Thank You Readers

I'm thrilled that my latest femdom novel has been accepted for publication by Pink Flamingo. I'll have more details as the release date approaches, but right now I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who has bought and read any of my previous femdom novels released by Pink Flamingo. Sad or not (and I think it's a little bit sad) at some point your track record is probably going to be more of an influence over a publisher than the quality of your next book. When I got the news that the new novel was accepted, I felt an intense bond with all of you.

I think it's unlikely that a femdom novel will be widely popular in my lifetime. Although I still hope: http://courtingherbygregoryallen.blogspot.com/2012/12/could-femdom-book-have-popularity-of-50.html    But I feel, daily, the fulfillment of communicating with readers through the magic of fiction. The new book took me about two and a half years to write, first word to last (During that time I was also still working on finishing Serving Her), and I had an amazing time working on it. The vague idea that someone will, one day, read something you wrote is probably a driving force for all writers, but the more you can crystallize that idea that your writing is communication with other people, the more of an inspiration writing becomes. It would sound too cheesy to say I feel like I wrote this book with all of you, but I'm going to say it anyway. I feel like I wrote this book with all of you.

Alex Prepares to Serve Kimberly's Friends in Courting Her

In honor of Courting Her making a comeback, last quarter, I wanted to post an excerpt. I'm thrilled that after three years, readers still seem to be enjoying this book. I'll be back with more Protégé Mistress excerpts soon. Sorry for the delay in posting. Thank you for reading!

"Let me see how my marks look," Kimberly said.

Alex, dressed in black dress pants and a white shirt, was fluttering about the kitchen, nervously arranging things for the party. She had forbid him to wear underwear, wanting him to worry that her friends would know serving them excited him, even though she knew it wouldn't really be that obvious in black pants. Alex dropped his pants to his knees, turned his back to Kimberly, and lifted his shirt up. The stripes from spelling her name, though three days old, still showed. "Those were some good ones, weren't they? Some of my best, I think." Kimberly pinched one and twisted the sore skin, causing Alex to wince. "Say, I'm wearing Kimberly's best."

"I'm wearing Kimberly's best," Alex said. He was rewarded with her hand, which came around his hip and passed, twice, over his member.

"Please, Kimberly, please don't make me serve today."

"Are you begging with your head higher than mine? You know to beg on your knees."

Alex turned and dropped onto the linoleum. "Please, Mistress. Please don't make me."

Kimberly stepped into him and pulled him against her. Alex buried his face in her shirt and hugged her by the back of her jeans. She pulled him back by his hair until his eyes met hers. "You will serve my friends, and you will make me proud."

Protege Mistress, A Tale of Unrequited Love Excerpt #3

“Can I see?”

Kevin looked partway back, glimpsed Diane, her arms raised as she dried her hair with a towel. The bottom hem of her damp T-shirt clung high up around her thighs. He turned his back to her and unsnapped his jeans. He slid them and his underwear down over his butt and raised his shirt to his lower back.

Diane emitted a sigh of pity and moved forward. “Oh my gosh, Kevin! I can see the belt marks. She hit you really hard.”

Kevin dropped his shirt and pulled his pants back up. “I shouldn’t have stolen her deliveries.” He turned around but kept his eyes lowered. Still he could see Diane leaned over the counter. Her T-shirt outlined her curves.

“You poor boy.” She smiled. “Fix me a glass of wine.”

She remained poised there as he did. Her slender arms and legs delicately posed. She pushed up from the counter when he had her glass ready and walked to the couch. Kevin dared a look at her behind as he followed. Her taut cheeks pressed against the damp fabric of her shirt, and she seemed to be accentuating the swivel in her hips the way she sauntered. She pivoted and sat on the couch, crossed her legs, and pointed to the floor. Kevin knelt. She took the glass of wine and gave him a foot in its place. Kevin stooped forward and kissed it.

Diane giggled. “I didn’t even tell you that you had to do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Diane patted his head. “Do you like coming over after work and kissing my feet?”

Kevin looked up at her. “I enjoy being near you…and it’s a chance to show you affection.”

“So yes?”

“Yes, Diane.”

“Say it then.”

“I like coming over after work and kissing your feet.”

“Did you want to kiss anywhere else?”


Sorry I was later than I meant to be posting the next one of these. Protégé Mistress is available in print from my publisher's website, Pink Flamingo, and wherever Ebooks are sold. The opening sample is free to read at amazon and there is also a free excerpt at Pink Flamingo. Thank you for reading!

A Tale of Unrequited Love, excerpt #2 from Protege Mistress

Despite being frequently summoned for clandestine visits to his manager’s apartment in the evenings, work felt surprisingly routine. He and Diane had running conversations that only paused when one was on the phone or Diane was handling a customer or when the orders were backed up and they needed to focus to catch up. The conversations paused again when Kevin was cut early and un-paused when they met up later at her apartment. Kevin began to feel his entire life was one eternal conversation with Diane, moving from pause to un-pause. He loved listening to her chatter about school, express worry over her bills, share stories about her friends, and complain about work irritations almost as much as he enjoyed following her over to the couch, kneeling on the floor, and taking care of her feet. A privilege all the more gratifying since he knew how much it excited her.

