Lyn Gala

One writer's journal through one version of reality


Objectifying Gays

Does m/m fiction objectify gay men?

Um… sometimes? Let’s be honest, some of it is wank fuel. Guess what, that’s not such a new thing in the romance world. Plenty of women in tight bodices with deep cleavage and men with wide chests brandishing swords have been relegated to wank fuel. Gay men are just the latest addition to that little club.

And yeah, I understand the frustration. Seriously, dude, do you have any idea how straight men objectify lesbians? Every straight man seems to want to either watch or join in, and they’ll come right out and say that which is disturbing on a huge level. So I get the frustration. I do.

However, other stories show gay men in a wide range situations. They get to be heroes and villains, brothers and fathers and sons. They get the sort of stories that television and movies refuse to tell.

But the part where my brain gets stuck is when people start saying that if you aren’t gay you can’t write about gay characters.



Well, I guess I’m screwed then. Under that theory, I could only write about lesbians. Okay, so I might have a few gender confused women who liked playing B/D games with men, but no het sex. Or gay malesex. OR straight people or gay men or transsexuals or … actually I wouldn’t be able to write anything I want to write.

Because I don’t write lesbian fiction… it feels a little too much like awkward masturbation. So I write pretty much anyone who isn’t me.

I write about Miss Dolphinia the cross-dressing gay queen who waxes poetic about a time in BDSM history when the rules were looser and Doms could get away with a lot more (fun for Doms, but not always great for the rest of the community)

I write about Jacqs Glebov who thought he was straight because the first person he was attracted to was female, and he really wasn’t one for self-reflection.

I write about Corporal Ace Class Chankoowashtay “Shank” Lacroix who has to be careful to hide his submissive side because people have confused submissive for pushover, and while he is one, he’s definitely not the other. And he is passionately heterosexual.

Allie Grah is equally passionate about her bisexuality.

Carl Ragar is afraid to step up to the plate and confess to the man he loves.

Vinnie Bernardi is too quick to speak up.

And none of these people have sexualities that even come close to mine.

My characters should be judged on their own merit, not on my sexuality. If one of my gay characters or straight characters or bisexual characters or gender ambiguous characters fails, then the fault is not my gender or my sex or my sexual orientation.

Shakespeare writes some kick-ass women. Harper Lee wrote a few of my favorite men, including Dolphus Raymond, who Miss Dolphinia named herself after. And face it, Margaret Mitchell wrote the best damn bastard in all of literary history.

Jeff Lindsay writes a damn good psychopath without ever having murdered someone (I hope), and Anne Rice has never met a vampire although she can write the hell out of them.

Literature is imagination. I won’t apologize for imagining a world where anyone can be anything.



Strong Women Wanted… Maybe

kimaI have a wide range of male character types I really adore. Women… not so much.

I love early Daniel Jackson (Stargate) in all his geeky glory. When he argues in favor of the power of mythology and gets in Jack’s face, I’m right there with him. Yea! It’s not just myth, Jack! Everyone knows that bad boys with a heart of gold get me every time. Give me Mal and Jayne and Spike and Dean, and I can die a happy fangirl. Yeah, they may act all gruff, but we know what they’re really like.

I see that same variety in my writing. Liam is quiet and efficient. Petroc is a cold killer, who has more morality than he knew. Casey is a disaster in terms of romantic relationships but Stunt is an experience player who can dance between Doms—at least until he meets Alex.

But when it comes to women, I’m not as egalitarian. Human hybrid Da’shay completely takes charge of her man, and even uses him as bait for the bad guys. Paige would never do that, but as an experienced cop, she takes control of her partner, even when he showed up as a vampire. Even my secondary characters like Allie and Carmin are brassy, bold, and perfectly willing to piss off the world.


I don’t know. Maybe I see so many women making themselves smaller that I feel a need to write them larger and stronger.

I dislike most Disney heroines because they spend their lives trying to live up to a man or find a man or get out from under a man.

I want my fictional women to be like Zoe from Firefly. THAT is a woman. I didn’t like River at first because she cringed in her brother’s shadow, but when she came out into the light and kicked Jayne’s ass, I fell in love. Captain Janeway was a little cold, but B’Elanna from Star Trek: Voyager totally hit the sweet spot for me. Kima Greggs. Oh god. She’s gorgeous, kick-ass, and lesbian. I’ll be in my bunk for a bit…. Okay, back now. Oh wait. I forgot Xena. Gorgeous… check. Kick-ass… check. Lesbian… Oh hell yes. Back to the bunk.

Oh baby.

Right. I clearly need to focus. I had a tougher time with Buffy who could kick ass one minute, but who then seemed unable to function without Giles or Angel another. I actually preferred Faith—at least the one we see in Angel who has gotten her head screwed on straight. She can be Angel’s equal and appreciate how he backed her up without getting lost in her shadow.

Is anyone surprised that my first television crush was Murphy Brown? God how I adored that woman. And I would add to that list Leela (my favorite companion), C.J. on The West Wing, Nikita, Seven of Nine… you see the pattern.

I loved Ziva on NCIS until the writers insisted on giving her personality flaws that seemed to eat the character. I had equally mixed feelings about Dana Scully. I think she kicked ass; I think she had to put up with more than she should have given her partner’s occasionally dumb-ass moves.

And I should get to the point here.

I don’t know what to do. I have an idea nagging me that I am utterly ignoring. I have thoughts for a different sort of relationship.

Ben is Nicve Marine—in fact he’s the marine from Turbulence and Drift. He kicks ass and he takes name. Becca… doesn’t.

She’s young and unsure about her skills. In her world, she was trained as a gunner because of good hand-eye coordination, but she hates the idea of killing. She trained as a tech, but it’s a struggle for her. In many ways she does want to disappear into Ben’s shadow. It feels safe.

She’s exactly the sort of woman I have never cared for, and yet she’s whispering. Then the Ben-Becca relationship is more complex because it includes Copta. She is asexual, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to sleep in a bed with someone and wake up with the warmth of another pressed up against her back.

She is Ben’s equal, willing to go toe to toe with him. She appreciates having a man who respects her for this. She loves Becca’s gentle soul and sees some of her own struggles in the younger woman. Even more, she feels at home because those two are sexually involved so she can love them without fearing that they are sacrificing their own sexual natures by loving her back.

Vortex is possibly the most out of the box piece my muse has ever inspired, and I’m not sure where to go.



ImageI’m the first to admit that sometimes I’m in a mood for erotica.  I don’t want a whole lot of plot… just enough for me to keep my imagination happy.

When these moods hit, I’m often vulnerable to those 2.99 short stories that promise happy, kinky fun.  And I’ve written about how often I find myself disappointed.  Often.

Today I was trying to find inspiration for my writing and I went looking.  It was not a good day, so I decided that instead I would do a little writing.  Mind you, I should have been working on my contracted story, but sometimes the muse wants what she wants.


A Briarwood Agency Story

Briarwood is a New York agency that provides only the best assistants to select clients up and down the east coast. If one wants a quick roll in the hay, other agencies with their escorts will do. But if one wants to indulge in some truly deliciously perversion, the sort that might ruin your life if it were to get out to the press, then one can only trust the Agency assistants.

John has avoided bottoming for men in the seven years he’s worked for the Agency. He sees it as a mark of distinction between him and the other assistants. However, when Derek Davis, the son of a famous movie director and a man with more money than God makes a request, the Agency does its best to fill it. Davis wants a man who is uncomfortable with bottoming to not only bottom, but to do it wearing the bridle and saddle. John needs money, the Agency needs to maintain their reputation as being able to provide anything, and Davis has an itch that can only be scratched in the saddle.



John used the key he’d been provided to walk through the double doors into the lavishly decorated house. This guy paid for the best of everything, including whores, and his home showed it. Large windows overlooked the rocky Maine shoreline and the polished wood and polished steel cost more than John had earned in a lifetime. He closed the doors behind him, locked them, and set the key down on the entry table.

“You’re not who I expected.” Davis strolled down the wide staircase. He was young—younger than John by a good decade. When John had started in this business, he’d been surprised at how many of the rich who bought them were good looking and fit. Davis was no exception.

