Monday, March 31, 2014

Blog Tour + {Giveaway}: Return to Kadenburg by T.E. Ridener

Title: Return to Kadenburg (The Kadenburg Shifters Series #2)
Author: T.E. Ridener
Synopsis:
     With four missing persons and witnesses who refuse to talk, Kadenburg’s sheriff finds himself in a bind on what to do.  Swallowing his pride and biting the figurative bullet, he calls for back-up.  His son, 29 year old Rutley Holter hesitantly returns to town to rejoin the family business; hunting werewolves.
     Rutley never intended to return to Kadenburg, but it soon becomes personal when he discovers his best friend was murdered by the sniveling mutts his father believes to be responsible for the disappearance of Lorcan Bamey, Presley Goult, Greg Kress, and Dimitri Fridolf.
   While searching for familiar faces, Rutley has a chance encounter, and consciously rescues, the one thing he was raised to kill; Dimitri the werewolf.  It isn’t long before he begins to experience an inner battle of loyalty and the line between right and wrong start to blur.
     Being threatened by Breslin Connor is the least of Lorcan and Presley’s worries.  As they struggle to find normalcy in an incredibly extraordinary town, they will come face to face with demons from their pasts and ponder over an uncertain future.  Will their love for one another truly conquer all?
     New characters and adventures will emerge in book 2 of the Kadenburg Shifters Series.  Prepare yourself for laughter, tears, and nail-biting suspense as you re-enter the most magical little town in Tennessee
     Welcome back.
Trailer
Teasers
Book 1- The Truth About Kadenburg
26 year old Presley Goult's life is anything but ordinary. Her mother abandoned her as a toddler after her father’s death, leaving Presley to be raised by the only family she has left-her uncle Arnold. After years of being away she returns heartbroken and devastated knowing this is the last place she wants to be. Unbeknownst to her, Kadenburg is not your ordinary town. There are secrets that have been kept from Presley for her own good. Will she find out the truth of who she is and the part she will play in the war that is about to erupt before it is too late to save everyone that she loves? 28 year old Lorcan Bamey was Presley's best friend growing up. He has always been there for her when she needed a friend and someone to lean on. Although he has always wanted more from Presley, rules are rules and he was forbidden to express his interest in having a relationship with her. You see, his upbringing was very different from most of the boys in town; the female must make the choice. It is part of Urseth’s law; laws that Presley will soon discover when her uncle finally decides to be honest about their ancestry. Will Presley accept the truth about Kadenburg, and herself, in time to save her people?
About the Author:
T.E. Ridener resides in the small community of Gray, Kentucky with her equally eccentric yet amazingly interesting family. Miss Ridener has written a handful of novels as well as various short stories during her career as a writer. When she is not writing, she enjoys listening to nearly every genre of music, watching movies, and spending time with her niece and nephew. Her greatest accomplishment to date has been The Blood Betrayal Series, with characters she dreamed up while she was still a teenager. She believes that the Blood Betrayal Series will go far one day, despite the overrating of vampires in the past few years. According to her, vampires will -never- go out of style even if their fashion choices do!
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Sunday, March 30, 2014

Blog Tour: Indulging in Irelyn by D.L. Raver


Synopsis

Warning: Don't read this book if you hate f**ked up alpha males, strong female leads, hot sex, and a kismet love story six years in the making. Oh yeah and a plot twist that will leave you reeling.

NFL quarterback, Zolt Hamil was America’s heartthrob until a career ending injury changed his life. Years later, he’s picked up the pieces and carved out a new path for himself. But the mental and physical scars of that day have left him moody and reclusive, and his only relief is indulging in pleasure and pain with his many one night stands. Though many women have tried, Zolt refuses to care about any of them. Only one woman has his heart; a hallucination of a young, sable-eyed, blonde beauty whom he conjured that painful day on the football field.

On the first day at his new job at a law firm in Scottsdale, Arizona, Zolt comes face to face with his hallucination, Irelyn Wilkes. Their fateful connection, and explosive passion for each other pulls them together, and this time, Zolt refuses to let her slip from his life.