She would smile down at him in a way that reminded him he was on his knees in front of her and made it clear she was enjoying her lofty position. “So, how is it working under me, so far?”

“Good. Wonderful.”

“Am I too bossy?”

“No, you’re a good boss. I always thought you were a good boss, even before…” He trailed off, embarrassed to articulate exactly what transpired after before.

“You mean before your promotion?” She finished for him, letting him off easy. “By the way, I have told Monica not to tell everyone about our arrangement at work, so don’t worry. A little hinting around and teasing is one thing, but I’m not going to let her out you to the rest of the drivers.”

“Thank you, Diane.”

She leaned forward and smiled down. The trajectory of her swinging foot slowed and extended until her toes touched his parted lips. She flipped the bottom one down and giggled when it flapped back up. Soon she lifted both feet up for him, and Kevin held them and kissed and licked. Diane opened her pants and her hands went in.

She still had the habit of putting his face to the floor, keeping her recovery from her orgasms private, but she seemed more comfortable with him witnessing her. She’d grown less modest, and Kevin had been treated to some glorious sights, staring up at her as her feet played in his mouth. The strings of her panties stretching around her hips, the muscles of her thighs flexing and emerging past her pushed down pants. She was less careful about keeping the triangle of her panties centered. Between her fingers, Kevin glimpsed precious shadows of pink. 

Thank you for reading! If you're interested, Protégé Mistress is available in paperback at my publisher's website, Pink Flamingo, and in Ebook form wherever Ebooks are sold.

Protege Mistress, intro to a series of excerpts

If you haven't read it before here, I began writing female domination erotica after emerging from the lover side of an unrequited love situation. (I almost said the wrong side, but both sides are difficult.) This was a surprise to me. I'd been writing for several years, always had submissive fantasies, but never felt inspired to write any down. Writing Courting Her was part fantasizing about what could have been and part catharsis.

Protege Mistress, my second female domination novel, began as a short story about a submissive man, who loses a card game bet to his manager and owes her a foot massage. Diane brings Kevin home to pay up and announces, before she lets him in, that she can never date him because it's against the rules for her to date people under her. An excerpt of what happens next is already posted here:

http://courtingherbygregoryallen.blogspot.com/2013/07/another-fav-moment-from-protege-mistress.html

After receiving foot kisses and oral sex from Kevin, Diane pats his head and says, "Good boy. See you at work."

When I wrote that I realized I had a book. To that point I'd been writing a short story called, Coaster on the Floor, but that became chapter one, because I would need a book to see how things turned out with these two. I mean, imagine facing her at work and wondering who she told (she did tell her friend Monica)! What happened next, I consider luck, because good ideas coming are always a lucky thing. I realized I could turn an unrequited love story into a romance. I did this by writing the first half from Kevin's perspective. Kevin becomes Diane's submissive lover, but he's pained because he doesn't feel like a "real boyfriend."

Diane, meanwhile, a fledgling domme, is under the influence of Monica, who wants Diane to feel free to take "real" lovers while Kevin remains her submissive lover. Harsh stuff, for anyone who is uncomfortable with cuckolding, which I kind of am. I find the idea titillating but the reality way past my limit. But what I tried to do, while remaining in Kevin's POV is show how torn Diane is at putting Kevin in the role Monica wants him in. At one point, while Kevin is being whipped for some failing, Monica scolds Diane for kissing his cheek. Diane is in love with Kevin, and eventually, this becomes known to everyone. (**SPOILERS** And she never did take another lover, though she kind of sort of dated a regular at the pizza shop. A man Kevin called Extra Meat because he always got extra meat on his pizza.)

That's the book's first half in summary. What it allowed me to do is explore the pain of unrequited love without paining the reader (or the writer as I was writing it). Kevin rides the rollercoaster of emotion I rode trying to squeeze myself into the friend box my unrequited love wanted me in. At times it seemed to be working, we were able to celebrate our friendship without that problem intruding, but it was always hanging over us and when it came down it was crushing, for us both. For Kevin, and really for Diane too, there are some excruciating moments that were largely lifted from my real life experience, and I plan to include those in this story of excerpts.

Within this thread, I'll post (hopefully weekly) excerpts that tell Kevin's unrequited love story as well as it can be told in brief excerpts. If anyone gets impatient, the novel is available in print at Pink Flamingo and as an Ebook at amazon. I'm glad to have you reading the portions posted here, though, too.     

Another Fav Moment from Protege Mistress

I posted a fav moment from chapter 1 of Protégé Mistress a while back and meant to keep going with a few more, but I got sidetracked. Then I meant to post a more climactic moment from the end of chapter 1 (Climactic for Diane only, of course), but I got stuck on one of the build up parts. I tend to like the build up parts better. All of chapter one and parts of chapter 2 are part of the free sample at amazon if you'd like to read more. Thanks for reading!

Diane leaned back into the couch again. “Let me ask you a question, and I know you’re very shy, but I want you to answer honestly. Earlier tonight, when I invited you over, before I told you about how I couldn’t date you, were you hoping to kiss me?”