“If you had a particular assistant in mind, you could have requested him,” John said without taking offense. He had striking blue eyes and brown hair just starting to turn gray at the temple. His first career had given him hard work muscles, and he’d maintained them, pushing himself to maintain his body since that was now the tool he used to make his money. He impressed plenty of clients, so if he wasn’t Davis’s type, it was better to get the agency to send a replacement right up front. John didn’t even let it dim his smile.

Davis came down the last few steps. “I asked for someone who was less self-assured. I don’t want an experienced professional giving me a show.”

John raised his chin and quirked his eyebrow. “As I understand it, you are interested in some equestrian play and you plan to engage in extensive body control and anal sex. Correct?” John had the full call list, and he’d read it so many times he could recite back the list of perversions Davis wanted to try out, but that was the long and sort of it.

“You make that sound so incredibly unsexy and mundane,” Davis complained as he walked into the living room and sat on the black sofa. “Get me a scotch and soda,” he said with a gesture toward the bar.

“Of course.” John moved over to the bar and spent a few seconds finding his supplies. “Based on your request and your previous assistants, the agencies selected me specifically.”

“I know I have liked strong men in the past—their submission is ultimately much more satisfying—but I did specify someone less experienced. I want the joy of breaking a wild stallion, not the specious acting of a man who has been a whore for twenty years.” Davis’s expression dared John to disagree.

“Seven years.” John crossed the room and offered Davis his drink before moving to the chair on the far side of the room. “I was a commercial fisherman before that.”

Derek Davis sipped at his drink, and John studied the room to avoid staring. The agency didn’t tolerate rudeness. “That seems like a rather strange career change.”

“There was an accident,” John said. “I hadn’t saved for my retirement, which required me to take whatever job was available.”

“And you answered an ad for the Agency?” Davis laughed. “I doubt that.”

John pursed his lips but he didn’t answer. The truth was more complicated than he intended to share. “The part that most likely interests you is that I do not bottom for men. In fact, other than taking part in discipline, I don’t engage with men at all.”

“Really?” Davis lowered his glass. “That must make you less than useful at the Agency.”

“I fill a niche.” It wasn’t a well-paid niche, not compared to his coworkers, but John had, until recently, been interested in drawing certain lines in the sand.

“This is an interview. I am not yet accepting your services,” Davis warned. “Now strip.”

John inclined his head toward the client and stood. He stripped efficiently and carefully, folding the expensive clothes and placing them across the back of his chair. Nudity didn’t bother him, not considering the wide range of uses clients had found for his body.

“No lack of experience there,” Davis commented.

“I assumed you didn’t want any attempts at faking an emotion.”

“I don’t. Turn.” John turned slowly, keeping his hands at his sides. Other than the surgery scars around his knee, he was largely unmarked. Clients had offered money to leave marks, and John would have probably taken them up if the Agency allowed. They didn’t.

“Get over here.”

That caused John a moment of hesitation, but then he tilted his head in agreement and walked over to Davis.

“Was that an act?”

“That was me reconsidering how badly I needed this paycheck,” John said with more honesty than he usually used with clients. Davis seemed the sort to appreciate it.

“Really? And what would you need it for?”

“You haven’t purchased my life—only my body.” John stared off into space as Davis ran his hands up John’s legs before cupping John’s balls. A quick shiver took John, and he took a deep breath.

“I do hope you’re not here under duress.”

“Only the sort that most people feel when they need to pay bills,” John said.


John obeyed, and Davis put his foot between John’s legs and forced him to spread them. “You are very tense.”

“I was told that wouldn’t be a problem. In fact, the Agency informed me that you would probably appreciate it, which is why they have not done anything to ease my first experience.”

“Really?” Fingers brushed over John’s ass. “Spread yourself.”

John could feel the blush heating his skin, but he reached back and pulled his asscheeks apart so Davis could inspect him. His hole was virgin tight and unlubricated. Most assistants went out ready for sex, many with insertable condoms already slid up into their ass for safety. Until this moment, John hadn’t realized how vulnerable it would feel to know that he had to rely on a client to prep him.

“You really are new at this.” Davis sounded pleased. John started to release, but Davis barked a quick, “No, hold yourself.”

John closed his eyes against the humiliation, but he held. Ice clinked against glass as Davis did something with his drink, and still John was locked in position, holding himself open for another man.

“What do you normally assist with?”

“Women who want controlled but rough. Women who want an ex intimidated within an inch of his life. Men who want to feel dominated and humiliated. Men who want to hurt someone.”

“You take pain.” Davis sounded a little too happy about that.

“I’m used to pain.”

Davis reached between John’s legs and grabbed John’s cock. “You’re not interested in this.”

“If my interest is required, you may want to call the Agency and request someone else.”

Davis chuckled and ran his hand up and down John’s leg. “You tremble like a frightened horse. Will you tremble when I shove my cock in you?”

John swallowed a hundred angry curses to answer with a simple, “Probably.”

“Oh, you are a treat.” Davis scooted to the side and then stood, but John held position. When Davis waited beside him for just a second too long, John knew he’d guessed right. Davis was waiting for John to break the rules, and then God knows what he planned to do. John had seen the proposal for the weekend, and there were a lot of activities on the call list. John only hoped they ran out of time before Davis got to most of them.

Boots rang against the marble floor as Davis walked to the next room, but his order trapped John in place. His shoulders were starting to burn, and he tried to shift his fingers to get a better hold on his asscheeks, but other than that, John endured. Davis returned, but John didn’t raise his head to look.

“Stand straight.”

Relieved at the permission to move, John obeyed. “I think you’ve passed auditions,” Davis said, “but my father always told me that the great movie stars make the most trouble on set. He taught me to make sure people know their place. Do you know your place, John?”

John wondered if this was a prelude to kneeling or licking Davis’s boots. He’d done both often enough to know they were common fantasies. “I do,” he answered.

“Then explain it to me. What is your place, John?”

John turned and looked at Davis for a few seconds before answering. He needed to make sure they were on the same page. “My place is to obey you without question as long as you stay on the call list. My place is to endure whatever you choose to give me, and trust you to take care of me if I am in some physical distress. My place is to endure sexual acts which I might find painful and I might find myself horrified to enjoy, and to understand that my pleasure is nothing compared to you gaining whatever it is you need out of this encounter.”

Davis leaned forward, a smile on his face. “Do you know why I like animal play?”

“I really hope you’re not going to tell me some story about your childhood pony,” John said. It was an uncouth and unacceptable answer for an Agency assistant, but John had just been forced to hold his ass open while Davis discussed sticking his cock up it. He was a little short on patience. Surprisingly, Davis laughed.

“I think bonuses may be in order,” he said. “I am certainly going to find the booking agent who sent you and send him flowers.”

“Her,” John corrected him.

“Her.” Davis raised his glass in a salute—apparently to John’s willingness to correct him. “I like the honesty. People dress in masks and deny the one basic truth that defines all of us. We’re animals. You dislike the idea that I’m going to mount you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” John said flatly. He’d long ago admitted that he could appreciate the male form, and after a session with a submissive male who licked his boots and sucked his cock, John would question the tattered remains of his heterosexuality. However, he did not want to confront those desires, certainly not this late in life.

“You’re quite fortunate,” Davis said. He walked to the bar and put his empty glass down. “A stallion can fight. No one asks an animal to stop feeling instincts, and as soon as we have you safely in the stables, you can let your instincts run wild.”

“That might not be safe,” John warned. This was getting more serious than he’d anticipated.

“I hope it’s not. I didn’t ask for a draft horse, after all. I plan to hobble you and break you one bit at a time.

“In one long weekend?” They were already halfway through Friday, and the contract ended at six p.m. on Monday.

“You sound doubtful. I’m hurt.” Davis held a hand over his heart.

“I’m not from the world of pretty people. Life has spent forty years trying to break me, and it hasn’t succeeded yet,” John warned.

“Then it will be all the sweeter when I succeed,” Davis said without a speck of doubt. He clapped his hands together. “Right, let’s get started.” He headed for the hall that led to the back of the house, his long strides forcing John to break into a trot to catch up because for a few precious seconds, he hadn’t moved.

The marble was cold under John’s feet, but as soon as they left the house and went into the back yard, the green grass was warm. The house sat near the top of a cliff, but the thick trees prevented John from seeing more than hints of blue. The house had to get slammed by winter storms, but right now, it was close to perfect.