But Irelyn has her own demons to fight and her controlling boyfriend is one of them. He doesn't take kindly to other people playing with his toys, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep her by his side.

Can Irelyn and Zolt defy the odds and find a way to be together? Or, will the events set in motion years ago keep them apart forever?


Chapter #1

I ran my hand along her naked arm as I moved toward the bindings that had her securely fastened to my wrought iron, four-poster bed. She’d been tethered there for over thirty minutes, and now that the sex was over, I imagined her arms and legs were probably beginning to ache as the adrenaline left her body.
Miss No-Name Brunette rubbed her arms and legs after I released her. I didn’t need or want to know her name. I’d never see her again so what was the point.
She watched me gather my clothes; her eyes roaming appreciatively over my body.
“So, John, when can I see you again? You’re amazing.” She licked her plump lips as her eyes traveled over my naked body, stopping when she noticed the nasty scars on my left shin. Small gray eyes darted to mine, and I saw the pity setting in. Pity was a deal breaker for me.
“We can’t,” I said and threw her clothes on the bed.
“Why?” Her bottom lip jutted out in disappointment. “Didn’t you enjoy yourself? You seemed to be having a great time.”
“It was fine, uh—”
“Nancy. My name is Nancy.”
I shrugged. “Right. Nancy. I don’t do repeat performances. Ever.”
“But—”
“Don’t take it personally. It’s just the way things are.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she scowled at me. Then, she climbed off the bed and pulled on her clothes. “I don’t understand. Are you married or something?”
“Nope. Not married or anything else that concerns you. I’m just not interested. Tonight was great. Really. I enjoyed the shit out of myself. Fucking you was exactly what I needed. Thanks.”
“How am I supposed to get home? I left my car at the club,” she whined.
“There’s a cab waiting to take you anywhere you want. I’ve already paid the fare.” I shrugged again. This was the bothersome part of operating this way. They always wanted to see me again, and my answer was always no.
“I should have known when you wouldn’t kiss me there was something wrong with you. I bet your name isn’t even John. Do you even live here?” Whatever-her-name yanked on her shoes, and then stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
“No, I don’t live here. And, darlin’, my name is whatever you want it to be.”
“Asshole.”
“Come on, now. We both had fun.” I flashed her my megawatt smile. “I’m pretty sure you came at least three times. It’s all good, and now, it’s all over.”
I walked to her side and gently took her arm, guiding her to the door.
“But I let you restrain me!” She stamped her foot as I opened the front door.
“You did and wasn’t it fun? Maybe you can find a man that will be as adventurous. Now, off you go, Sally. Bye, bye.”
“Nancy!” she shouted as I closed the door on her. I could still hear grumbling as she walked away.
 “Ugh.” Leaning against the door, I let out a long sigh. It would be a while before I could go back to that club. Too bad it ended the same every time. But I understood why. Women saw me as a catch. I knew I was attractive. It wasn’t conceit, either. It was a fact of life that all men of the Hamil family were hot.
My first year in the NFL, I was on the cover of Sports Illustrated as the Sexiest Man in Football. That cover, and the other endorsements I had, made me a nice amount of cash, so I was totally good with being an object of desire. Since they didn’t really know me, they didn’t know that I was nowhere as attractive on the inside.
I went back to the bedroom, washed and put the toys away, locking the drawer. Then, I stripped the bed, piling the sheets on the floor for the maid service to take care of.
I left, not knowing when I'd come back. Could be the following day. Could be two weeks from now. But tonight, I’d been out of fucking control—chomping at the bit to blow off some steam. In fact, I still hummed with energy.
Fuck!
My shadow-self pressed in on me for days. When I got like this, only one thing helped: acting out. So, I’d gone to the club in search of the first remotely available Nancy, Sally, or whoever, that didn’t revolt me. Nancy had been an easy mark. I hadn’t been there ten minutes before I’d bought her a drink, and we were out the door, heading to the apartment I kept specifically for this purpose. I was always happy when I found a woman willing to dabble in a little bondage. I wasn’t heavily into the BDSM scene, but knew how to wield pain for the ultimate pleasure.
If I stopped and thought about it, I’d be forced to acknowledged just how screwed up my life had become. So I didn't. I didn't think about all the nameless women I had fucked in the last six years, and how I hadn't been in a relationship since the injury. These exchanges served a purpose. Beyond that? Well, there was nothing beyond that.
But that didn’t mean I had become so jaded I’d forgotten how to get a woman off. I enjoyed women. Loved the soft curves of their body, and loved making them come. There was nothing hotter than watching a woman writhe and squirm as I fucked her closer to orgasm. The sound of her screaming what she thought was my name was music to my ears, but that was as far as it went.
The reality was, I was a mess, and I didn't want that advertised.
Actually, I was far worse than just a mess; I was fucking broken.