            Her foot kicked toward where he knelt in front of her. Under the circumstances, he felt silly being scared to admit it, but he could barely meet her gaze as he answered, “Yes, Diane.”

            She smiled. “Awww, you’re so cute. Blushing at my feet. Did you fantasize about kissing me on your drive over?”

            “Yes, Diane.”

            “Well, your fantasy might come true. Though it’s probably not going to happen exactly as you imagined. Do you still want to kiss me?”

            “Yes, Diane.”

            She frowned slightly. “I know you can be more polite than that.”

            “Yes, Diane, please.”

            She straightened her leg, her foot rose to just under Kevin’s chin. She pressed her foot down so that her leg from toe to hip stretched its full length. “Go ahead. Kiss me.”

            At his eye level, Kevin could glimpse, under her pant leg, her smooth calf. He knew what she wanted, what she offered him, and he desired it as much as the kiss on her lips she had correctly guessed he’d driven over hoping to receive. This alternative was beyond compensation, it was bliss. He bent forward and placed a soft kiss on her foot.

            “Good. Very good boy,” she said. “Now, one on the bottom.” She pointed her toes up, and the bottom of her foot hung inches from his face. “And you don’t have to be so quick. You can give me a nice, long kiss. Don’t be shy.”

Bottoms in Love on sale and featured at Kay Jaybee's blog

I guess this is my third announcement of the new and expanded version of Bottoms in Love, published by 1001 Nights Press. But this time it's on sale for 99 cents. The new content, hopefully, got worked in seamlessly, but it gives some backstory to how Lindsey and Carter arrived at their compromise. Originally, it was going to be in a prequel to Bottoms in Love, but when the opportunity came along to republish Bottoms in Love with 1001 Nights Press, I decided to work the new material into the original story, which I think worked out much better.

If you think you're not a fan of reading off your computer, this would be a great, short piece to try with. If you have a kindle, you've probably already tried it, but if you don't, you can download a kindle app for your PC, which is free. Purchase Bottoms in Love from amazon for 99cents and have it sent to your kindle app on your PC. Then the kindle app takes up your whole screen, you click to turn the pages, and you almost forget you're not reading from a paper copy.

Please have a look at Day 2 in the 5 Days of 1001 Nights at Kay Jaybee's blog. Don't forget to peek back at Day 1, which was The Pleasure Dial by Jeremy Edwards, and stay tuned for three more days of books, all on sale for 99cents or 77p, the p is, I think, a UK thing. Here's the link:

http://networkedblogs.com/MKVO6

Bottoms in Love, synopsis and excerpt

Bottoms in Love by Gregory Allen, a novelette published by 1001 Nights Press

Synopsis:

Nothing gets Carter hotter than the thought of his wife in charge -- submitting to her desires in the bedroom. And Lindsey can be the perfect dominatrix: demanding, knowing, pushing all the right buttons. The problem? She's submissive too. Her idea of the perfect place is at the feet of a commanding husband.

Lindsey and Carter think they've solved the apparent problem with the toss of a coin, an impartial system to randomly determine who's on top -- this time. But a string of the coin coming up heads leaves Carter particularly whiny about having to dominate his wife for an evening. He manages to quell his jealousy and give Lindsey some of the punishment she craves, but when the coin comes up tails the next time, his wife decides to show her husband a real punishment.   

Excerpt: from part one, Heads

The dime sat tails-side-up, centered on top of her left hand, the shimmer of the fresh coin dulled by the diamond close by. “Now, don’t look glum,” Lindsey said. “Fair is fair.”

Carter nodded and smiled. He picked up the dime and dropped it into his shirt pocket, took his wife’s hands in his, and leaned in and kissed her. “Are you ready to go?”

She frowned. “Are you?”

As he rose and stood next to her, her expression changed. Her lips parted, her chin dropped down, her eyes brightened. He motioned for her to rise, and she, quickly and gracefully, slid her chair back, swung her touched-together knees toward him, and pushed up. She slipped against him, feeding her arm between his hip and the nook of his elbow.

He led her.

She remained just a fraction behind, drawing brief stares from men sitting with their dates at the dimly lit tables along the way. Her purple skirt wrapped around her legs, falling just past her knees. The white of her shirt, pressed forward by her breasts, emerged in his periphery even as his gaze stayed forward. She loved to play the part of his eye candy to tease him, but he knew better.

The dime had come up tails four times in a row. The odds quickly popped into Carter’s mind: one chance in eight. He shuddered. Of course, the streak wasn’t that unusual, and had it been the fourth time in a row that the coin landed heads up, he would have been perfectly pleased with the result. Lindsey seemed to know what he was thinking, and she squeezed his arm, bolstering his resolve.

A hostess opened the door and smiled good night to them. Carter said goodnight in return, letting his wife out ahead. She waited, just beyond the threshold, giving the hostess only a nod, and slipped beside her husband again. He walked the length of carpet under the canopy outside the restaurant’s doors  and handed a ticket to the valet. The city lights were brightening under the arriving dusk.