John winced as Davis led him across a bare trail littered with tiny stones and pine needles. His feet were too soft for any extended playtime outside, and John was close to pointing that out, when they came around the corner of the tall stables, and the wide doors stood open. The fresh smell of hay and the warm musk of horses drifted on the summer air.

Davis opened the heavy gate and gestured John to enter the corral that led into the barn.

“A real stable?” John asked. He went into the corral without complaint, but he did have to ask.

“The call sheet did specific that you would be sleeping on the floor of a stall in full gear.”

It had, but John had expected a play stall—a room in the house fixed up to imitate a stall. Instead he walked into a well-lit barn with skylights above the stalls and gleaming white floors that were cool under his bare feet.

The stable wasn’t some antique. Metal tracks the length of the high ceiling, and each stall was bigger than John’s first New York apartment. The bottom half of the stalls were a stained oak, and white bars going up to at least six or seven feet made up the top. These were the sorts of stalls designed to protect the horses from stranger as much as confine them. Even without his hands tied, John would have had trouble escaping one of these, although he could probably climb over given enough time and motivation.

“Beautiful, yes?” Davis asked. “I think you will look very beautiful behind bars.”

“You might want to back off the comments,” John warned him.

Davis laughed. “I like the way you shiver every time you think about what I plan. Are you thinking about that call sheet right now? Are you thinking about how I plan to harness you, to fill that asshole of yours with a thick plug?”

John stopped and had to bite down on his feelings. Davis stopped and looked at him. He was such a damn attractive man that he could have anyone, but he chose to hire someone to fill this little perverse need of his, and John was the assistant hired to do so. He needed to focus on the job.

“Let’s do this,” John said.

Davis’s smile could have won him the heart of any woman in the whole damn state. “After you,” he said with a gesture toward the end of the stable. John gathered what dignity he could and walked down the long aisle. Most of the stalls were empty but two horses watched him as he passed. He got to the very end where two stalls waited, each open, and a door led into a large tack room.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I’ve laid your tack out in that stall,” Davis gestured to the right. John looked inside and a cart had a dizzying array of leather straps and boots all lined up and waiting. John gave one terse nod. The faster they did this next part, the better.

“Which bothers you more, the idea that you will be wearing a bridle and suffer a bit in your mouth so I can lead you around like the animal you are or the fact that I will wear that plug up your ass?” Davis gestured toward the halter and the plug on the top shelf of the cart.

Looking at them, John realized the answer was not what he would have expected from himself. He’d had so many people request to fuck him that letting it finally happen was almost anticlimactic. “The bridle,” he answered.

“Go pick it up then. Finger it. Feel how well made and sturdy it is. I had the Agency sent your specifics, and I made it for you.”

John knew that too well. The measuring process had been embarrassing to say the least. The bridle was dark brown, but it wasn’t leather the way it looked. The fabric on the inside was cool and smooth, and the outside layer was some sort of mesh. John pulled on it, but nothing yielded whereas leather would have stretch to it. The straps led down to a metal bit. Two u-shaped metal brackets allowed the center bar to slip far into his mouth. The metal was thin, flat and coated with a thick rubber or plastic, but John’s guts contracted at the thought of having this in his mouth.

He fingered the bit and it slid apart into two separate bars. It took him a second to figure out the mechanics. The bit was attached to the inside of the u-brackets, and some internal mechanism then led to the outside of the bracket where two large rings led to reins. Pull on the reins and the two halves of the bit separated. It would force his mouth open.

“Clever, yes?”

“Sadistic,” John disagreed.

“It doesn’t cause pain, ergo it is not sadistic. It is, however, very controlling. Put it on.” Davis’s voice turned hard, and John realized this was the point of no return. Any number of people had ordered him to strip, but if he did this, he was giving Davis control over his body he’d never allowed anyone. He hesitated, and one of Davis’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose up. It was a challenge. John could yield or give up the contract.

John started sorting the straps. The u-brackets slipped over the corners of his mouth and settled around his cheeks with the bit pressed deep into his mouth where it pinned his tongue down. It tasted like oil, like French fries that hadn’t been allowed to drain before some server dropped them on your plate. The rings settled around his jawline, and John let the reins dangle as he brought the head straps up around his face. Two straps from the u-bracket went up and over his cheeks to meet at the bridge of his nose, and then they turned into one strap that went up and over.

He used his fingers to align the strap that went around his forehead and the one that went up and over his head, and then he reached behind him to work the latches. Someone had designed this so that pieces only fit together if they were supposed to, and it took him some time to get the collar clasp shut and then attach the strap that went over his head, and then there were two straps that went from the rings along his jaw down to the collar.

Davis seemed to have infinite patience as he watched John struggle. When John finally finished, he couldn’t turn his head much without pulling on the ring, which in turn, forced his mouth open. It wasn’t painful, but the whole contraption was amazingly constricting and annoying.

“Come here. Let me see if you have it right,” Davis ordered. John walked over, and Davis caught the reins, pulling them down. John immediately bowed his head, but even then, his mouth was forced open. He then had to stand like that as Davis checked the straps, sliding a finger under each in turn. His touch was clinical and quick. He stopped and tightened one buckle so that John had even less room to turn his head to the right. He then loosened the collar, which made it easier for John to keep his head bowed.

When he was finished, Davis patted his hip before letting go of the reins. “Boots next.”

John nodded and headed back to the tack. There wasn’t a stool or chair, so he sat on the floor. A thick black pad made it more comfortable than concrete, but the lack of furniture was a psychological tactic that wasn’t lost on him. John pulled the boots over, studying them for a second to get a feel for what he should do before he pulled them on. The bottom of each was an honest horse shoe, and even the outside was designed to look like a horse’s fetlock joint. The tops of the boots matched his skin color remarkably well, and then they became darker toward the bottom until they ended in black hoof-like soles where the horse shoe attached.

Without the bridle, John would have been tempted to say something inappropriate. However, all this was on the call list. He slid his foot inside. His heel stopped at the fetlock, and his toes slid in several more inches. Added to the three inches of sole, the design was going to give John several inches, maybe as many as six or seven. It was also going to make him dangerously unsteady on his feet. He used the hidden laces along the inside to tighten the boot, starting at the ankle and moving all the way up to just below his knee. He tied a shoelace bow at the top and then turned his attention to the other boot. When he finished, Davis came over and held out a hand. “Up you go.”

John struggled to stand. He had no experience in high heels, and the boot material was so rigid that he could barely move his ankles, but eventually he managed to stand with his feet widespread, even if he rocked a little.

“Like a new born foal, how appropriate,” Davis said approvingly. He ran his hands down John’s sides, and John couldn’t hide the shiver.

“Let’s get you ready for a little exercise. Give me your right hand.”

John held out his hand, and watched as Davis slipped a horse hoof glove over it. It forced his hand into a small fist, but it wasn’t, like his boots, a hard hoof. It did have the same coloring, though. Davis repeated then moved to lacing up the bondage glove over John’s left arm, giving John a chance to do a little exploring. The black ran to about halfway up his arm where the glove itself extended to past his elbow where it ended in a tight strap. He had another thick strap around his wrist, this one with black rings ready to tie John to something. This was expensive gear. John wondered if he would have been charged for it if he’d gotten here and chickened out.

“You need a little practice, and I need to get a little work done. I have a script that the writers have left in such shambles that it’s not going to take a script doctor as much as a script magician to fix it.” Davis grabbed the reins, and for the first time, John was struck with his absolute helplessness. He couldn’t undo the straps around his head. He couldn’t kick without falling on his ass. He couldn’t throw a punch with any force when his hands were wrapped in padding. Worse, he couldn’t talk. He’d been bridled and denied everything that made him human.

“Good boy. You’re okay now.” Davis cooed at him, his hands warm as they stroked John’s chest. “Just breathe. Good boy.” Without warning, he then grabbed the reins just under John’s chin. He could feel Davis’s hard knuckles pressing up into the underside of his chin and the bit opened, forcing his teeth apart.

John tried to cry out and only managed to make an inarticulate sound. “Good boy. Come on now.” Davis gave a tug, and John tried to pull away. Fear made his skin crawl, and he slipped and went to one knee. Thank god the bottom of the stall had padding because he landed hard. But Davis still had the reins, and now that forced John’s head up as Davis stood over him.