Sometimes, I wondered if I was even capable of having a normal relationship. Truth was, I waited for someone that didn't exist. A woman my pain-wracked brain conjured that day on the football field. To make matters worse, she wasn’t even of age. She was a young woman, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with the most beautiful sable-brown eyes and blonde hair I’d ever seen. Her face was sweet, kind, and compassion filled. I realized how creepy this sounds. I wasn't a sick fuck who preyed on young girls, and I had no idea why my mind created her. But all I knew was, if I ever discovered she was real, I’d do anything to have her.
I rubbed my aching leg, and then climbed into my Viper. God, I loved this car. She was all power and beauty, and driving her made me happy. I revved the engine and closed my eyes, loving the purr, and sometimes roar of her V10.
Once on route 101, I opened her up, pushing her past the century mark on the speedometer. It was crazy to be weaving in and out of traffic on the main freeway. I was asking to be pulled over, but again, I didn't care. In fact, I pressed her harder and watched as the needle climbed to 110. The concentration it took to control this machine exhilarated me. Still wound up and looking to banish my shadow-self the only way I knew how, I pushed her just a little more. Why fucking for over an hour didn’t do the trick, I had no idea. But if I didn’t burn this energy off before I got home, sleep would be out of reach. It wouldn’t do to start a new job at one of the country’s most prestigious law firms red-eyed and tired. Once home, I intended to take a long, hot shower, and then smoke a few bowls. Hopefully, I’d emerge tired enough to sleep. For a while, maybe I’d find peace until the nightmare returned that plunged me into my own personal hell.
A hell that I was used to. A hell that only she brought me out of.
The morning announced itself in its usual fashion. I jolted awake screaming, and drenched in sweat—the images as clear as the day they happened.
“Fuck!” I yelled to the empty room.
Pushing myself back against the headboard, I rubbed my leg, trying to make the pain go away. The image of her lovely face and those amazing sable-brown eyes chased the nightmare away, but my body still buzzed with the memories.
I looked over at the bong and lighter on my bedside table and sighed. Just once, I wished I didn’t have to numb myself to start the day.
Before giving in, I ran my hand over my damp collar-length hair, removing the waves sticking to my moist neck. I used to keep it short for this very reason, but I liked the way it looked longer.
As I always did, I picked up the bong and lit the bowl with the lighter. The glow of the burning weed, and the sound of the bong gurgling as I took a hit immediately calmed me. I inhaled deep and held the smoke in my burning lungs.
My long exhale sent a plume of smoke into the dawn-lit room. It floated for a second before dissipating, leaving behind the tangy smell of burning weed.
With my eyes closed, I slowed my heart rate and rapid breathing. The high kicked in, and I already felt the calm take over. I hated being so weak, and hated that what happened almost six years ago continued to affect and define my days. I used to be the epitome of discipline. Not anymore.
If I could let go of the self-blame, then maybe the dreams would abate. But night after night, I replayed the game and its never changing end.
At twenty-two, I had been one of the hottest quarterbacks in the NFL, playing for the Arizona Cardinals. The year prior, we’d made it to the NFC Championships, losing by a field goal.
The next year, we were back in the same position, with the golden ticket to the Super Bowl within our reach. The only thing standing in our way was the Philadelphia Eagles. I snarled as I thought about that team. I always snarled at the thought of them.
Two minutes remained on the clock, and we were on the ten-yard line on third down. I dropped into the pocket, searching the field for an open receiver. I danced this way and that as if my movements might slow the clock. With no receiver available, I sucked in a breath and decided to go for it. What I should have done was thrown it out of bounds and stopped the clock. That would have been the smart move—the safe move. We had one more chance. I had to make it happen. The year had to end in a run for the Super Bowl.
Running like a man on fire with the ball cradled against me as if I carried a newborn baby, I headed for the end zone. But I wasn't a running back, that wasn't what I had been trained for. Stupidly, I ran with my head down instead of up. As a result, I didn’t see the three-hundred pound linebacker heading my way. I was the man with the ball, and I had left the protection of my offensive line, which made me fair game.
The next thing I knew, I was laid out on the ground in extreme pain. When I looked down at my left leg, I was surprised—and not—to see it angled in an unnatural position. I knew then that I was well and truly fucked.
I tried to scream, but my voice failed me. Pain and the smell of the turf below me was all there was.
The hit was dirty, straight up. Later, I found out a bounty of $5,000 had been issued for any player that took out one of my knees. I hoped he got a bonus because he’d gone above and beyond his mandate. Not only did I miss a season, my football career was over. Instead of taking out my knee, his helmet, and the power behind it, he hit my shin and shattered my tibia and fibula.
