Tease Me Thursday - Remember Him

Welcome to the Tease Me Thursday blog hop! This is the 12th week of TMT.

When it's not quite Friday, and you're feeling like some fun from your favorite authors and authors you haven't met yet. Come on in, have a seat, and most of all... have fun! For this hop you post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or even 7 words. It can be from a WIP or something published.

For this week's tease, I've chosen a little more from my story REMEMBER HIM, which I had posted on my blog a few years ago. I'm now re-writing a bit and editing before I submit the work to publishers. Enjoy!

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From REMEMBER HIM...

The drive was long and silent, but our lusty glances and heavy breathing—not to mention the way we both kept adjusting our pants around rock-hard erections—spoke volumes. After half an hour, it was unbearable. My dick felt like it was being pierced with a red-hot poker. My balls drew up so tight that it brought tears to my eyes, and I couldn't figure out why I was quite so hard. Then it occurred to me that I had gone ten years without sex.

That did it.

"I'm sorry, but… Ican'tstanditanymore." I knew even if I came twice right then, it still wouldn't be a problem getting it up again when we got home. I unzipped my pants and pulled my cock out, smearing pre-come around the tip and over my hand.

Freyr jerked the wheel, but then recovered as he snuck peeks at my show, licking his lips and smiling. "You torture me, my love."

There were no long, slow strokes, like foreplay; there was only, quick rough pounding and I screwed my eyes up against the painful pleasure. Within minutes, accompanied by a loud, long groan, I came hard, trying to catch the blasts with my hand. My strokes slowed and I stared at the come that covered my hands… and the dashboard.

I grimaced. "Sorry, Freyr. I didn't—"

His eyes were locked on my hand, which loosely cradled my dick. He pulled off the road and slammed on the breaks. With trembling fingers, he took my wrist and dragged the flat of his tongue through my come. If the act was intense for me, it was fucking mind-blowing for Freyr. His grip on my wrist tightened, and he worked his tongue over my hand like he was starving, gently nipping, and then sucking my fingers hard.

It was the most erotic thing I'd ever witnessed. I wondered if it was like drinking my blood in a way. "Do I taste good, Freyr?"

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Don't miss the other teasers! And click here to join this fun blog hop!

Julie Lynn Hayes
MA Church
JC Wallace
Andrew Jericho

Wednesday Briefs - Boys of Belsmeade 3

Welcome to Wednesday Briefs! It's flash fiction, so this story will be presented in 1000(ish)-word chapters. I hope you enjoy it, and check out the many other flashers, whose links are below. You can also check out the Wednesday Briefs Blog for more info and to sign up for email notifications.

Thanks for reading!

THE BOYS OF BELSMEADE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter Three

Robbie yelped in surprise when the door of their room open flew open. He hastily pulled on his shorts and glared at his roommate. "Dude! Good thing I wasn't jacking off or anything."

Aramis ignored him and threw the deadbolt on the door. "I need the book," he whispered.

"The book?" Robbie asked in surprise. "Why? Air, you're scaring me."

"I need to check a law," he replied. Hauling a large wooden box out from under his bed, he fiddled with the padlock. "I need to see how to do this."

Robbie huffed. "You are making zero sense. What law?"

Within the box, on a bed of blue silk was a large volume, bound in dark calfskin. Aramis lifted it out and gingerly laid it on his desk. Carefully handling the thin paper, he scanned the colorful pages until he found what he was looking for. Robbie looked over his shoulder and gasped.

Laws of Secrecy of the Covens

Immortui must not reveal their existence within the human population. Any intentional breach of this law will result in destruction of responsible Immortui.

Immortui may apply to the council for permission to bring a Human into the Covens. There must be sufficient cause for the exception to the Laws of Secrecy, and the Human must appear before the council prior to their entry into any Clan or Coven Assembly. The decision of the Council is final.

"What the…" Robbie breathed. "Wait. Is this about that guy you just met?"

Aramis nodded. "Yes. His name is Eliot."

"Is he transferring? It shouldn't be too much of a problem to get the council's okay if he's transferring here."

"He isn't," Aramis said flatly. "He's a Clack."

"A Clack?" Robbie shouted.

Aramis slapped his hand over Robbie's mouth. "Shh! He's going to be taking Rampura's Italian class this semester. I can't describe it. There's something about him, Robbie. It was different this time."

He recalled the burst of adrenalin that rocketed through his body as soon as he touched Eliot's hand. Heat stirred in his groin and his fangs descended. There was definitely something different about this boy.