“Good boy. Come on, up you go.” Davis pulled on the reins, and John didn’t have any choice but to struggle back to his feet. He swung a punch toward Davis, but yanked his arm back with a cry when Davis landed the crop across his upper arm hard enough to leave a welt. He’d be punished physically for refusals to follow orders. He’d be cropped until his skin turned red and welts appeared. Those had been words on a paper, but now John was watching his skin pink up under the lash mark.

And still, Davis had that calm voice. “Good boy. Get moving.” This time he added a sharp tap with his crop across John’s hip. It wasn’t a lash that left a mark, but it still startled John enough that he stepped forward, and from there, Davis took advantage of momentum, pulling John by the bridle fast enough that he could only keep stepping forward and hope he didn’t fall on his face.

They walked out of the barn, not through the main entranced but through a side door that had a short path that led to a second building. The indoor arena had more skylights and huge doors on opposite sides of the building that allowed a breeze to drift through. A balcony ran along the sides and the building had a series of metal tracks that hung down from the ceiling. The smallest of the concentric circles had a lead hanging down and Davis headed right for it.

“Arms up,” he ordered, and John raised his arms. Davis clipped the lead to the wrist cuffs. “Good boy,” he patted John’s side, and John had a near overwhelming urge to kick the man. Maybe Davis understood because he backed away, a smirk on his face. Ignoring Davis, John took the opportunity to rub his face against his arm. The bridle made his face itch, and the satisfaction of scratching made it easier to ignore the rest of the indignities.

Machinery clicked and then the lead pulled tight, pulling John’s arms forward. He fought, but he had to take an awkward step before getting pulled off his feet. That led to another step an another and another as the machine pulled him in a slow circle. John glared at the track.

“That is designed for horses, but go ahead and keep fighting it. It’s amusing,” Davis said. John tried to turn his head and look at him, but the bridle wouldn’t allow him to look over his shoulder. He could only walk, still unsteady on his feet, as the track led him back around. Along one side of the arena, there was a long bench, and Davis had moved over there with his laptop. He wasn’t even watching.

John jerked his arms as hard as he could, and all he accomplished was losing his balance. One foot went out from under him, and he dangled for a second until he could get his feet coordinated again. When John looked up, Davis was watching him. However after a few seconds, his attention went back to his laptop. The lead forced him to walk and then to move into a gentle jog and then to walk again. His thighs burned and his tongue hurt from fighting the bridle, but the machine didn’t care. It just made him move at whatever pace Davis chose.

John was complaining in little grunts by the time the machine stopped. Unfortunately, it stopped where John had his back to Davis, so he was stuck staring at the wall as he waited for whatever came next. If he was going to be honest, he’d expected to get fucked by now, but Davis clearly enjoyed the foreplay—or what passed for foreplay in his world.

Trying to stretch out his sore shoulders, John squirmed in place and cursed himself for fighting the lead. He wasn’t going to break it, but he was wearing himself out more than he needed to.

“Good boy. We need to find a name for you, don’t we boy?” Davis said as he started wiping down John’s back. John jerked away, startled by the touch, but Davis just followed, and John didn’t have a lot of room to work with. He had a soft cloth, and starting from John’s shoulders, he rubbed John down in a gesture halfway between a cleaning and a massage. Normally John was the one giving massages, so the touch was unfamiliar and it made him want to jump out of his skin. Davis came around the front and did the same thing, massaging and cleaning off the sweat and the dust that stuck to it.

“How about Thunder? Cliché, I know. But then you do look thunderous much of the time.”

John rubbed his face against his arm. Davis must have taken that as an invitation because he folded the cloth over to a new side and started wiping down John’s face. His fingers slipped under the straps, which pulled things uncomfortably tight, but it also eased the itching that had been driving him mad.

“We could call you Itchy. That might be amusing,” he said. John glared at him and grunted.

“I believe that is an equine version of a ‘no.’” Davis said with a laugh. He moved behind John, and John held his breath as he waited for the big event. He was finally going to get fucked after seven years of insisting he would never do that. However, doctor’s bills had a way of convincing a person to do the unexpected.

Instead Davis came back around, something in his hand. “You spent too much time trying to see what’s going on around you. You’re going to break your neck not paying attention to your own feet,” Davis said in the sort of chiding voice a person normally used on children. John was tempted to bite him. Davis reached up and messed with the bridle, and John immediately knew what he’d brought. Blinders. Now he wouldn’t be able to see anything not directly ahead of him. Davis was fastening the second one in place when John jerked his head up, trying to dislodge it. Without so much as a comment, Davis caught the reins and pulled John’s head back down and finished his work.

When he finished, he ran his fingers through John’s hair and smiled. “That’s better. Good boy, you know it’s for your own good.”

John snorted.

Davis still had the reins, but he jerked his head again. “Shhhh,” Davis soothed him. “I know. You ran wild too long. It’s okay there boy.” Davis threaded the reins through John’s arms and then walked around to the back. Now John really did throw his head up. The gesture annoyed Davis, and that was enough to make it supremely enjoyable.

Davis tightened the reins so much that John’s chin was forced down to his chest and his mouth came open slightly. He let out a growl of fury and waited; Davis had made his point.

When Davis’s footsteps moved away, John realized that the reins had been attached to something. He was now stuck with his head bowed submissively. The anger rolled through him. All these things had seemed so innocent when written down on a call list, but John was finding this job more than a little overwhelming. Davis walked around to the front again. The blinders meant that John could only see him when he stopped right in front.

Nature had given him a good two inches on Davis, and the boots gave him another five or six, so it allowed him to glare down at Davis from a good height. He pressed forward until his arms were pulled back and he strained against the machine. But Davis didn’t back off at all. In fact he smirked. Then he reached up and pulled at John’s vulnerable nipple. “What a beauty you are. How about Storm? No. That’s the woman superhero. I’m tempted to name you Nor’easter. Or I could name you after a famous hurricane like Andrew or Katrina.” His lips twitched at the last suggestion. If John could talk, he would call this asshole every name in the book.

Davis patted his hip and walked behind him. “Do relax before you pull a muscle. How about a military name like Major or Gunny?” Davis’ hands stroked over John’s shoulders and then firmly kneaded his neck. The medicinal smell warned John before his skin started to head. The ass was putting Ben Gay on him, as if truly worried about helping ease John’s muscles. He had a simple solution—loosen the damn bridle. Instead Davis leaned against his back and massaged the medicine into his skin before stepping back.

“I need to go wash my hands very well before we do this next part. Otherwise you will be very uncomfortable,” Davis said with humor in his voice. So he was ready to start using John’s ass. At least he was washing his hands, because BenGay up his butt would be more pain that John would endure for any amount of money. The machinery clicked, and John screamed in frustration as the lead pulled tight. Again, he had to walk, this time his head bowed and his mouth open just enough to let a thin stream of drool escape.

As much as John wanted to fight, he knew he couldn’t, so he settled down and walked in giant circles as Davis went to wash his hands. The humiliating thing was that Davis wasn’t even enjoying the show. John rather specialized in being part of some spectacle. He would let himself get tied in some painful position, and then his partner for the session would suck off the client while the client watched John writhe. This wasn’t painful, but it was so damn dehumanizing to be forced to walk on a track designed for horses, and the client wasn’t even in the same fucking building.

And all he could do was cooperate.

The machine stopped again, and again John was facing the wall. He sucked at the bridle, trying to keep his spit from slipping free, and he waited.

Davis’s hand on his leg was no surprise, so he didn’t jump this time. He waited for the taunts, but none came. Davis hooked something to John’s left boot and he pushed a bar up to the back of his right boot and locked something in place. He pressed against the back of John’s right knee, and John snorted his unhappiness, but Davis kept doing it until John stood balanced on his left foot. It wasn’t like he was stable in these boots, so he didn’t appreciate it much, but then a machine started clicking, and John’s right foot started sliding along the bar. A mechanical spreader bar. Davis had too damn much money.

John waited until it got to the end of the bar, and then he let his weight fall back onto both feet. He was spread obscenely, and his arms were now over his head because the stance had stolen several inches of height. However, John wasn’t sure how sex was going to work. There was nothing to hold John in place while Davis thrust into him.