The rarity of an evening out allowed them to splurge on an overpriced dinner and expensive wine, though a night at home alone, with the kids at her parents’, was the real treat. Tempered only by the unfortunate flip of a coin. The car pulled around and Carter walked his wife to the passenger side. She slipped off his arm as he opened the door and sat in the leather passenger seat, smoothing her skirt, which had ridden up, and letting her hand trail down her knee.

Carter tipped the valet and got in on the other side. He gripped the steering wheel and exhaled a desperate breath. “Can we do two out of three, please?”

“Could we if I had won?”

Carter put the car into drive. “No.”

Lindsey crossed her right leg over her left and squeezed against her husband as he pulled out of the lot into the street. “I always take my turn without complaint.”

“All right. Fine.”

The firm tone of her husband caused Lindsey to straighten and sit up. “Ooh, are we starting?”

“I guess.”

“You can’t guess, if we’re starting.”

Carter glanced down at Lindsey’s knees lightly rubbing together. “Lift up your skirt.”

She slid her hands down the sides of her thighs, keeping her knees touching, acting coquettish. Bunching the skirt, she drew the material halfway up and stopped.

“Farther. Show me your panties. If you’re even wearing any panties.”

“I am.” She obeyed, raising the skirt higher. She slunk a bit in her seat, and the white strip of her underwear emerged, her pussy tightly encased within. “See? I told you I was wearing panties.”

“Watch your tone. You know what will happen.”

She wriggled under his glare. The band of her seat belt pressed between her breasts, pinning her blouse tight and accentuating the pertness of her nipples, which even through her bra showed hard at her husband’s strict demeanor. He returned his attention to the road, but surprised her by taking swift, firm hold of her thigh. A sharp intake of breath preceded a lengthy sigh, and Lindsey slunk down further in her seat. Her skirt bunched around her waist, and she nudged her panty-covered pussy toward her husband’s hand, but he kept her at bay. His eyes remaining on the road, he stroked her thigh without allowing her grinding lap the touch she craved.

Finally, the pinky side of his hand grazed her, and the slight touch released her yearning breath into the quiet enclosure of the car. Carter remained stoic. She slid toward him, and his hand moved once again towards her knee. “Oh, please,” she said, in a whisper, but he only glanced down, smiling, and shook his head.

Amazon buy link: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00CQFKQO2/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_1?pf_rd_p=1535523722&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=B006O3ZZ6G&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=06FC8YTWVJCBQ8YEKR74

The Bottoms are Back!

It takes a brave writer to admit to a mistake, but I'm not going to be brave. Instead I'm going to rationalize! But it's a rationalization I actually believe, if you can believe it. This is the second origin story about Bottoms in Love. The first can be found at the personal website of Sharazade, who would end up republishing Bottoms in Love with her publishing company 1001 Nights Press:

http://sharazade.com/?cat=78
 
I'll summarize it for anyone who doesn't want to click over. The Bottoms in Love originally published last year by OC Press of Oysters and Chocolate was conceived as a flash fiction idea. A man stops in the middle of spanking his wife to make her promise she'll give him a good turn next. "Yes, I promise! Just please spank me!" It sounded like something that would turn out well as a 500 word story. I planned to enter the home of a couple, pictures of their kids on the walls, and show somehow that these were rare opportunities for them to indulge in power exchange. Then describe a man giving a sexy punishment to his wife, letting it go on just long enough to make it seem like an enjoyable maledom scene before delivering the surprise twist ending.

That story sat on the back burner while I worked on something else. Then I opened, instead, with where Bottoms in Love opens now, with Carter and Lindsey enjoying a rare night out with the kids at Lindsey's parents'. They flip a dime, and Carter loses and has to dominate his wife. Just for fun, I began the story with Carter losing for the fourth time in a row, which leaves him just a touch whiny (okay, maybe more than a touch) as he gets started on their drive home.

I was happy with the story. I never felt anything was missing. The mystery of just how these couple of bottoms ended up married played nicely in the background. But that dynamic played out to the extent that I was playing with it. An opening scene came to mind of Lindsey exhausting Carter with her submissive desires, early in their courtship. Carter was spanking her nightly and getting blowjobs, but how much of that was he supposed to take? Not until he set dumping her in motion did he realize what he really wanted was a turn!

I intended to follow that moment with them working out the rotation of submitting to each other. Expecting to end the prequel with them celebrating their compromise over dinner and picking out from their change a shiny dime. Again, that stayed on the back burner while I worked on other things. Then OC Press and Oysters and Chocolate decided to move on and released their titles to the authors. OC Press had gotten Bottoms in Love to readers, which is something I'm always tremendously grateful to publishers for, so that was upsetting news, but Sharazade wanted to republish it at 1001 Nights Press. I told her about the prequel idea and then, in the email, mentioned moving the prequel scenes into Bottoms in Love as back story. My musings on just how those scenes would fit together were so vivid, I recall joking in the email that I guessed I'd started writing it!

Which puts me in a strange place, I suppose. Because I'm super excited for this latest and longest version of Bottoms in Love to go out to readers; although I still think the original version worked nicely, I guess I reached a point where that untold back story got so compelling, I felt compelled to tell it. (A part of me still longs for that 500 word flash fiction story that never came to be, so I suppose writers are just hard to please.) Here's a bit from Carter's POV:

“We need to talk. I don’t think I can do this.”