I remembered lying on the ground as the trainers and medical staff attended me. Chaos had broken out around me. Players fought, and coaches and referees argued.
I needed to find peace from the commotion; needed to concentrate on something other than the excruciating pain coming from my leg. I turned my head and found a pair of big, sable-brown eyes, surrounded by golden-blonde hair, staring at me. She was beyond beautiful, and her eyes were mesmerizing. I had conjured an angel.
In my hallucination, we shared an instant connection. When all around I saw pity and remorse, in her eyes, I found solace and compassion—a kindred soul to my loss. The need to help, and her inability not to, showed in the tears falling down her face, and the trembling of her full red lips. My heart still clenched whenever I thought about it.
As conjurings go, I had created a whopper. When I thought back on it, I knew there was no way she could be real. The average person wouldn’t have been allowed to get so close to an injured player on the field. Hell, my girlfriend, who’d been sitting in the stands, wasn’t allowed on the field. It still baffled the shit out of me that my mind had created such a vivid image.
I could still see her brushing tears from her eyes in my hallucination, and I remember her taking a small step forward. I wanted her to come closer, to touch me. That was where the hallucination ended, stopped by a new streak of pain that had traveled through my leg, sending me into momentary blackness. When I opened my eyes, my blonde-haired beauty with soul-filled eyes had disappeared. All I had left was the image of her that pulled me from my terror every morning. I figured she’d probably be around twenty or twenty-one by now if she were real. I’d admit, that even today, I looked for those eyes in every blonde I encountered.
Pathetic. Yeah. Too fucking pathetic.
I sighed and took two more hits off the bong. Maybe one too many, but at least now I felt more balanced, controlled, and ready to start the day.
What the world saw now was a man who graduated from Harvard Law School, summa cum laude, and worked for almost three years at a top law firm in Boston. Some of the country's top law firms had courted me, and I had my pick of firms. But I decided to come back to Arizona, the place where my life changed forever.
Gingerly, I climbed out of the bed and headed for the pool. I didn’t bother putting on swim trunks; swimming naked was awesome. After a few stretches, I dove into the pool and swam laps for an hour. Swimming kept me in shape, though not the shape of an NFL football player. Those days were gone.
Finishing my laps, I headed for the shower, feeling excited, like something huge would happen today. The last time I had this feeling, something huge happened all right. I looked at my leg and scowled as sudsy water washed over my angry scars.
I dried off and walked into my closet, surveying the suits I had to choose from. I was somewhat of a clotheshorse—always had been. Today, I picked a black Hugo Boss suit, white shirt, and black, silk tie. In the mirror before me, I watched a professional, seemingly together man tie his tie. It was a lie of course, but one I was used to.
Once dressed, I went to the kitchen and packed up a brownie in a plastic bag to take with me. I'd gotten good at baking brownies. But these weren't just any chocolaty treats. These had a kick. Cliché I know, but hey, whatever got me through the day. Whether I’d partake in it depended on how the day went. Obviously, smoking at work wasn’t a good idea. But every now and then, the pain became unbearable. If a handful of ibuprofen didn’t do the trick, the brownie would. I refused to take pain meds. Those things did a number on my brain.
I put the brownies away, and all the paraphernalia of my coping mechanism, and locked them in a cabinet in the pantry. I didn't need Hannah, my housekeeper, finding them. She probably wouldn't care, but I did.
Thinking of Hannah made me laugh. I'd only met her twice, but we had developed an odd, sometimes hilarious, texting relationship. I really liked her. Her cooking was amazing, and she kept my home perfect.
Her work was about to increase, and I was thrilled. My brother was bringing my dog, Ben, home to me. He had been with Brody in Colorado for the last two months while I got settled. I couldn't wait to see both of them. Thinking about it made me giddy. I knew Ben would love it here. There was plenty of room for him to run. Bernese Mountain dogs needed lots of exercise. I almost didn’t get him because of that. Now, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He got my ass outside and stopped me from being such a hermit. If I thought about the fact that my best friend was a dog, I would get bummed. But then again, fuck it! I loved my dog, and I had missed him terribly.
I doled out my handful of vitamins and four ibuprofen into my hand, and then popped them into my mouth. From the fridge, I pulled out a bottle of OJ, taking large swigs from the bottle.
Let the day begin, I thought as I walked down the hall to the door. The sound of my designer shoes on the travertine floors reminded me of the sound of cleats on concrete. It made me smile, but the memory was bittersweet, and I pushed it aside. Behind bittersweet was pure malice, an emotion I couldn't allow myself. Not today.
Grabbing the keys to my Viper, I headed out the door.
Watch out Arizona, Zolt Hamil was back.