Davis walked around to the front and let his fingers trail over John’s chest. “Naming a horse is an art, and I’m not sure I have the knack. Every time I think you’re going to be practical, you fight. Every time I’m sure you’re going to fight, you’re practical. Well, good or bad, you’re my boy, aren’t you?”

John didn’t have enough slack in his bridle to do anything but watch. Davis smiled and used his cloth to wipe the line of drool on John’s chest. Sticking the cloth in his pocket, he raised his left hand where he held a mass of dark brown padded straps and black rings. A harness.

“I don’t suppose we need to keep that beautiful neck bowed while I do this,” Davis said, and reaching behind John’s neck, he did something. Suddenly John could raise his head. He did, and then nodded several times to get the kinks out before he let his head fall back as he stared at the metal tracks above him. Monday evening. He only had to hold out until Monday evening.

However, he couldn’t believe the jolt of relief and gratitude he felt for something as insanely simple as the ability to nod his head.

Davis whistled as he put the straps over John’s shoulders and around his chest just below the armpits. It left his nips exposed, and John was certain that wasn’t a coincidence. A center strap went down his stomach and ended in a ring just above his belly button, and that joined with a thick strap around his waist. The straps had the same cool feel as the bridle, so he suspected that they were the same material, even though they looked leather. That would make them hard to escape.

Davis just kept whistling as he started tightening things. John could hear clasps snapping shut and each one made him feel more helpless, which was pretty stupid. He was already tied to a fucking horse exercising machine, so there wasn’t such a thing as more helpless than completely fucking helpless.

Something cool and silky slid across his ass and John jerked his head up in surprise. “Do you like that, boy?” This time it slid across the back of his thighs, and John groaned. He liked that a little too much. The soft, cool whispers were welcome after all the hard straps and metal bits. “Yes, my boy likes that. What a good boy you are.” Davis came around and John could see something dark brown. “Does my beautiful boy know what this is?”

If John hadn’t had a bit shoved deep in his mouth, he might have suggested hair extensions, but then Davis held up the end with a large, black plug. A tail. It was a tail. John froze.

“Calm down boy. Good boy,” Davis cooed at him. He tried to stroke John’s cheek, and John snapped his teeth. He might have bit Davis, but the bridle made it awkward to move his head to the side. Davis laughed as he pulled his hand away. “There’s my wild stallion. Not broken yet, are you? Don’t you worry. We have time.” Davis walked away, and John listened carefully. There was the snap of gloves and the click of some sort of lubricant. “I do hope you gave yourself that enema I requested.”

John nodded, but there was no response before Davis slipped a cold finger inside him. John snorted and tried to pull his feet together, but that was impossible with the spreader bar. Instead he could only stand and twitch as Davis slipped another finger in him and then started spreading. John sucked air in through his nose and tried to relax. He should have broken the rules and stretched himself, but he’d wanted any potential tip Davis might offer. Now he was sorry.

His ass burned as the muscles stretched. John tried to twist away, but he only rocked forward and then immediately rocked back, impaling himself on Davis’ fingers.

“Shh boy. Good boy. You’re okay now.” Davis stroked his hip and kept working to stretch him. John clenched his ass, but that made the fingers feel three times larger, so he relaxed again.

“That’s a good boy.” The fingers came out and then more cool lube was being pressed inside. At least Davis was being thoughtful about the amount of prep John would need. This time the fingers slid in and out easier, and John started to take deep breaths. He could do this.

The fingers came out, and now something rounder pressed to get inside. John bore down like he was taking a crap, and the plug slipped past the first ring of muscle. But this was hard plastic, not someone’s pliable and flexible fingers. John groaned as it forced him open and pushed in. He wanted to clench down, but he knew that would make it hurt, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get himself to relax, so he pushed back.

“Good boy,” Davis said, his tone almost proud. Oh yeah, the next time John got a shot at it, he was going to bite the man, tip be damned. The plug finally slipped in and John’s ass closed over the neck of it. He could feel sweat gathering along his spine, and he leaned forward and rested his forehead on his arm as he let the cuffs take his weight.

“Such a beauty you are. I’m going to love seeing you strain under me the first time I mount you. And knowing that this is a virgin ass makes it even better.”

John snorted, but he didn’t bother lifting his head. Davis returned to whistling as he played with more straps. Then he came around to the front, and John watched the top of Davis’s head while he slipped a wide metal ring around John’s cock and balls. It didn’t constrict them, but it certainly reminded John of just how far outside his comfort zone he was. David attached one strap from the ring just above John’s belly button down to the ring around his cock and balls, and then he pulled a strap up between John’s legs. That would be the one that locked onto the base of the plug. John gave an experiment push, but he couldn’t tell if the size of the plug or the straps kept it locked in place.

Davis switched to humming as he unlocked John’s ankles. John’s knees had started to hurt, and he quickly got his feet under him. And he promptly lost his balance and dangled from his arms for a second before he could pull himself back up. The plug pressed deep into him. John was experienced enough to know that it was hitting his prostate, but the sensation wasn’t pleasant. It was like an itch just out of reach, and since that itch was inside John’s cock, it was driving him mad. He threw his head and stomped a foot to get Davis’s attention, but that only made a vibration travel up his leg and into his cock. And it made his tail swing so those silky strands brushed across the backs of his legs. The tail hung to just past his knees, and the long strands were about as maddening as the plug.

“You’re okay, boy. It’s your first time. It’s going to be the same the first time you’re saddled. It’s all too much at once, but you’ll be okay. You just have to get used to it.” Davis petted his hip, but he kept his hands away from John’s mouth. Smart man.

He moved to the side where John couldn’t see him because of the blinders, and then the reins pulled again. This time John’s chin was forced all the way against his chest and the bit opened all the way so that John’s mouth came open. Davis locked it that way and walked around to the front where John could see him.

“You are beautiful with that curve in your neck.” He reached out and ran his fingers through John’s hair and let his fingers trail down over his cheeks before he traced John’s lips with his fingers. “Such a beauty you are. But you’d fight this until you’d pull half the muscles in your neck, wouldn’t you?”

John snorted, but that made a line of drool slip free and fall. It ran down over his stomach and vanished into the strap. “One circuit. Knees high, chin tucked, like a proper horse. One circuit.” Davis tapped him on the nose, and John got the message. He would play nice, not only because he was being paid to but because the amount of power Davis had over him was really quite breathtaking. John was never doing a solo bondage scene again, and he didn’t care what they paid him. Davis walked away, and after a second, the machinery started.

John wanted the reins loosened, so he tried to follow orders to earn that. He walked with his knees high, but that drove the plug farther into him, and the tail swished over the back of his legs, reminding him of a woman’s hair. More drool slipped free, and John actually tried to focus on that instead of all the other sensations. Davis was right about one thing—it was too much. If his hands were free, he’d either masturbate like mad or rip the plug out of his ass. But as it was, he was caught in a whirlwind of sensation that he had no control over.

The track brought him back around, and Davis held up a controller and pressed a button that stopped the machine.

“I’m naming you Spirit,” Davis said. He pulled the cloth out of his pocket and started wiping John down. John let out a long grunt that he hoped didn’t sound too much like whining. He didn’t care what he got called as long as the reins were loosened. The dust of the corral was getting in his mouth and making his nose itch, and his neck would start hurting if Davis kept him this way too long. Davis could call him Rainbow Sparkles for all he gave a shit at his moment.

“Shhhh, Spirit. You’re fine. Wild horses usually do have trouble taking to the bridle.” John rolled his eyes, but he didn’t know if Davis could even see that because he was standing on the side. When the reins loosened, John let out a happy moan and threw his head up, shaking out the stiff muscles by nodding vigorously. John stopped when it occurred to him what he looked like. He’d seen real horses make that exact gesture so many times that it horrified him.

Davis laughed, although John had no idea if the man had followed his train of thought. The reins pulled tight, and John tried to jerk away, but that only forced his mouth open. “That’s my Spirit,” Davis said with another laugh, and he fastened the reins. John relaxed and found that he could almost close his mouth. Davis did something, and John had a fraction more slack. His head was still tucked close to his chest, but he could close his mouth the whole way. He found himself grateful because he didn’t like drooling on himself.

“Okay. Time to get used to your new body,” Davis said. He pressed the controls, and the lead moved, forcing John into a fast walk.