Lindsey’s bowed head lifted. Her downward gaze sharpened and pointed up at him. “Stop. Get my clothes.” She turned to the side and raised an arm to cover her breasts. Carter sat up. He rose and scampered off, gathering her clothing. He touched the balled up fabric softly to her back shoulder. She pulled it over. “If I am going to get dumped, I want it to happen while I’m dressed.”

“No one’s getting dumped.” Carter glanced at Lindsey’s naked back before turning around to let her dress privately. “I just don’t think... I don’t see why... I mean...”

He could hear her clothes coming on, faster than they’d come off. The hurried sound of limbs fighting roughly through folds. She sat and her shoes lifted off the floor. Carter turned. “Wait,” he said.

Lindsey looked up at him, no longer hurt. She looked angry and determined.

“It just seems like I should get a turn.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” Lindsey shifted back slightly on the couch. Carter felt instantly vulnerable standing over her calm form. “You want a turn?”

A Counter argument to the idea that "forced femme" fantasies are misogynistic

Anyone familiar with my femdom erotica knows "forced femme" isn't a recurring theme. I actually worried when my publisher mentioned on the back cover of my first novel, Courting Her, a scene where Kimberly has Alex clean her apartment in a girly apron. I worried because I didn't want to mislead fans of forced femme. The apron was just one Kimberly happened to find lying around and, like a lot of aprons, it had some flowers on it. The scene didn't have much of a forced femme dynamic. I find forced femme titillating, but it's not an aspect of D/s that comes up in my stories.

It surprised me to discover some women consider forced femme offensive. Because I'm not a woman, I thought very hard on those opinions, but the logic of the argument doesn't speak to me. I don't expect to convince any of them they're wrong, because I don't think they are wrong, I consider it a matter of personal opinion. I expressed as much and was told, essentially, that it's not a matter of opinion. I was told men who enjoy forced femme are misogynists, whether they know it or not.

I have a problem with someone else claiming to know what I think better than I know what I think. But my intention in posting about this subject isn't to argue with people who think differently from me. I'm posting this as a counter point to some of the posts I've found from dominant women. I know a lot of submissive men's first interaction with a real life, openly dominant woman is through these blogs. It can be pretty close to devastating to have a dominant woman tell a man who purports to esteem women that a fantasy he's been carrying around for years is "proof" that he actually hates women and just doesn't realize it.

The logic of the argument is hard for me to follow and so will be hard for me to summarize, but I guess the argument is that because being made to wear panties is humiliating for you, as a man, it must be because you feel like there is something despicable about being like the people, women, who normally wear panties. An analogy I've heard for this side of the argument is that it's like someone wearing black face and mocking African American people.

I thought of an analogy today, that I think works better. Two friends went to rival colleges. The two schools are comparable in every way. Neither friend truly believes his or her school is superior. Yet they brag about their respective alma maters. A big game comes up, and they decide on a wager. The graduate of the losing school has to wear the winning school's sweater out to a bar, buy a round, and toast the winning school. There is some playful humiliation in the loser having to toast the team he or she wished hadn't won.

Forced femme seems like that. We're talking about men who profess to love and revere women. But they aren't women, they're men. Men and women are different. Often those differences are what draws us to each other. Submissive men genuinely love women, they love them for those differences, but that doesn't erase the social influence that they aren't expected to do things mostly only women do, like sit when they pee, or wear panties. So when they submit to a dominant woman who "forces" them to wear women's panties, they don't feel humiliated because they're dressed like lowly women. They feel humiliated because they know they aren't women and are being made to wear something men, in typical society, don't wear.

To continue my analogy, there would possibly be some adamant fan of the winning school who would want nothing to do with a rival to his school wearing the clothes of his alma mater and toasting his school. That's fine. What I think wouldn't be fine would be if he told the winner of the bet that he must hate his school to let someone toast their school in jest. If someone finds that disrespectful, they're certainly entitled to not participate, but I think they're imposing their views if they tell others they should also find it disrespectful.       

Pictures of Me

My novella, Bottoms in Love, will be rereleased soon with a new publisher and with some added content, but I'll blog about that with more information in a few days. My new publisher asked for all my covers to put together an author photo. I was busy with other things, so I zipped them over to her without thinking much about it. Then I got a file back and opened it. Her designer had arranged the covers of my three novels and the new cover for Bottoms in Love and put them over a few different backgrounds and asked me which one I liked. I was completely overwhelmed. I wrote her back that I loved them all, and she agreed and said her designer did a fabulous job, which she definitely had, but what overwhelmed me was seeing what I might look like to someone else. I looked like someone who writes books. If that were anyone else, I might even call him an author.