Robbie sighed and reached into a small cabinet. He removed a glass bottle. Aramis took the offered bottle and twisted the cap off. He grimaced when he took the first sip. Synthetic blood just didn't have the same texture of the real thing.

His roommate selected a drink for himself and took a long draw on the bottle. "I wish you luck, dude. You do realize if the council says no, Eliot won't be allowed within school grounds anymore. He'd be kicked out of Rampura's class."

Aramis groaned. "Oh shit. I hadn't thought about that. Maybe I'll ask my dad before approaching the council. What do you think?"

"Well Air, I think you've lost your fucking mind."

********************

I heard the next day that my application had been approved by the headmaster and I was to start Mr. Rampura's class on the following week. They sent me to a tailor in Boston who fitted me with a Belsmeade blazer and it suddenly became very real. I would have to wear my khakis and dress shirt to high school every day, because I didn't have enough time after my chemistry class to change before driving over to Belsmeade for Italian. What would the kids in school say? It was odd. I'd never really gotten any shit for being gay. There were a couple other gay guys there, and two lesbian girls, but we'd never been bothered that much. It that respect, we were very lucky.

But my becoming a part-time Assmeade? That was probably going to be a problem.

On Monday, I walked into school with my crisp, white shirt. I left the top button unbuttoned and rolled the sleeves partway up my forearms. The jacket and tie I left in my car. The moment I walked through the doors, my friend Travis wolf-whistled and laughed.

"Look at you," he called across the hall. "Headed off to the Ivy Leagues."

"Very funny," I shot back. "Could you say it a little louder please?"

Travis smiled and came over to walk with me. "Nah. Seriously man, I'm glad they let you in. You'll do great."

"I'm so fucking nervous," I said quietly. "Not only of the Meades, but of what everyone here's gonna say."

"Eh, fuck the lot of 'em."

"Easy for you to say."

"Yes it is."

"Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because the sex wasn't that good?"

I choked and sputtered and looked around to make sure no one had overheard Travis' remark. "Can you not say things like that?"

He stopped and looked at me. "Well, it wasn't. I mean the blow jo—"

"Travis!" I yelled. "I'm gonna belt you if you don't shut up."

"Gotta get to class anyway. Cheerio, love!"

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. Travis really was a good friend. A little flamboyant, but loyal and trustworthy. And he was definitely right about one thing: we were friends because we'd hooked up one night. And it. Was. Terrible. We ended up laughing our asses off and figured out that we were much better off as friends without benefits. Since then we'd supported each other through coming out to our parents and friends, broken relationships, dealing with homophobia and everything else that came our way.

Heading toward chemistry, I passed by a group of basketball players. One of them was particularly nasty, not only to me, but to everyone. For the first time in the four years I'd known him, Jeff Peters decided to notice me.

"So you're an Assmeade now?" he snarled.

"I didn't know it was news," I replied with a shrug.

Jeff wasn't giving up so easily. "Sorry. I meant a Fagsmeade."

That got my attention, as well as the attention of everyone else around. I took a deep breath before I replied. "You haven't had a problem with me being gay for four years. Now that I'm taking a class at Belsmeade, you decide it's suddenly made me too gay? You're a fucking douche."

The huge jock took a step toward me, but the principal walked around the corner. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing at all," Jeff said. "Just congratulating Berenz."

He pushed past me and I sighed. This was just what I did not need right now.

Go to Chapter Four

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Don't forget to visit the other flashers!

Andrew Q. Gordon
Chris T. Kat
Cia Nordwell
ES Skipper
Grace Duncan
JC Wallace
Jon Keys
Julie Lynn Hayes
LM Brown
MA Church
Rob Colton
Sarah Hayes
TC Collins

Car Porn...

I love luxury cars. At least one character in most of my stories has one... or three. REMEMBER HIM and NOT HUMAN ENOUGH are good examples of my fetish. So I thought I'd provide some visual stimulation for us all. Enjoy.

Freyr's Jaguar XK

Freyr's Range Rover

Kirner's Supercharged Toyota Tundra

Greta's BMW i8

And then we move into the future with some concept cars...

Jake's electric BMW i8 Spyder

Will's Audi A9

Tease Me Thursday - Remember Him

Welcome to the Tease Me Thursday blog hop! This is the 11th week of TMT, but it's my first time joining the group.

When it's not quite Friday, and you're feeling like some fun from your favorite authors and authors you haven't met yet. Come on in, have a seat, and most of all... have fun! For this hop you post 7 paragraphs or 7 sentences or even 7 words. It can be from a WIP or something published.