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COMING THIS SPRING...

BEING ZOLT

Cover Reveal: Monster Unleashed by Shakuita Johnson

 
Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00075]

Blurb

What would you do if the one fate chose for you vanished into thin air? What would you give up? Who would you become to stay with that person?

Krista Bell finally knows what it's like to be free. The torture she endured at the hands of her psychotic father have unleashed the monster her mother tried so hard to help her suppress. The only thing she wants to do is be the shadow in the night that everyone is afraid of.

Taser is barely holding it together. He lost Kris once to her father and now he's losing her to the monster she is becoming. He's also barely containing his own monster since Krista decided she didn't need her mates anymore. Nathan is still near but he may not be enough.

Nathan is on the verge of losing not one but both of his mates. One vanished without a trace. The other is avoiding him. He has run out of patience with them both.

But when the monster that Krista has become comes to them with a proposal will they take her up on it and possibly lose themselves or will they try to talk her down and get the beast to put back on her chain?

  couple-under-covers

Excerpt

Krista made her way down the hall and into the office she knew her mates would be. They were not going to like what she had to say but right now it was about her. She was tired of putting others before herself. Tired of pretending to be someone that she wasn’t. She paused for a moment in the doorway to look at her mates one last time. They were rung tight from her self-imposed seclusion and she knew this was only going to be the beginning of their heartache.

She took a moment to really look at her mates. They were total contrasts to each other. Where Taser was standing at only five-foot-five-inches and weighing one hundred and seventy five pounds. He had dirty blonde hair that stuck out all over the place and hazel eyes. On the other hand, Nathan stood at just less than seven feet and weighted over three hundred pounds of pure muscle. He had black hair with the most mesmerizing green eyes flecked with gold, belaying his paranormal status. They were both handsome. Any girl would be lucky to have just one of them as a mate.

Yet her she was ready to give them both up. It couldn’t be helped so no use in delaying the inevitable. Without preamble Krista spoke the words all men dread.

“We need to talk. Now.”

“Now you’re ready to talk,” Nathan said with an arched eyebrow.

“It’s about damn time,” was Taser’s reply.

Krista saw where this conversation was going to go before it started. Both her mates were upset and yet she still couldn’t bring herself to care, much. She knew what she had to do and she didn’t plan on changing her mind.