This immediately led to critical reflection. What the hell is wrong with me? Do I have deep rooted self esteem issues, that it took someone else neatly arranging my covers for me to admit that I'm succeeding in my dream of being a writer? Who knows? Maybe. I tend to think no, though. Anything created, anything built, anything learned loses some of its magic after completion. When you contemplate it, humans walking on two feet and so easily maintaining their balance will fucking blow your mind. Yet most of us walk without ever thinking about it. There's no real mystery in writing a book. You do a little every day and eventually you're done. The possibility feels amazing but as you go you discover it's fun, it's work, and it's fulfilling. There's some mystery in a finished book, but when you wrote it that mystery is replaced by the wonderful memories from a string of writing sessions. As the author it's clear how you got from A to Z because you were there for every letter.

Satisfaction and fulfillment are different from amazement. I love writing and I love writing books. The intrinsic rewards are so incredible they easily make up for the almost complete lack of extrinsic rewards, but feeling fulfilled and satisfied and even proud aren't the same as feeling amazed. And for just a moment the other night I saw all my books in one picture and I was amazed. Then the feeling evaporated. I remembered that I simply wrote those books a page or two or three at a time, and I sat down to write a page for my WIP.    

Crumb on Writing

I recently watched the documentary "Crumb." Robert Crumb was a cartoonist, and quite a few writing craft type moments stood out that I'll share here.

(Spoilers, if you'd rather watch the documentary.)

He was discussing craft with his son, who is also a cartoonist, and his son said something about Robert being rich and famous. HIs dad said, "We're not talking about becoming rich and famous. We're talking about learning to draw."

They also discussed portraits. And his dad told his son to go ahead and cheat a little. They were drawing from photographs and the dad pointed out a slight sneer in the picture and told his son to make the sneer just a little more pronounced in the drawing than it was in the photo. To make the sneer more clear to whoever was viewing the drawing. "Go ahead, cheat a little."

Then he didn't drive, so one time he had a friend drive him around and he took photos of things like power boxes on the sides of buildings telephone lines. Then they showed the photos alongside his cartoons where he recreated them. "See how ugly that is? You can't make that up." He called that photo album his most valuable resource.

He had an older brother Charles, who was also a cartoonist. But he was mentally ill. He became obsessed with writing, to the point where he would not even write words but fill notebooks with wavy lines. It was interesting to compare the two. Robert, who was as eccentric as could be, but managed to still function as an artist. Robert did his own thing, no question, but he continued to do a thing people would at least have a chance to relate to. Charles, due to his mental illness, lost any touch with any possible audience. Charles was extreme, but it made me reflect on where that line is. An artist can create work so easily digestible by the mainstream that some would refuse to call it art any longer. But here, with Charles, was an example of an artist going to such an extreme of not relating to an audience that I don't think anyone could call it art any longer.

Interesting movie, if you haven't seen it, I recommend it. If you have, what were your thoughts?

Courting Her, another fav moment

(Kimberly and Alex call oral sex a princess kiss. I think it becomes clear what a special one is in the excerpt.)


Kimberly propped her head up and met Alex's gaze that had been on her for several quiet minutes. "I want a special princess kiss."

"What's that?"

"It's like a princess kiss, but in a special place."

"Where?"

"I think you know where." She stared hard into his eyes.

Alex lowered his. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she said, as Alex had made the mistake of revealing trepidation. "Your nose has been there. Is a tongue so much worse?"

"Why?"

"Why?" She lay back and looked to the ceiling. "Because it would a wonderful way to be loved and accepted, for one thing. Because it would feel good, for another. Because I want you to think, every time you look at me, that you do that for me."

"I already think, every time I look at you, that you spank me whenever you want, and that I give you regular princess kisses whenever you want."

"Good. This will be another thing, just like that."

Kimberly coming at the moon

(Quick Set-up: After being informed by Kimberly she wants to commemorate their first night in their newly purchased home by denying him permission to come, Alex invites her out of the bedroom and into the living room.)

Alex lay on his back with his head under the window frame, and his legs sprawled out perpendicular. His suffering that leaked from the tip of Cute Thing was an incandescent yellow.

"You can look into the moon during," Alex said.

"It's too light."

"What, are you shy?"

Kimberly scowled. Despite the light of the moon, open windows across the street appeared as black holes. Maybe the dark would hide her. On bent knees, she crossed the room, knelt over Alex's face, and ducked as far as she could under the window sill. "All our new neighbors are going to see my boobs." Kimberly giggled.

Alex didn't respond as his mouth was occupied.

At first, Kimberly kept her nipples concealed with her arm, but her sense of modesty dwindled as Alex performed under her. She pressed her hands against the glass and looked up at the half-moon. Its light drizzled, landing in her yard, where the nuanced green of her lawn shimmered as her body responded to the attentions from her prince. She looked down, where Alex--the rest of his face contorted with the effort of his task--blinked back with placid eyes. She ran her hand through his hair, then looked back up into the sky, gripped the window sill, and bucked hard until she came.

An Excerpt from the novel Courting Her by Gregory Allen, published by Pink Flamingo, available in paperback and as an Ebook. Thank you for reading!

How I Write Novels (Not Prettily)

I begin with a snatch. Wait, not that. I begin with a quick scene idea. For example, Courting Her began with this:

 

"Why didn't you put your feet down when I said?" After Alex takes his feet down from the coffee table not quite swiftly enough to satisfy Kimberly.