For this week's tease, I've chosen something from my story REMEMBER HIM, which I had posted on my blog a few years ago. I'm now re-writing a bit and editing before I submit the work to publishers. This is new material from the book, and I hope you like it. Make sure to visit the other teasers, whose link appear below this post. Enjoy!

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From REMEMBER HIM...

Any human brought to Alder’s lair was quickly overwhelmed. His brother was legendary in his power of seduction. He fucked them, bled them, and then fucked them again, keeping a cycle of pleasure radiating around the new recruit. Sexual deprivation and semi-starvation, rewarded with lavish banquets and orgies, kept his followers hanging on his every breath, but they were not strong enough to realize Alder was torturing them. His was a master of his art.

A low moan from the room to his right caused him to pause. He pushed open the door to see a female vampire with a young man, maybe twenty years old. He writhed in the throes of passion while the whore fed from his femoral artery. The man’s body tensed as his killer stroked him and sucked his blood. Feeling his fangs drop as his cock hardened, Secundus turned his eyes from the temptation and continued on his mission.

“My dear brother!” Alder called from a bedroom upstairs. “Come up here.”

Secundus climbed the stairs and grimaced at the sight of a liveried footman on the floor in the hall. The man was on his hands and knees, at the mercy of one of Alder's guards, a large Hessian named Max. There were stories of the unfathomable girth of Max’s cock, and by the sounds of the footman’s pained grunts, Secundus had to believe the stories were true.

Alder was much too careless when it came to hiding the vampires' existence from humans. Many humans already knew that he was a vampire; in fact, several members of the local government were frequent visitors at this cave of sin. This day was no exception. A sickly sweet smell wafted from beneath the bedroom door. Secundus pushed it open slowly and gasped at the scene before him.

One of the local earls was stretched out on the divan, lazily sucking Alder’s cock. One of his peers moaned in ecstasy while the vampire drank his blood. A third man, whom Secundus did not recognize, lay in the corner, inhaling opium through an elaborate hookah.

Alder sat up and licked his lips. “Well, well. The prodigal son. Have you come to celebrate?”

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Don't miss the other teasers! And click here to join this fun blog hop!

Julie Lynn Hayes
MA Church
Tinnean
JC Wallace
Andrew Jericho

Wednesday Briefs - Boys of Belsmeade 2

Welcome to Wednesday Briefs! It's flash fiction, so this story will be presented in 1000(ish)-word chapters. I hope you enjoy it, and check out the many other flashers, whose links are below. You can also check out the Wednesday Briefs Blog for more info and to sign up for email notifications.

Thanks for reading!

THE BOYS OF BELSMEADE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter Two

Parked across the street from the Belsmeade gate, I shook with anticipation. Did I really want to do this? Did I really want to breach those gates and take on such an enormous challenge? Before I could change my mind, I put the car in gear and turned into the maple-lined drive.

"Holy shit," I mumbled as I made my way slowly toward this new horizon. A glimpse around made me thankful of my father's offer for me to take the BMW that morning. My own car, a fairly new Volvo was also really nice, but I thought it was great that dad was so excited and wanted me—in his words—to look like a Meade.

I parked the car and climbed out, taking my portfolio. Not wanting to look like a complete idiot, I had checked the school map to figure out where I was going. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but gawk at my surroundings. Everything was so old and massive. And intimidating. I felt the sweat bead on my forehead and subtly wiped it away.

"Can I help you?"

The voice came from behind me, and I turned to find a group of four students heading in my direction. They were all in gym shorts and sweat-soaked shirts, and my forehead was suddenly the last thing on my mind. The tallest of the boys had a halo of artfully-messy, blond hair and the facial features of a Roman god. Sculpted pecs strained against the damp cotton shirt.

I stared until I realized the god was speaking to me. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked.

"What? Oh sorry. Yes."

After I didn't offer any other information, he grinned. "Good. Now that we've established that you are indeed looking for someone, I'll have to ask the person's name."

Mentally slapping myself, I replied, "Mr. Rampura?"

"Oh sure. I can show you over there. Hey guys, I'll meet you at lunch." They all nodded their assent and walked on ahead. My guide thrust out a hand and said, "Aramis."

"Pardon?" I asked.

"It's my name: Aramis Ambrogi."

"Wow. That's quite… Italian."

The boy smirked. "Really old family name. And you are?"

"Right. I'm idiot, and I swear I'm not usually such an Eliot. Wait. That wasn't—"

The blond god laughed heartily put his hands up to stop my worrying. "So, what brings you here, Eliot? Are you transferring?"

"No. I'm… a Clack," I said with a shrug.

Aramis bowed mockingly. "And I'm an Assmeade."