“Are you both going to be assholes or listen to what I have to say?” Krista asked.

“Fine. Speak,” Taser barked.

Speak! What was she a damn dog? Krista was fuming and she could feel the air around her zinging with her anger.

“Careful how you speak to me,” she threatened in a low voice. “I am not some common animal that you can issue commands and receive obedience in return. You will do well to remember who and what I am.”

“Let’s all calm down and take a seat. We have just been worried. Taser didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s not fight but instead have a civilized conversation,” Nathan said. He didn’t need anyone losing their cool right now. Emotions were already running high as it was.

“Before the rudeness was introduced, what I was trying to say is I will be leaving here today and never returning. I’ve given this a lot of thought and there is just no way I can continue this existence how I was. I am no longer that person. I have changed. There is no point in a discussion because nothing you say will change my mind. The both of you will also not be joining me,” Krista stated.

Was she serious with this shit? She walks in here like she owns the world and decrees that she is leaving not only the pack lands but also her mates behind. Did she think we were supposed to be okay with it? Nathan was utterly speechless. Never in all his years would he have expected this shit when he found his Nyhiya. He could feel the rage building and getting ready to burst free.

“Come again?” Taser asked. “I think I may have misheard what you just said. I could have sworn it sounded like you were abandoning your mates.”

“No need to be dramatic. It’s not like you only have one mate. Nathan will keep you company but unfortunately I have things to do. Mates would only hold me back from my destiny. I don’t need any weaknesses my enemies could exploit. Now if you both will excuse me, I have preparations to make.”

With those parting words, Krista got up and walked out of the office. She didn’t have time to waste. She had to gather the few things she had here and leave to begin her hunt. She wasn’t sure where she was starting but she was sure she was leaving here tonight and by any means necessary.

About the Author

Shakuita Johnson is a 29-year-old Psychology major. When she isn’t going to school or working, she is doing what she loves most. Writing. She started writing in middle school. Starting with poetry. Then short stories in a creative writing course her senior year. Her love for paranormal and supernatural started with R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps books and TV show, Anne Rice Vampire Chronicles, and Christopher Pike books. She is an avid reader with over 100 books on her bookshelf and 1000 plus on her iPad. This is her second novel. Visit her online and read her poems and one attempt at songwriting on her blog.

 

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  Jenny

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Blog Tour:Mask of the Swan by Terry Maggert

Title: Mask of the Swan (The Fearless, Book Two)
Author: Terry Maggert
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Thriller

Release: March 2014

Synopsis:
Killing immortals is easy. Becoming one is hard.
When three lovers (Ring, Waleska, and Risa) take a vacation after losing a fight with an elegant monster named Elizabeth, their time for healing is cut short by a new threat, and this time, innocent blood will spill.
Reaching for the crown of Hell, Elizabeth gathers Archangels around her to fuel her power-mad ascent—but she has powerful enemies who will fight her every step of the way, including Delphine, the 2400 year old succubus hooker who knows that inside her beautiful body rests a very human soul. Joined by an honorable priest who finds himself in the middle of a war he never knew existed, and a demigod and his partner, the stage is set for another round in the battle to determine how much of Ring, Waleska, and Risa is still human, how tough their immortal side can be—and how far they are willing to go to protect the people they love from the reaches of a creature who would burn their world to ashes.