His body. That’s how David described the tail that swept over his legs and the boots that forced him weirdly off-balance. John closed his eyes and let the track pull him around in giant circles. He felt like it was hours that he walked around and around. Sometimes the machine allowed him a slow walk, other times he had to trot on unsteady legs as he tried to keep up without getting pulled off balance. However, Davis paid more attention than he pretended because every time John did lose his balance and swing from his arms, the machine would stop until John got himself sorted again.

The tail was a huge distraction, and after about twenty times around, John felt his cock start to take notice of the constant tickle behind his balls. With his head forced down, every time he opened his eyes, he could see his half-hard cock, the view framed by the blinkers that kept him from watching anything but his own body. He couldn’t bear to look for more than a few minutes, and then he would close his eyes again.

Eventually the machine stopped, and John stood in the middle of the exercise barn, his chest heaving even though he hadn’t done more than walk. And walk. And walk. His reins went loose, and John slowly stretched his neck, careful to not imitate a horse’s enthusiasm. “My beautiful Spirit found something he liked.” Davis stepped to John’s side and grabbed his cock. John groaned and tensed up.

“Not broken yet? Oh my beautiful stallion is being stubborn.” Davis gave John’s tail a hard tug, forcing the plug into John’s prostate. John rocked forward, shocked at the way the sudden pressure made his cock harden. A little pressure on the prostate was aggravating. A lot… that felt good. Unfortunately Davis let go, and a small whine slipped out before John could stop it.

“Such a good boy.” Davis held up a water bottle, and John leaned forward, desperate for the water. “I bet my beauty is thirsty, isn’t he?” John expected to be fed the water. Instead, Davis cupped his hand and held it under John’s nose before pouring water into it. John looked at Davis in horror as the water dribbled to the ground. Davis raised an eyebrow in challenge and waited for several seconds before pouring more water into his palm.

John sighed. He wanted water, and he suspected Davis would keep him here until he gave in. He glared for a second, but then he leaned in and slurped the water out of Davis’ hand. It took longer than it should have, but John finally got a half bottle of water down. The water was warm and it tasted of salt from Davis’ skin, but at this point, John didn’t get to be choosy. He was too damn worn out. The sun was going down, so he’d been at this for several hours now.

Davis put the cap back on the water and set it on the ground before reaching up to free John’s arms. He only unclipped one, and then he pulled it down and started fussing with the harness. Before John could understand what was happening, his arm was tied to his side with the elbow bent. John had some movement and he could slide his arm forward and back some, but for the most part, it was immobilized.

John sighed loudly as Davis did the same thing with his left arm.

“Let’s get you fed before we start your real workout,” Davis said. He pulled the reins around to the front and started leading John out of the exercise barn and back toward the stable. The night was starting to cool which was nice, but the mosquitoes found John’s body almost immediately.

“Pesky things,” Davis said. He picked up what looked like another tail and started whipping John with it. The soft strands teased without hurting, but John’s overheated body reacted to the stimulus way too much. He walked faster to try and get through the screen into the stable, but Davis stopped, and the reins forced John to stop as well. With a devilish expression on his face, he tied the reins to a ring in the wall. John stared at the simple knot in frustration. A child could untie the knot, but he couldn’t. He had to stand there and stare at it as Davis chased off the mosquitos with that hair whip of his. He worked down John’s back and then up again before switching to the front.

The first time the whip hit John’s cock, he rocked forward and nearly lost his balance. Davis caught his arm and held it until John could steady himself, but now his cock was hard and aching.

“That’s my Spirit,” Davis said encouragingly.

John snapped his teeth.

“Play nice, Spirit. There are benefits to being a domesticated horse.” Davis brought that soft whip down on John’s cock and balls again. This time John was prepared, but he couldn’t help the groan that escaped.

“I know a game we can play.” Davis gave him a brilliant smile and untied the reins. When Davis finally led them into the barn, John sighed in relief. He didn’t know if the mosquitos or the whip was worse, but it was a close call.

Davis only led him as far as the wide space where the two main aisles met. Considering that each aisle was large enough for horses to pass each other without danger of biting each other, the space was large. Davis lifted the reins over John’s head, which was an indication things were about to go very wrong.

John hated the fact that he had no idea what Davis was doing. The call sheet had too damn many things on it for him to make any sort of educated guess, and now he suspected that had been intentional. Davis had paid a lot of money just for the pleasure of keeping John ignorant. The reins pulled tight, and John lowered his head without fighting. He’d expected as much. However, Davis also gave his tail several good pulls before coming back around to the front.

“So beautiful. So let’s see how my wild stallion likes a little taming.” Davis brought the whip down on John’s cock, and John flinched. That pulled his head up, and suddenly John knew exactly what his reins were attached to. He gave a strangled scream as the plug pulled up, which pushed the tip forward into his prostate.

John stumbled to the side, and Davis followed him, slapping him across his hips and back with the hair. The silky strands made the blood rise to his skin, and John widened his legs and went perfectly still. He could do this.

He could track Davis by the sounds of his boots, but he couldn’t see with the blinders on. The whip caught him on the inside of his thigh, and the ends curled up to tease his balls with a little stinging kiss. Despite his vow to remain still, John lunged forward, and the plug pressed deeper into his body as he tried to look around to find Davis. Davis stayed behind him and the whip caught him across the ass and then on the back of his knees right above the boots. That time, John’s tail and the whip tangled and Davis had to pull to get free. That made the plug rock side to side, and John danced sideways.

Finally he caught a glimpse of Davis. The man’s tailored pants did nothing to hide his erection and he watched John with an intensity that left John backing away. He wanted to run, but he had no place to go. When he backed into a wall, he stopped and stared at Davis, waiting.

“You know you need the bridle and whip, don’t you?” Davis moved forward with a predatory gait, and John could feel his heart beat faster. “All wild animals to better with a little taming.” Davis brought the soft whip down right on John’s hard cock. John’s curses became mumbled gibberish as the u-brackets pulled at his cheeks and the bit forced his mouth open.

“Go on. Fight.”

Something inside John broke, and he aimed a kick right for Davis’s smug face. He had no hope of kicking his face, but he did hope to get a knee. The plug shifted, and John’s cock got painfully hard as his prostate sent out flares of raw lust. Worse, Davis dance away without a scratch, but not without landing another whip lash right on John’s cock and balls. The soft strand curled around and stung his perineum.

John tucked his chin close to his chest to try and take the pressure off his prostate, and then he charged forward. He hit Davis, slamming him back into a wall, but then Davis caught his reins and pulled hard. The bit forced John’s mouth open and the reins forced the plug deep into his ass. John screamed and pressed his body into Davis. His cock pressed up against Davis’ pants, and he humped.

Davis grabbed his nipple and twisted cruelly, forcing John to dance away in pain. He couldn’t even rub the sore nub, and he was definitely distracted because Davis clipped another lead to the ring that held his reins. This lead had a long pole, so John couldn’t get near Davis.

“Just like a stallion to think he can do the mounting. Let me assure you, Spirit, you are here to be mounted, not the other way around.” The baby talk had vanished, but Davis’ cock was as hard as ever if the bulge in his pants was anything to go by. “I am going to break you, so fighting is only making this more difficult.”

John suspected it was also making it more pleasurable for Davis, but he couldn’t care less. He’d been pushed to a breaking point, and he wanted to fight back. Isn’t that what Davis had promised him—that animals fought and were allowed their instincts?

Davis used the pole to force John toward one of those open stalls at the end, but instead of going into either, Davis pushed him into the tack room. Harness and bits and bridles lined the walls, and saddles sat on stands—western, riding saddles, racing saddles, fancy ones that John had no idea when a person would use. However, right now, Davis had another use in mind, which was obvious when he forced John over to a saddle that sat on a sturdy base.

John struggled, but it was hard to fight when the lead pulled on his mouth and neck. In the end he had to give up, and then Davis walked around the stand and started pulling John down. The first set of reins was still tight, so the change in posture forced the plug into him, and John howled his displeasure, but Davis gave him a hard yank, and he collapsed, his stomach over the saddle. John used a rope already tied to the base of the wood to tie off John’s bridle, and then John was helpless. Davis stood and in a second, the reins were loose and falling to the floor, but the rough rope rubbed his cheek where it still tied him stomach down over the saddle.

