and she was no longer one of them.”
And Becca whispered more softly, “Because she had no wealth or property or connection to power, except a gentry child, me, and she has lost that. Even her birth family would not help her, and I’d thought, then, that it served her right; until I heard her legs were hurting her more and that she had so little income, with little to nothing else to sell; so, I and my Betrothed, Lord Marcus—.”
“Your...? So that is true?!”
“Not officially, but for us it is.”
He’d smiled at that.
“What happened to Lady Crawford?”
more at....
April 1, 2020
Ebook links for Sexy Adult Fiction from Neale Sourna at PIE: Perception Is Everything Publishing
Neale Sourna at PIE: Perception Is Everything Neale has been authoring, editing, doing book/ebook layout and publishing about a decade and won BlackRefer.com's Best Erotica Novel award for her first novel, "Hobble," published through her own company, PIE: Perception Is Everything, and Neale successfully ranked as a finalist for New Century Screenplay's national contest for her script, "FRAMES." Neale also writes and edits for others through her writing company Neale Sourna's Writing-Naked.com; including stories for the Orchid Games' / Sandlot Games distrib: Heartwild Solitaire Game Series and Inertia Software's Margrave Manor Game Series. Neale's many published works, for ebook, print and online, have an edge that always brings the reader back to the core of being human. "I don't write 'romance' stories, but character love stories. http://www.neale-sourna.com/Sournabio.html
http://www.neale-sourna.com/All products Libidinous 1 / Libidinous 1A North Coast Academies Dia the Cheerleader
The Freelancer_epub $0.50
The Freelancer_mobi $0.50
Dia's Coach (1)_epub $4.97
Dia's Weekend With Coach (2)_epub $4.97
Dia's Team Bang (3)_epub $5.97
North Coast Academies' Journal 1 (NCAJ1): North Coast Academies' Diary (NCAD) Vol. 1-3 Compiled_epub $6
Hobble [An Adult Fiction]_kindle $6
Dia's Coach (1)_kindle $4.97
Rough-Me Dot Com_epub $1
Dia's Weekend With Coach (2)_kindle $4.97
Rough-Me Dot Com_mobi / kindle $1
Dia's Team Bang (3)_kindle $5.97
North Coast Academies' Journal 1 (NCAJ1): North Coast Academies' Diary (NCAD) Vol. 1-3 Compiled_kindle $6
NCAD--V1n1_Neale Sourna's North Coast Academies' Diary, Volume 1, #1_Laila - Cozy with Daddy_kindle $2
NCAD--v1n2_North Coast Academies' Diary, Volume 1, #2--Yune: Suck My _ _ _ _kindle $1.25
NCAD--v2n1_North Coast Academies' Diary, Volume 2, #1--Ross: Daddy's Little Whore, uh, Seductress_kindle $3
NCADv3n1_North Coast Academies' Diary, Volume 3, #1--3 Sex Views: Ross, Laila, Sascha_kindle $4
NCADv3n1.1_North Coast Academies' Diary, Volume 3, #1.1--Sascha: Public Parking, Sex Squared_kindle $4
NCADv3n1.2_North Coast Academies' Diary, Volume 3, #1. 2--Laila: Daddy's Willing Little Slut_kindle $4
NCADv3n1.3_North Coast Academies' Diary, Volume 3, #1. 3--Ross: My Daughter's Anal Cherry_kindle $4
NCADv4n1--North Coast Academies' Diary, Vol 4 #1--Tad: The Switch-hitter, His Twink, and His Teacher--A Lust Novella (M/M/M)_kindle $4
NCAD--v4n1_North Coast Academies' Diary, Vol 4 #1--Tad: The Switch-hitter, His Twink, and His Teacher--A Lust Novella (M/M/M)_epub $4
Dez at the Silver Pole_epub $1.97
Dez at the Silver Pole_kindle $1.97
Hesitation_epub $1.97
Hesitation_kindle $1.97
Three By Invitation Only_epub $2.99
Three By Invitation Only_kindle $2.99
CUNTsinger: Cunnilingus_How to Give Head (Oral Sex and Eating Pussy), for Giving Women Orgasms of Cuntlicious Joy!_pdf $3
Hobble [An Adult Fiction] _ epub $6
March 27, 2020
Hobble An Adult Fiction by Neale Sourna [search terms]
Benn offers his helping healing skills and temporarily moves in with her and her rich, elder British guardian; thus beginning an obsessive triangle of wills and lust which may end a life.
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HOBBLE received BlackRefer.com's Best Romantic Erotica Novel award of year!
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"Hobble is a story of lust and obsessive sex ... I was so moved ... I went back to my (Franklin) dictionary ... hobble means to limp along ... to impede ... to tie-up, shackle or leash ... all of [which] were used in this steamy story, of sex and betrayal!"
—Delores Thornton, www.BlackRefer.com Reviews
ebook cover
print coverAvailable online and Ingram order through local bookstores, worldwide or....