Excerpt:
The Archangel Enoch
“Dr. Mpemba, this arrived for you.” A mousey student worker placed the heavy box on the professor’s desk as he dismissed her with a wave. He inspected the parcel and saw the description as air mail, originating in Ireland according to the label. Ahead of schedule, as always. I am an excellent customer, and it is good of her to show me proper respect. His eyes glittered with greed and something more primal as he closed his office door, locked it, and sat for a gravid moment, savoring the innocuous nature of the brown box. It was a Friday, which meant that he would not have to wait to use his newest acquisition as the club would be crowded with veterans and newcomers and the undecided who had not yet sampled his unique brand of experimentation and discovery.
Enoch Mpemba had arrived in South Florida two decades earlier, leaving the killing grounds and hierarchical bloodbaths of his native Liberia behind without a second thought. A naturally industrious student, he had quickly demonstrated superior math skills as well as an uncompromising need to explore the relationships between religion, economics, and all of internecine warfare that those forces could cause. Less than a decade later, he possessed degrees in all three fields, earning his doctorate in economics with surprising ease, a discipline that would prove a boon to someone who had a rare combination of intellect, will, and the depravity to use all of his gifts for purposes known only to him. A handsome man with the deep brown, even coloring of his ancestors, Enoch had striking cheekbones and eyes of impenetrable depth that women found compelling, and later commanding. He quickly realized upon becoming a professor that women were, for him, a wholly renewable resource, limited only by his finances, which were meager even for someone of his title. Enoch changed all of that in one single evening, when he discreetly taped a young student doing unspeakable acts in his living room, her flawless, youthful body on display as he defiled her in every possible way, even finishing his performance with a hard slap to her mouth, felling her, and laughing at her shock. He had not even disguised the act of turning off the camera that had filmed the entire sporting affair, and two weeks later, he had arranged to see her at a local coffee shop. He cheerfully informed her that he would be showing the footage of her enthusiastic participation to her xenophobic parents, who he had discovered, showered her with regular checks as their only, precious child finished what was, in his eyes, a meaningless degree in nursing. During the encounter, each salacious wiggle of her youthful hips were punctuated with animalistic groans that were at odds with her solidly demure exterior, a fact that he valued in the amount of $500 per month, until she left school. After that Enoch had serenely informed her she could be assured that he would destroy the digital film. He was, after all, an honorable man, he had asserted, watching the uncontrollable sobs jerk his victim’s shoulders up and down like a piston. The memory of her submission was as erotic as any of her orifices had been during their play, and he had pleasured himself often at the recollection of her tears. Until the next victim, and the next. Eventually, the professor who had lived in a small apartment had purchased a townhome on a lake in a gated community. Still, his appetite for the flesh had not dimmed, so he began to expand his search. Finally, emboldened by his exploits, Enoch forayed into the fringes of society, where he found that the sexual appetites of others could be safely expressed, even augmented within the subculture known simply as The Lifestyle.
What an inadequate word, he mused, thinking of the blossoming that he had witnessed within his own libido. Moving quickly within the accepted participants of the clubs and private parties, Enoch began to find simple promiscuity lacking, even with married women whose husbands watched, craven, impotent in the face of his sexuality, but still titillated by their very weakness. It was a feeling that grafted to his needs at once, and he began an immediate exploration of that new and welcome addition to his encounters. The final piece of his sexual puzzle arrived in the form of a dominatrix visiting from Ireland, or Denmark—he was never truly certain, but he did recognize the moment she began to unpack her beautifully constructed leather goods, all custom-made, purpose-built, and designed to inflict shame and heighten his orgasms in ways he had not dreamed possible. After an evening of enthusiastic debauchery with her, he confirmed two salient facts that would shape his actions from that moment forth. He had not one ounce of submission within his body and spirit, and the surest means to physical pleasure of the highest order, for Enoch, was to visit shame and degradation upon others until even their safe words could not grant them respite from his lust.
So before him sat a package, unopened for the moment, with a new device of his own design, crafted by the Irish or Danish scrivener who was virtually enslaved to the woman who had taught him that pain and pleasure are fruit of the same tree. A careful knife cut along the edge of the parcel, feeling the contents shift ever so slightly, and he spilled the paper-wrapped item onto his desk. He then discarded the box onto the floor with the same disdain that he showed his special students, and swallowing once in anticipation, feathered the heavy paper apart.