 

Protege Mistress started as a short story about a man losing a bet to his shift manager and having to kiss her feet, but the novel began when that short story ended with this:

 

"Good boy. See you at work."

 

From there I'm thinking about the story more than I'm writing the story. I consider and discard directions the story might go in. I'm either writing that initial scene or I'm still writing something else, but that novel idea is growing on some level, not subconsciously but close to that. Those nearly subconscious ideas start to bulge and I begin to feel a pressing urge to get them down on paper, like needing to pee, but I never outline. I probably should but I never do. I jot notes, usually in the form of dialogue, of future scenes, (finding them later is always a bitch) but I keep these story ideas circulating in my head, and it's the fear of losing them all, along with perseverance and dedication and all those noble adjectives other writers possess, that is the main thing that motivates my daily writing.

 

I'm nearing completion of my eighth book, and I just figured out that this is my process, it's kind of a mess. And I'm sure I'm coming off like I'm trying to sound like a creative genius, inventing in a cave instead of a lab, all that. Maybe. There is a romantic element to not outlining and "just being" as a writer. I'm aware it's bullshit. All writers do the same thing. All books are written twice. Once for the authors and once to show potential readers what the authors showed themselves. There are as many ways to accomplish that as there are books that have ever been written. Authors are just people who became obsessed with an idea for a story and do what people who are obsessed do. Authors are nothing special; books are special.   

Kimberly meets Alex's friends, in Serving Her

She snapped the porch light on and Alex got behind her just in time to see his two friends’ jaws drop open. “You’re both here,” Kimberly said.

Alex called hello over her shoulder.

            “Trevor drove, so I could get drunk. I won the coin toss.”

            “Such responsible boys,” Kimberly said. “But no fun! You told me who is who, and I had wanted to guess. Oh well. Come on in.” She stepped back and waved them forward. Trevor and Michael filed in. Alex nodded to them both, rather meekly. Kimberly had already taken control of the greetings, but her tone was so friendly and natural, so upbeat, there didn’t seem anything strange about her command, even though Alex was the one person who knew everyone.

            One time Alex walked up on two undercover policemen busting a group of guys for something, probably drugs. The two controlled the group with sheer hubris, engaging each and moving freely among them. They were simply assertive, and the group wilted to them and remained docile until the parking lot filled with police cars. Of course, they also probably had guns Alex couldn’t see. Kimberly almost seemed to be employing a similar method, except there was nothing disingenuous about the way she addressed Michael and then Trevor. Touching Trevor’s arm and then Michael’s. Moving in front of one then the other. They both watched her in a state of rapture. They barely acknowledged Alex. Trevor presented her with a bottle of red wine. “A house warming present.”

            Kimberly was particular about her wine, and Alex hoped his friends had pleased her with their choice. She seemed impressed, though after scanning the label, she said, “But we’re drinking beer, tonight, right? The fridge is full of it. Trevor, we have plenty of soda, as well.”

            “I can start with beer and switch to soda.”

            The introductions trailed off, but they remained in the hall. It seemed they were all waiting for Kimberly to say when to come farther in. She smiled. She handed the bottle of wine to Alex. “I’m so excited to meet you both.” She moved in and hugged Michael. She slipped in close and brought her arms under his and squeezed his shoulders. Michael’s arms draped lightly around her back. As she drew away and moved in front of Trevor, Alex felt a slight pang of jealousy. Trevor appeared giddily nervous. She pressed close and gave him the same long hug she’d given Michael. Trevor’s arms came around her as tentatively as Michael’s had. The hug was completely innocent and friendly, but Alex wanted to cut in like a suave lover at a ballroom dance.

            Kimberly slipped out of Trevor’s arms. She smiled at Alex and touched his chest as she walked past him, almost teasing him with only a taste of what she’d just given his friends. He had to remind himself he was her boyfriend. He was living with her. Why was he jealous? He clapped his friends on the back as they went around him, following Kimberly like her two new puppies. Alex found his voice. “Are we going to play some cards?”

Furious Lust by Elise Hepner

Blurb:

One mistake can change a life—let alone an eternity.

Tisiphone’s a revenge demon working for Hades in the Underworld torturing damned souls. When she escapes for three days under the sun with a human male, her leash is pulled tight. Tisiphone’s banished from the Underworld to Earth and stripped of her demonic powers. But that’s not what drives her horrendous nightmares.

Cithaeron’s human life was dedicated to revenge, until a demon walked into it. The wickedly intense, sensually destructive Tisiphone takes over his life with probing questions and haunting caresses. It’s over in a blink. After centuries of torture in Limbo, Hades brings him back for a judgment call that could change their intertwined lives—dead or alive.

Their future is in their past. Their lust can burn each other to the ground. But they’ve got to learn to work together or they’ll both go to Hell for good.

 

Excerpt:

He moved me with confidence, our hips rolling from side to side while his breath eased across my neck. His clean cheek lightly brushed mine. Before I’d found any composure goose bumps dotted my arms and I sensed the curve of his lips against my ear. We worked as one to the techno rhythm that replicated the beat of my heart—my pulse plunged into a rather embarrassing quickness.