Davis walked around, and John wasn’t surprised when the whipping started for fair now. The hair was light, but Davis brought the whip down on his ass over and over until the thousand tiny stings turned into one burning sensation that centered on his asshole.

“Stallions have to know who is the master,” Davis said, and then he pulled the plug out. John screamed as Davis’s cock slid into him. It was larger than the plug, which made his muscles strain, but it hit his prostate without teasing him with that not-full-enough feeling. Davis pulled back and then slammed into John again and again. John pawed at the floor, struggling to get some sort of leverage so he could do something—although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to escape or press back into the ass-reaming. However the concrete floors let his horseshoe bottomed boots slide right over them.

Davis was grunting with each thust now, pounding John so hard their bodies slapped together. Sweat dripped into John’s eyes, and he fought the rope that held his head down. Davis kept going and going, the heat building and the friction starting to sting as he brutally took John. John didn’t know how long Davis could go, but he was starting to feel desperate when a hand reached around and grabbed his cock.

John screamed, and one of the horses loudly whinnied a response. Davis’s fist slid up and down once, and John was coming his whole body tightening as the orgasm made the world gray out. Of course hanging upside down while having sex didn’t help either. By the time John had put the pieces of reality back together, Davis was tying off his condom. He walked in front of John and dangled the used rubber.

“This makes you mine, Spirit. I fucked you until you came. And I’m going to do that a lot, so you can either get it in your head that you belong to me or you can keep fighting and I’m going to have a fun time breaking you one inch at a time.”

John shivered. Threatening talk was right there on the call list under anal penetration, but this felt real, and John had no way to save himself from the situation. He had honestly fought as hard as he could, and he’d ended up tied over a saddle and fucked. At some point, he’d drawn an invisible line between himself and the other Agency assistants. Yes, he played into fantasies for money. He’d pissed on men and been pissed on by both men and women. He’d fucked women while their husbands were tied up and gagged in the same bed. He’d been whipped and trained in how to deliver a professional whipping. However, he’d never allowed a cock up his ass.

That line was gone now. Now only had John allowed it, but he’d come with Derek Davis’s cock filling his ass until he felt like he was going to split in half.

Davis returned, and this time he didn’t just wipe John down with a cloth, he gave him an honest to God massage, while John was bent over the saddle with his ass in the air.

“Spread out there, boy,” Davis said, kicking John’s legs apart. John didn’t fight.

“That took some of the starch out of my pretty stallion, didn’t it? Yes, that’s right. My pretty boy knows who his master is.” Davis was back to cooing at him, and John sighed. He actually preferred the threats. Davis used cool water to wash John’s shoulders, soaping them carefully and then rinsing the soap and BenGay away. After John had been wiped clean, his face washed and his back and ass massaged, Davis crouched between his open legs and carefully washed John’s abused asshole. The cool water felt good.

“My pretty stallion has a pussy now, doesn’t he?” John growled his displeasure, and Davis patted him on the hip. “Yes, yes, you have a cock too. But you know what this is for now. Yes, my pretty stallion has the first crack and I’m going to use that to take him apart into a thousand pieces.” Davis slipped a finger into John’s loose ass and pressed against John’s prostate.

John groaned, but there was no way he could get hard again. There was also no way that Davis could shatter him by next Monday. He was, however, starting to fear that Davis could leave some pretty big cracks.

Davis finally lubed John’s ass again and slipped his tail back in place before replacing all the straps. “Time for dinner, my beautiful,” Davis said with a cheerful enthusiasm that made John want to kick him. The problem was he was too damn tired to bother.



This is a free short. Please do not put it up on Goodreads and then rank it 1 or 2 because it is short.  It’s 10K of free wank material written for fun, not a professional novel. Let fun be fun without making it so that everything has to be ranked and rated and judged.  Please?


Narrator… Author. Author… Narrator

220px-Geoffrey_Chaucer_(17th_century)The narrator tells the story.  The author writes the story. And those two would seem to be the same, only they aren’t.

The idea that an author “owns” every attitude espoused by a narrator is assuming that an author is incapable presenting another point of view.

It is assuming that Sherwood Anderson is clearly in need of psychiatric attention for his multiple personality disorder as each narrator steps forward and takes center stage for his or her own story in Winesburg, Ohio.

If the narrator and the author were the same person, then the slam poetry I once watched shouldn’t have existed.  A black woman wrote poems from the point of view of a white racist. She then rapped words as if she were that asshole.


That is the only word for her art.

However, she is not her narrator.  I am not my narrators.  You cannot assume any author is the narrator of that author’s books.

In “Claimings, Tales, and Other Alien Artifacts,” Liam wants bondage, but not pain.  In Fettered, Dylan wants bondage and pain.  In Desert World, neither Temar nor Shan would even understand the concept of power exchange.

More importantly, none of those tell you anything about my sexuality or sexual orientation.  Because I am not those various narrators.  Those characters have lives of their own, and true, those lives exist only in my head.  Still. They have lives.  Beliefs. Preferences based on previous experiences. And none of those are mine. Believe it or not, I’ve never traveled to an alien world or… wait… I have gone to BDSM bars.  Okay, I’ve never gone to male-oriented leather bars like the Stonewall. See?  I’m not them.

Let me illustrate with Chaucer.  Geoffrey Chaucer was a white man, a bureaucrat, a writer, a father, and a some-time scientist.  He was not a widow, yet he wrote a story from a widow’s point of view… a lusty, manipulative woman who wanted power over her husbands.

He also wrote from the point of view of a knight clinging to his outdated beliefs, a drunkard, a rich official who was always trying to find a way to rob one more person out of a dollar and a bad-tempered estate manager.  He is none of those things.  When the Pardoner butchers the Bible for fallacious arguments and tries to con people out of money, this is a reflection of the character, of society, of the world. It is not Chaucer owning those positions.

And this would seem to be obvious.

Stories reflect the world, or a world anyway, but they don’t exist as simplistic avatars of the authors’. At least I hope they don’t.  Stories should be exploring other points of view, not regurgitating the author’s beliefs over and over and over.

Is Fettered about the conflict between SSC, RACK, and old-school flagging?  Sure.  Does it represent my point of view?  Nope.  It represents a point of view in the conflict.  It represents an interesting point of view that often does get overlooked as other assume that the gay community or the BDSM community speaks with one voice. They don’t.  Categorically they don’t.

That’s the point of view I find interesting, and that’s where I chose to park my story.


ImageAs I’m struggling to decide which project to work on, I’ve come to a decision. I want some people to dislike my books.

Yep, I’ve decided that I value some of my bad reviews.  I want bellyaching.  I want complaints.

Because there are people out there that I don’t want to like me. If I please them, I seriously need to worry about what I’m doing in my stories.  For example, I keep getting complaints that there’s too much plot in my story. “Where’s the porn?” they ask.

Maybe this is because I am gay, but I get really kind of grossed out by the suggestion that gay people have sex all the time. Vin and Dylan are perfectly happy having lots of sex, at least before the drama with Gary, but that’s because they’re young and horny.  Miguel and Nikolai are older and crabbier. Nikolai is Jewish and still has a gut-deep dislike of “wasting” his seed, and Miguel… well, he’s Miguel. He’s not a very physical man.  And don’t even start with Vinnie and Charleston.  They’re running from a serial rapist. They are not going to take a break to boff in the bathroom.

If I am ever tempted to have characters catch a quickie while running from a murderer, I hope someone takes a pair of scissors to my internet landline.

So all those people who complain that they want more sex… I’m okay with them complaining.  I really am.  Go on and gripe because I don’t want to write a book you like because you seem to be suggesting you would like pure porn. Sex is not the center of my life or the lives of my characters.

I am also unimpressed with complaints that the characters don’t say the “L” word.  I’ve had people claim to love me.  In my life, I’ve had too many tell me that love me, and it never ends well.  It has not ended well multiple times. People who say the words impress me less than people to act in a way that shows a deep and abiding love.

Vin may not proclaim his love, but he puts up with awkward family dinners, invites Dylan into his life and business, and protects Dylan from everyone—including his family. Those are the actions of a man in love. He doesn’t have to say the words.  One day he may, but he knows that acting in a way that is supportive and loving—acting that way consistently and over a long period of time—is far more important than any words whispered in a lover’s ear.