Flawless. It was art of a largely unseen quality in this discipline, and he turned the codpiece over gently, almost as if handling a new lamb, admiring the sullen gleam of the wine-colored leather, the metal thread holding everything perfectly with nary a scratch on the heavy hide. But it was the ring of custom-crafted studs surrounding the open crotch that shone like nightshade, each dense, bronze stud forged separately and then freed from burrs with hand tooling. There were twenty-nine in all, a symbolic number mocking the amount of years he waited until he began to feed his true, inner passion. He had no doubt that with each thrust, the metallic punishment of the codpiece would result in a unique calling card, cicatrices of the initials GM branding the recipient as just another conquest in the memory of a man who was slowly but surely, edging ever closer to the abandonment of what little conscience he had left. He felt an awakening in his groin, and the pressure against his linen pants quickly grew nearly intolerable as his hand moved to his lap to reassure his cock that soon, they would begin their night’s work. “Oh, they will have to wait their turn when I wield this. Yes, all of the soft ones will give me a turn.” He spoke quietly, his words clotted with arrogance and lust.
“I see your newest addition has arrived. Mind if I give you my professional opinion?” She asked him this with the familiarity of an old friend, and he was startled, but only for an instant. Enoch leapt back in his chair, drawing himself up with operatic intent as he began to open his mouth and berate the woman who dared interrupt him in his office. That speech was truncated as one of her gloved hands snatched the codpiece from his desk and the other struck him on the temple, a deafening blow that made his vision flash white as he sagged to the floor, slipping from his chair without resistance.
“Now, Enoch. I asked you nicely, and yet you’ve proven to be quite boorish. Those are hardly the manners one would expect from a doctor, are they?” The invasive woman somehow made the honorific an insult, leaving him awash with anger, disgust, and an inability to act. I’ve been cuckolded in my own space. Who is this creature? Looking up from the floor, he saw a stunning woman in her thirties, dripping with confidence and wealth. Her brown eyes were flecked with gold, and she had her dark hair pulled away from a face that Enoch was certain could make men capitulate to her every wish. She extended a regal hand to him, waving for him to accept it and rise, but as he reached for her, she kicked him once, hard, in the testicles, crushing the wind from him in a shocked gasp. He doubled sideways, white hot pain gripping him from balls to brain, and through it all, he heard her calmly speak to him as one would address a naughty dog.
“Gather your things, Doctor. Your erstwhile careers are henceforth concluded, and I have need of you. If, that is, you prove your worth to me. Have you been to New Orleans?” Her voice was conversational, friendly, and utterly without haste. For the first time, Enoch knew true fear, and he also intuited that this was an emotion wielded easily by this woman. Struggling to a sitting position, she knelt daintily, looking at the leatherwork that had dominated his thoughts so soundly she had slipped into his office unseen. Or had she?
“May I arise, Miss—?” he began in his most diplomatic tone given his excruciating discomfort.
“Elizabeth. You may address me as Elizabeth, if we’re being familiar. I will inform you when we are not being familiar. You would do well to pay attention to my tone. So much can be gleaned from inflection, don’t you think?” She smiled wickedly at him.
“Yes, Elizabeth.” He recovered some shred of confidence quickly and made as if to stand. Her hand lashed down and out, striking him soundly in the mouth, and he fell again, but this time he had the sense to remain still.
Seeing his intentions to stay on the floor, she turned to the door and tossed the codpiece at him, striking him in the face. “Bring that. I will have need of it later, on the plane. You training will begin immediately.” She paused for a thoughtful moment. “You may want to consider some stretching exercises, Enoch. I intend to shed light on your innermost secrets.” She laughed a musical, repugnant noise from a beast that is in complete control of an underling. It was a sound that Enoch knew very well indeed, but from the other side.

Enoch stood, shivering. He did not think that she was referring to his past, and his body began to anticipate a most unwelcome night.

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Book 1 in the Fearless Series

   AMAZON

Author’s Bio:  


Born in 1968, I discovered fishing shortly after walking, a boon considering I lived in South Florida.  I had the good fortune to attend high school in idyllic Upstate New York, where I learned the meaning of winter-- and how to seize the whole of summer.

After two or three failed attempts at college, I bought a pub. That was fun, because I love beer. However, I eventually met someone smarter than me (a common event), but in this case, she married me and convinced me to go back to school -- which I did, with great enthusiasm. I hold a Master’s Degree in History, and live near Nashville, Tennessee with the aforementioned wife, son, and a herd of various critters. When I’m not writing, I teach history, grow wildly enthusiastic tomato plants, and restore my 1967 Mustang.

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