 

Through my leather skirt his warmth soaked into my flesh radiating body heat upward through my breasts. My nipples pebbled with sexual awareness, my belly twisting into a labyrinth of knots. His body was tightly pressed against my lower back so there was no question as to whether or not he was enjoying our dance. As his fingers guided the swing of my hips, for once, I’ll admit, I was captivated. While I wasted no time reaching behind me tracing up his arms, shoulders, and chest with my hands.

 

There was a certain seductive slowness that set him apart from my usual partners. He didn’t lack confidence. Much could be gathered from the way a man danced with a woman and my body wasn’t lying to me. I’d learned to trust my instincts. My partner was special.

 

His fingers slipped beneath my clingy, vinyl tank top playing along my ribs. When his hands tightened along my naked flesh our flirtation deepened into a more serious encounter. Despite his hold, I couldn’t avoid savoring his warmth. My first touch of cleansing fire, a comfort, and the key to my arousal. My fingers eased through his soft hair tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck. For the briefest of moments, I entertained the fact that he might go further, cupping my breasts and brushing his calloused thumbs across my tingling nipples.

 

But his hands squeezed tighter along my waist, though we moved as if nothing had changed between us. Would it be wrong to admit I enjoyed this edge? Whatever the game was between us. Even the subtle brush of my stockings against my inner thighs left me wide-eyed and wet between my legs. We were playing with fire.

 

His possessive, too hard touch promised an outcome I couldn’t fathom. A jolt of fear prickled beneath my skin. Though I faltered in my steps, the stranger only pressed harder against my hips with his chin casually resting on the top of my head. He never missed a beat, while I was shivering in his embrace.

 

My throat was constricted to a knot while my instincts shot off sparks inside my body. Yet, I was drawn to him. I moaned when his rough, long fingers slipped down beneath the top of my skirt idly following an outline of the waistband across my stomach—and lower. There was no going back now. Beneath the scent of sweat and alcohol that permeated the club, a familiar charred wood-smoke scent lingered on my clothing.

 

Home.

 

It was only a moment before I completely understood my situation, with a jolt that sent my mind reeling. My weak-kneed acceptance was replaced with ironclad knowledge of the man at my back. His almost unbearable heat lingered inside me. The scent of the Underworld clung to the strands of hair across my face. His unwavering grip. But perhaps, for a second—if I could take some more time to think—

 

Unable to fully process, automatically my arms dropped from around his neck and my hands clenched into fists. Realization left me cold and aching. Without knowing who I was facing, without my powers, it would be foolish to spin on him and attack. But my need to vent my rage left me seething. One of the most sexual moments of my existence in recent history had been dashed.

 

Whoever he was, he was working for them—the Underworld.

 

He’d stopped dancing against me and his breath against the nape of my neck spun me deeper into a confusing hole. It cannot be so. But when I broke our contact from hips to head glancing down the smooth line of my body—Apollo’s balls, I knew those fingers as if they were my own. Could I bring myself to turn around? To look him in the eye?

 

“Tisiphone,” he murmured low and cool against the lip of my ear.

 

I saw his face as if it wasn’t dark in the nightclub—as if my past was yesterday. His low, pleased voice triggered a darkness inside me that I was afraid to acknowledge. His fingers pinched into mine as I tried to pry his hands off me, until I softly cried out. But he let me go, letting me know with his continued presence at my back that he would have kept me there if he wanted to.

 

There would never be enough space between us—this wasn’t real.

 

I turned until I’d locked eyes with his pale gray irises—but they weren’t gray anymore—and not because of the harsh dancehall lighting. While I searched inside his shining coal black eyes, I sensed the trace of brimstone magic within him. His tongue casually flicked across his lips. An unreadable expression, even with neon lights spinning and whirling across him.

 

If he were truly of my old world, his skin would be shiny as an oil slick—black with dappled rainbows beneath the chaotic light play. In the night he’d be purely human in appearance until any ray of light caught his flesh. But there was nothing. Nothing that was recognizable but tan, human flesh like mine.

 

What have they made him? What have they done? Brimstone. Black eyes. No pulse. But looked human. His heat—the undeniable heat of those from the Underworld because though creatures there have no need to breathe or bleed, the temperature at the Earth’s core isn’t anything to trifle with on a whim. He carried the depth of heat that my kind engineered as a defense mechanism to live in the Underworld.

 

That was my answer. I couldn’t deny it any longer. I knew—gods, I wished I didn’t. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Not even a man who had unknowingly condemned me to live a life far from my sister’s for hundreds of years.

 

Demon.

 

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Fictional limits in BDSM

Hello everyone,

I guest posted a blog at Elise Hepner's page. Intended to be a discussion starter about the use of limits in BDSM fiction. I'll leave a link to it and if anyone feels like stopping by, please do. Thanks! I'll post soon another brief excerpt from Serving Her and I still plan to post a series of brief excerpts from Protege Mistress, a story of unrequited love requited. Here's the link to the post at Elise Hepner's site:

http://celise91writer.blogspot.com/2013/01/new-writers-week-gregory-allen.html?zx=7f3de3c341810eba