_Stories (mobi / kindle / epub) banned by Amazon Kindle or other vendors are available at:
https://payhip.com/NealeSourna
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November 20, 2019
Are you hooked on reading and love reading new authors?
Here is a storyteller like VC Andrews, reminiscent of Andrews' Attic books / Dollanganger series with amounts of intrigue, a strict father figure, as an attractive stranger's exciting and easy sexuality touches on very sensitive subjects as family dynamics change and become a dangerous and deadly affair.
Read Neale Sourna's Hobble.
Print version coverhttp://hobble.neale-sourna.com/ 
Ebook version coverhttp://hobble.neale-sourna.com/
October 6, 2019
AWARD-WINNER NEALE SOURNA’S AFRICAN AMERICAN / AFRICAN DIASPORA FICTION
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
29 September 2019
CONTACT:
Neale Sourna
ns@neale-sourna.com
216-772-1302
AWARD-WINNER NEALE SOURNA’S AFRICAN AMERICAN / AFRICAN DIASPORA FICTION
_Novels, game narratives, short stories, nonfiction, and more. Contemporary, Historical, Erotica, etc.
Cleveland, Ohio – Award-winning author Neale Sourna has been writing, editing, and publishing quality fiction and nonfiction since 2002 through Sourna’s publishing company, PIE: Perception Is Everything, based in Cleveland, Ohio, USA and other publishers, too. Sourna’s PIE-Percept.com is both African American owned and woman owned; plus, its author-editor-owner has won narrative Best of Quality awards for novel fiction, pc game narratives, and screenplay writing; starting with first novel, “Hobble”, which won the Best of Year Award for Romantic Erotica from BlackRefer.com.
Sourna’s storytelling includes sensuality, humor, and unique characterizations; because good characters rule the emotional part of the best stories we love; characters who makes us love, hate, or love AND hate them. Sourna’s characters are often “mixed race” or biracial, whether in a dangerous contemporary sexual triangle in the romantic erotica thriller “Hobble” (with Sourna modeling on cover); the erotic exploits of a biracial teen “Tad”, who is in love with his dark-skinned English professor, while another student seeks Tad’s affections, too; or the coming romantic historical adventure tale of “Becca DuMaurier”, a brown-skinned noble born a commoner and living in Charles II’s Restoration Britain of the late 1600s among black pirates, amorous kings, and revolution.
Sourna’s growing catalog also includes works for game companies such as Sex and Glory / Passion based in Moscow or Orchid Games; including adult game narratives based on Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing”, Lovecraft’s “Re-animator” and other horror tales, and a Fran Miller “Sin City”-styled detective tale, and fully original stories for casual women gamers, such as: “Heartwild Solitaire, “The Secret of Margrave Manor”, “Margrave Manor 2: The Lost Ship”, and more. Plus, Sourna has intriguing nonfiction about such things as oral lovemaking. http://www.neale-sourna.com/scriptgateway.html Neale Sourna wants “readers (including history and literature professors, and their students) to experience is love, fear, and the romantic adventure that is life; feeling the fears, loves, confusions, and clarity that come with loving ourselves and in loving another. Also, that we of African Descent didn’t just appear in history to be slaves, or to invent the Harlem Renaissance, or riot in American cities. We have built and lived in great, legendary cities such as Timbuktu, have traveled the world for adventure like others have, and that so many of our grandparents were born as Europeans and Americans because of love, not just rape. "In seeking Black Europeans, they are hard to find; but we do know that Henry VIII in the 1500s had a black trumpeter entertainer he paid highly, not owned, and that he also had a black captain of his guard, a fine warrior whom he later knighted and whose descendants became Russian nobility. We know that the French king in Becca’s time had a black daughter who became a famous nun. And that a black man became a great samurai; so, to me, that says let’s write something fresh and exciting!” About Neale Sourna
Neale Sourna lives, writes, and publishes from a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, USA and is a member of WGA West Games.
http://www.neale-sourna.com/http://www.pie-perceptioniseverything.com/ http://www.writing-naked.com
-END-
September 22, 2019
Video games bring older family members’ individual history to life; September 18, 2019 12.06pm EDT
It is one thing to learn about history in a classroom. But as any visitor to a living museum or historic site can tell you, a fantastic way to learn is to make a personal connection.
In early 2019, media entrepreneur Mati Kochavi and his daughter Maya brought the stories of Eva Heyman, a Hungarian Jew who was murdered in Auschwitz, to social media with the simple question, “What if a girl in the Holocaust had Instagram?” “Eva Stories” was a one-day project told through Instagram stories that amassed 200,000 followers before the morning it began and reached 1 million by its end the next day.
Regular people care about the past, and can now engage with it in new ways. As a researcher of games and aging, I’m noticing a trend emerging that has the potential to build even more powerful emotional connections with its audience, through the crackling voices of people who lived through important historical times and events. My fellow game designers and I refer to it as “gaminiscing” – using the tools of video games to share personal history.
These projects, including my own, combine audio recordings of their subjects with modern gameplay, letting players explore a virtual environment to hear – and sometimes even experience – meaningful life stories that are told to them by the older adults who lived through them.