I stumbled and stuttered. "I never—I mean, I don't call—"

"No sweat. But we're not all complete assholes, you know." His smirk made my blood boil. Then he oontinued, "Are you friends with Mr. Rampura?"

"Actually," Eliot began, "I'm applying for the semester to study Italian here."

Aramis jerked his head back. "Really? Without transferring completely?"

"I guess the teacher talked to the dean about me and they said I could apply."

"Wow. Wonders never cease. Here's McMahan Hall. Mr. Rampura's office is the first door on the left. Good luck, Eliot. I hope I see you around soon."

I watched Aramis' retreating backside for a little longer than I should have, and then turned to face the powers that be.

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Aramis Ambrogi sat in his European History class thinking about the dark-haired, light-eyed boy that had rocked his world earlier that morning. When he'd seen Eliot—Damn! He didn't get a last name!—walking across the parking lot, Aramis had literally tripped over his own two feet.

His friends laughed and his dormmate Robbie said, "Uh oh. I think someone's gaydar just sighted booty ahead. Oh yeah, booty! Boo-tay!" He planted his feet and attempted twerking, and the rest of the group cracked up.

"Will you shut up?" Aramis hissed. He studied the newcomer and could only hope that the face would match the body. The boy was shorter than what Aramis usually went for, but his fingers itched to feel that perfectly-rounded, tight ass.

"Go ahead," Robbie said with a sigh.

"No. You guys come too."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "That's kinky Air, but I don't really do the whole threesome thing. Especially when one third of the equation doesn’t have two holes."

Aramis came to a sudden stop and glared at Matt. "First of all, I don't ever want to even think of doing that with you. Second, I don't do… that."

"Say it," Matt dared. "And not the clinical term either."

With a grumble, Aramis muttered, "Pussy."

His friends all howled with laughter and Robbie took out his phone to text someone. It was always amusing to them: Aramis' aversion to the female anatomy. He rolled his eyes and snapped, "Get over here and back me up."

"Whatever, Air," Robbie said. "We'll be good."

They hurried up behind the boy and Aramis called out, "Can I help you?"

Eliot was adorably tongue-tied, and his eyes drifted down Aramis' body before slowly settling on his face. Oh yes, Aramis thought. This could happen. Once he got a name out of the boy and found out he was looking for the Italian instructor, he got rid of his friends and started toward the language building—the long way around. He needed time to get to know Eliot.

"So, what brings you here? Are you transferring?"

"No. I'm… a Clack," he said with a shrug.

Aramis had to focus so he didn't trip again. Damn. The cute, boy-next-door face made the whole package absolutely perfect, but a Clack? It just wasn't done. Some of the Meade guys had hooked up with girls from town, but no one had ever dated one of them. What to do? Play the joker.

He recovered his composure and bowed slightly. "And I'm an Assmeade."

Eliot looked aghast at Aramis. "I never—I mean, I don't call—"

It was irresistible, teasing the newcomer. The innocence and lack of pretense was refreshing. And there was an attraction there. Interesting. After dropping Eliot off at the McMahan Hall, Aramis hurried to his dorm to consult the Book of the Covens.

Go to Chapter Three

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Don't forget to visit the other flashers!

Rob Colton
Nephylim
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Grace Duncan
Johayan
Cia Nordwell
JC Wallace
Jim Dunaway
Tali Spencer
Shelly Schulz
TC Collins
Lily Sawyer
Victoria Adams
Andrew Q. Gordon
Julie Lynn Hayes

Belsmeade Crest

Whilst procrastinating this evening, I messed around and came up with what I imagined the Belsmeade Crest to look like. What do you think? I really hope I got the motto right. It's meant to say "Power Conquers Death", but I don't really know Latin, so I assume it's correct.

Wednesday Briefs - Boys of Belsmeade 1

Welcome to Wednesday Briefs! It's flash fiction, so this story will be presented in 1000(ish)-word chapters. I hope you enjoy it, and check out the many other flashers, whose links are below. You can also check out the Wednesday Briefs Blog for more info and to sign up for email notifications.

Thanks for reading!

THE BOYS OF BELSMEADE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

There were two schools in town. Belsmeade Academy, established in 1810, was a very selective preparatory school for the privileged male offspring of the upper tiers of society. Its manicured grounds covered fifty acres of the north side of Clackelton, New Hampshire. The academy resembled a luxury resort, including horse stables, professionally-equipped sports facilities and an ice rink.

