So it’s been a good long while since I posted here on the blog. I guess I haven’t had a ton of big news, and part of me just kind of assumes people will be following my more mundane nonsense on Facebook. And where have I been, exactly? Well, you know … writing.
image credit: pixabay.com
An Emperor for the Eclipse is going to be one marathon haul. A fantasy novel longer than The Devil’s Luck and a whole world to invent is a helluva undertaking, at least for me. So far I’m about 35,000 words in (for my Literotica reading friends, it’s the first four Lit chapters). I would say most all of the main characters have made an appearance so far, but we haven’t heard from all of their points of view yet. Yup. It’s going to be that kind of story—you get to be inside lots of different heads. Fun stuff.But, I have managed to get a couple of characters in the sack (finally). It should fall in chapter three of the released story, so yes, you’ll have to wait two chapters before any action, but there was no way to force it sooner and have it be relevant to the plot. Think of this as a fantasy novel that has bonus sex in it, rather than erotica that happens to have a plot.
So about this sex … how about an excerpt? For those of you who enjoyed The Eighth House, this couple (one of—gulp—four in this story) marks my return to BDSM. Doxolemy, 47, is the First Chronicler and astrologer to the emperor, and his wife, Janeva, 31, collects and studies Will objects (items that have this story’s version of magic imbued in them). They’ve been married a year and, early on, she confessed to him her desire to submit in the bedroom. It’s still kind of new for him, but he’s finding he enjoys a great deal more than he initially thought he would. So here’s a little bit of Doxolemy and Janeva for now, and please know the writing continues.
An Emperor for the Eclipse
Doxolemy and Janeva
Her eyes flew open and he grinned despite himself.
“Master! Master, I’m sorry.”
“You know,” he said, brushing a thumb over the rim of her ear, “I shouldn’t let you enjoy this at all until you can control what comes out of your mouth.”
She squirmed. Made her knees wider apart in offering. “Master, please.”
By the flood, Doxolemy was beginning to think it required more discipline to be the one in control than the other way around. He inhaled the scent of her hair and did his best to rise to the occasion.
“I should stay just as I am,” he said in tones of calm, feigned spite, “knuckle deep in this pussy of mine, and not move at all.”
“Oh no, Master.” Her brows had come together in frustration and she arched her back, threatening to break it in half, to urge his touch. Doxolemy tightened his grip in her hair.
“Slaves don’t have the privilege of saying ‘no’. Another lesson I see you need to learn.” He was enjoying this power play between them entirely too much. “I should let you stay here, bent over like this, and have you recite the entire Table of Hours before I let you feel anything again.”
The sharp intake of breath at this told him he’d found fitting material with which to work.
“Yes,” Doxolemy said in agreement with himself, “The Table of Hours. Begin.”
She said nothing, but blinked and stared at an inkwell sitting in her line of sight, as if confused. Fingers yanked from her body and a palm collided with her backside, three times in rapid succession. A healthy pink glow was blossoming over the vulnerable flesh.
“Master!”
“You imagine I jest?” The hand hovered in the air, ready to strike again, if needed. “Begin.”
Janeva swallowed to wet her throat and began to recite.