Connecting generationsIn general, few video games portray older characters accurately. Often they’re presented as a cartoon, or an over-the-top caricature or in a dehumanizing way. Before gaminiscing, there was almost no opportunity for older people to use their own voices to tell authentic, personal stories.
An early trailer for ‘Grandma Game.’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JXslq_6Muc#action=share “Grandma Game” is the working title of an intergenerational game by brothers and media artists James and Joe Cox, in collaboration with their grandmother, Barbara. The game is a walking simulator, a popular genre of video games in which players trigger stories by exploring 3D environments. In “Grandma Game,” players find themselves inside the watercolor paintings done by Barbara and her grandsons, while hearing her tell stories of what the images and places mean to her.The game intentionally limits a player’s interaction, to make it more fun for Barbara herself to play it.
“We want the game to be playable (and enjoyable) to her, so we have to design the controls and play around what she can understand and handle,” James told me in an email. “She sees it as a way to preserve her family’s history and as an opportunity to share skills with, and learn from, her grandchildren. Both our watercolor painting sessions and audio recording sessions have given us the chance to spend … quality time with our grandmother – time focused on creating work together as artists.”
Looking at historyOther games have emerged that take on more expansive historical topics, though still using very personal experiences.
“Memories of Manzanar and Tule Lake” is the working title of a game aiming to recreate the stories of the game designer’s Japanese American grandparents during their time in an internment camp following the bombing of Pearl Harbor. In the game, players will be able to direct their own journey, interacting with other internees and learning about personal experiences with pivotal events in history, like the infamous loyalty questionnaire, and joining the U.S. Army.
Similar to the Cox brothers, game designer Brent Shiohama wishes to honor his grandparents, the bravery of interned families, and the Japanese Americans who served in the 100th Infantry Battalion/442nd Infantry Regimental Combat Team.
A virtual reality game explores one boy’s experience of World War II in France.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6tqg__x2P0#action=share “La Peur Bleue” tells the stories of the creator’s grandfather in World War II France. The artist states, “By focusing on specific, emotional moments from my grandfather’s past, you are given the opportunity to experience the context of the war and empathize with the emotions my grandfather felt.” Players interact with objects in recreated locations and hear a grandfather reminisce about his past, adding another layer of historical immersion by using virtual reality rather than just a computer screen.
My own game, the forthcoming “Brukel,” uses recordings of my grandmother’s own voice, to tell stories of her childhood growing up on an occupied farm in Belgium during World War II.
As the player, you enter the Brukel farmhouse equipped with your smartphone camera and a vague list of topics that your grandmother told you about. By photographing items that match well with each topic, you unlock audio recordings in which she reveals her past to you.
However, when it eventually gets dark, you find yourself trapped in the house as the ghosts of the past come to life. Through a series of survival-based vignettes, you must try to outlast some of the horror stories that my grandmother lived through as a teenage girl, while slowly learning about how the war deeply affected everyone in the family.
A Belgian grandmother tells the story of her childhood in ‘Brukel.’https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9P-alvHXGnc#action=share A welcoming responseEven before the release of “Brukel,” I have been able to showcase it, most notably at an event at the Smithsonian American Art Museum in early August 2019. So far, playtesters have told me they appreciate its ability to engage the player through the use of modern technology.
Because of my own research, I had anticipated that older gamers would appreciate “Brukel” for its meaningful engagement and mature story. Those are two qualities that my research has shown are paramount to older gamers. In particular, for my qualitative work, I met a number of older adults who deliberately sought out games that would meaningfully contribute to their interest in the post-World War II era.
For example, an 82-year-old Belgian man told me, “I barely remember the Second World War but I was a child back then. What I remember is extremely vivid, though. The lights, the bombings, the noise. Airplanes flying over our house and being shot down. I can still see it. It was an adventure, and I relive that adventure by playing games about it.”
Similarly, another Belgian man, aged 62, explained, “I recently went to Normandy; it is amazing to visit places in games that you can later on visit in real life. You have never been there but you know the place from the game. They can be so realistic.”
However, I had not expected the response that “Brukel” received from children. At the Smithsonian event, people from all age groups – including pre-kindergartners and octogenarians – played “Brukel.” As a group, pre-teens turned out to be most engaged with the game, spending the most time playing it and even returning multiple times over the two-day event to play it again.
When I spoke with the parents of these young gamers, the general theme of their response was that they loved how engaged their children were with “Brukel” while learning about history. One parent told me, “They’re going to play video games regardless, so it’s great that they’re drawn to something educational.”
Another parent who said his child was on the autism spectrum with trouble concentrating in school praised “Brukel” for its ability to engage his son. He said his son was more comfortable learning through playing the game because he was familiar with using a keyboard and mouse, which he found far less stressful than being in a classroom.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that many of these gaminiscing projects are centered around war. The 75th anniversary of the end of World War II will be in 2020; as those who faced its terrors firsthand die, the stories of their experiences are fading away. The risk – and my concern – is that society collectively will forget the lessons and the promises of “never again.”
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