Seven miles from Belsmeade's lush lair of learning was Clackelton Consolidated High School, established in 1948, quaintly situated between the local chain supermarket and a small bookstore. The school building was a post-modern, concrete eyesore and was aging badly. The floor of the gymnasium was so warped that the basketball team had re-located to the YMCA three blocks down. The sports fields were four miles away behind the equally unimpressive Junior High School.

Students who attended the public school were called "Clacks". Students from the private school were "Meades", although most Clacks referred to them as "Assmeades". The boys at Clackelton hated the boys of Belsmeade for two reasons: first, their money and privilege; second, the fact that every girl at Clackelton lusted after those boys behind the gilded gates.

I was a Clack. Every morning, as my bus passed by the Belsmeade campus, I sighed with longing. I wanted to tell the bus driver to stop and let me out. To experience life at the academy even for a day was a dream I had often. The monotonous, unending ordinary-ness of high school bored me to tears. I did well in class, and had a decent group of friends, but I wanted more.

I watched the Meades crisscrossing the lawn in their blue blazers and khakis. Some of the guys were carrying lacrosse sticks. Clackelton didn't offer "exclusive" sports like that. Not that I was into team sports anyway. I'd played singles' tennis as a junior because it fulfilled the stupid requirement that each student play at least one sport at some point during their three years of high school. Badminton was an option too, but I wasn't a complete tool.

This year I had spent obsessing over my parents' divorce. My mother had abruptly left just before Christmas, explaining to my father that she had fallen in love with a cardiologist at the local hospital where dad worked as a radiologist. She'd written a farewell note to me, but I threw it in the trash, unopened.

Now I was leaving in the fall and dad wouldn't have anyone to look after him. Not that he was a half-wit who couldn't boil water. He was an extremely intelligent, an excellent chef and had even figured out how to do laundry. I simply couldn't help feeling like I was abandoning dad, just like mom had done.

As the bus passed Belsmeade, I replayed the morning's conversation. Dad laughed, as usual, and told me that the house wasn't going to burn down the moment I left for college, and that he was not an old fart and would probably begin dating again soon. The thought of dad bringing a date home and potentially having sex in the next room made me shiver. Time to stop thinking along those lines and get ready for another day in purgatory.

********************

"Hey, Burnsie!"

If there was one thing I hated more than that annoying nickname, it was the person yelling it across the hall. I turned to find Frank Hitch bearing down on me and steeled myself for the impact. The soccer goalie threw an arm around me and laughed. "Listen. I really need some help with my French homework, Burnsie. Can I come over—"

"It's Berenz," I growled, "and the answer is no. You are not using my house for a kegger."

Frank feigned shock and stumbled. "You've cut me deep! Do you automatically assume that I would use you that way?"

"Um… yes? When have you not? When in the ten years that we've known each other, have you not used our acquaintance to your own ends? Look, I don't have time for this, okay? I have a meeting—"

"I guess I'll just fail French." Frank moaned dramatically.

It was one of those mornings.

I had a meeting with the French teacher and didn't want to be late. She had been looking into an Italian language course for me to take that semester at one of the local colleges and had emailed the previous day to say she'd found something.

"Hi, Eliot," Madame Perins said, as I entered her classroom. After routing through an enormous stack of papers, she pulled out a single type written sheet and handed it to me. "What do you think of this?"

I stared wide-eyed at the blue and gold crest on the top of the page. It was the Belsmeade Academy crest. The letter was addressed to Madame Perins:

Thank you for your communications regarding your student, Eliot Berenz. His academic record is certainly impressive.

I have spoken with Dean Havers and he has agreed to consider Mr. Berenz for enrollment in my Italian class. As space is limited, please have Mr. Berenz return the application as soon as possible.

Regards,
Giuseppe Rampura

Without giving me a chance to speak, she said, "Fill it out and take it over tomorrow. The class is during this period with me, so you'd be all set. You could go there for class and come back here for lunch."

I lay the letter on the desk and shook my head. "That would be so out of my league!"

The teacher raised an eyebrow. "That's ridiculous. Take the chance Eliot. You can do this."

Could I do it? Did I dare to go where no Clack had gone before?

Go to Chapter Two

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Don't forget to visit the other flashers!

Jon Keys
Nephylim
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Grace Duncan
Johayan
Cia Nordwell
JC Wallace
Jim Dunaway
Tali Spencer
Shelly Schulz
Andrew Q. Gordon
Julie Lynn Hayes

What am I getting myself into?

I've decided to join the Wednesday Briefs group, or flash fiction, and introduce my new story with one 1000-word chapter each week. I've always loved the flash fiction that other authors write, and wanted to try my hand at it.

That said, I'm very nervous about this. But I hope that you like what's coming.