Now, I am not saying I’m perfect.  In hindsight, I wish I could make Long, Lonely Howl disappear.  I tried too hard to break the trope of “mates” and the story is just a little awkward.  I think the huge problems I was having in real life spilled into my writing.

I adore my Desert World books, but I do think the first one needs a stronger edit. I left things in there because I loved them, but I think I loved the world too much and that encouraged me to wallow in it.

I also think Insistent Hunger needed about six more chapters to smooth out that ending, but I was so disappointed in the sales from Blowback (one of my hands-down favorites) that I think I gave up on the story (they were for the same publisher).

So, if you dislike those books for those reasons, I’m likely to cringe and slink off to my corner because I know I screwed those up. Hell, you should see the shit I have on my hard drive because I can write pure and utter crap the likes of which you have never seen… I hope.  Seriously, for your sake I hope you’ve never been forced to read dreck as bad as some of my half-done monsters.

However, if you want to gripe about having a plot or having gay people who occasionally have a day without sex, then I’m going to do a jig.  Woo Hoo!  I didn’t write the book you wanted.  That’s okay, because I wrote the book I wanted.  Well, usually.  Sometimes I just do screw up.  The reviews that point out those mistakes really hurt.

But some bad reviews amuse me.  Go me!  I wrote something that didn’t meet someone’s expectations


Rape Fantasy and Bad BDSM

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.” –Nelson Mandela, 1994 inaugural address.

That’s an odd thought to have while reading Power Play: Resistance by Rachel Haimowitz and Cat Grant, but that’s what rattled around in my head.

I started reading the book expecting BDSM with a physically strong submissive. Anyone who knows me knows that is my biggest kink. Tom from Blowback is still one of my favorite characters.

However, I got something a little different. I got what feels like the BDSM version of a rape fantasy. Bran may have submissive tendencies, he may not. After Jonathan decides to take their relationship far past the bounds of any RACK or SSC relationship, it’s hard to tell.

The excessively rich dominant, Jonathan, offers Bran three million dollars in return for six months of sexual slavery. He ignored the fact that Bran has never played and has only a fuzzy idea that BDSM is about being handcuffed to a headboard, which means there is no “risk awareness.”

When Bran uses his safe word, Jonathan tells him that he’s ‘abusing’ the safeword (which will result in Bran violating the contract) because the pain is emotional and not physical. Jonathan does respect the safeword if he thinks Bran is physically at an edge, but Bran is a macho man who endures bruises the linger for weeks and has pain in his fingers from wrist bruising (suggesting internal damage) before he safewords, which means this is not safe.

This is the main reason that good Doms don’t wait for safewords—masochistic subs, macho subs, and subs too far down into subspace can fail to safeword out even when in serious distress.

The book bothers me because it is so extreme, and yet is it really different from the rape fantasies that we so often run into on the internet? Yeah, I’ve failed to backbutton quickly enough a couple of times, and I’ve seen stuff I would have preferred to never see. In each case, an individual is abused… hurt… and they find they like it.

Now, I don’t for even a second believe that anyone learns to like it, although I am well aware of the psychological damage done by abuse and the ways the victim can learn to identify with it. But the fantasy isn’t about identifying with and enduring. The fantasy is about desire.

And there’s where Mandela’s quote comes in (although I’m sure he would be horrified to see his words used in this context).

Alternate sexualities, and that can mean a lot of things to a lot of people, are scary. If you were raised on the penny method of contraceptives (keep a penny between your knees—if you don’t spread your knees you can’t get pregnant) then any sex outside of marriage is alternate. For some people, alternate means homosexual relationships, for others it’s about having a fetish or a dominant or submissive personality.

No matter what the “alternate” taste is, to have the strength to step outside and embrace that is hard because it makes you different. If Bran had stood in front of his coworkers and said, “Hey, I’m gay. Get over it,” that would have been an expression of power.

But that power is terrifying because it comes with consequences. The raised nail gets hit with the hammer. The individual who is different is singled out by a society that claims to embrace individuality even while trying to get everyone to wear the same damn style of stupid mesh shirt.

That power scares us. It scares me. It’s easier to hide in the dark, as Mandela says, but in this case, I see the darkness as the conformity that strips us of our voice.

Here, Bran doesn’t have to embrace that power. He doesn’t have to stand up and risk standing out. He is forced into a relationship he barely understands—coerced by his own stubbornness and his need for that three million dollars. Hell, I’d consider putting up with a sadist for six months if he paid that well. Maybe. Hell, who knows.

But the fact is that this is bad BDSM. Bad, bad, bad BDSM. You don’t suspend someone from metal cuffs. You don’t allow wrist bruising deep enough to impair the feeling in the fingers. You don’t use tazers on someone genitals or repeatedly tazer someone (heart damage anyone??). I could keep going, but let’s face it—this isn’t BDSM.

This is fantasy. This is not significantly different than a rape fantasy. This is all about the fantasy of indulging in an alternative sexuality without having to step up and embrace the power for yourself.

This is not my kink.

I want my six dollars back. I want two hours of my life back. I want a physically strong submissive who kneels for his master. I think I’m heading back to fanfic land


Submissive Alpha Males… mmmmmm

Submissive Alpha Males.  Mmmmm.  I do love me some of that.

And I found some of that!

I wrote a few days ago about how disappointed I was with Joey Hill’s vampire queen books.  Jacob is an alpha male, but I never bought him as a submissive and the vampire queen annoyed me.  But I decided to give a different series a try because I’ll go a long way (and pay a good chunk of money) for a good piece of femdom.

Natural Law paid off in spades.  Mac Nighthorse is an alpha male, but unlike Jacob, he is a true submissive.  He may be a damn good cop, but that doesn’t keep him from enjoying being totally controlled by a strong woman.

Actually, Jacob and Tom from Blowback could throw back a few beers and enjoy talking about just how much they like having women take total control. They are both comfortable being strong, dominant men at work or in a fight, and then laying all that strength down at the feet of their women. I really loved that I could believe Mac’s submission here.

And there be plot.  Okay, so it’s not a lot of plot, and the motivations of the killer felt a little off, but I try to remind myself that not everyone has a degree in psychology or has taken criminology classes, so I’ll try to let that one slide, especially since I tend to exaggerate my villains myself.

I just enjoyed that there was actual plot that took up more than three sentences.  If I had to summarize the two vampire books, it would literally take me that long.  This book has interesting secondary characters and misdirection and plot.  I like Mac’s boss and coworkers, I believed the disdain his fellow detectives showed when they found their murder victims were submissive males (that’s not popular in American culture), and I liked Violet’s coworkers.  I can’t say I love the reveal of the murderer, and had a squicky moment there, but bad guys are supposed to be squicky.

But in the end, what I really loved is that I could see these two forming a united front against the world… not only the murderer, but the discrimination and the judgment of society.  They supported each other, and to me that’s the hottest kink in the world.  Bar none. So Emma, good recommendation.  I really enjoyed this one.

Now, that’s not to say the book is perfect.  Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any domme dress up that much, so some of the descriptions felt a little like a tableau painted for a male eye. And it amazes me how many of these BDSM books features people with access to hundreds of thousands of dollars in equipment and gear. Again, I notice that fantasy element a little too much, and I like a slightly more mundane edge on my stories with people who do things I could imagine myself doing… and trust me, I do not have twenty thousand dollars to set up a dungeon.

However, this one is a keeper. In fact, I think I’ve invested about $32 in the three Hill books, and this one made up for that expense.


    Sexuality is flexible.  Sometimes. For certain people.

Variety may be the spice of life, but for some people, variety in the bedroom annoys them.  Some people always take dominant roles.  Lady Joy, a beautiful Domme I met at a play party, said she cannot even come without dominating someone, usually in rather severe ways.

The live-in submissive of an Internet friend commented that he can’t even understand switches.  He always needs to be controlled and hurt.  Personally, I am a little more flexible, but only under certain circumstances.  I would pretty much spork my eyes out before submitting to a man or letting his dick near me, which doesn’t mean I couldn’t have fun playing with one.  Sorry guys, nothing personal, but that’s just my dynamic. I’m far more into (and flexible with) women. Everyone has their own limits.

However, I am so tired of reviewers denying this simple truth.

She’s like most women—she thinks all men have fixed roles!” they wail.

Yes, wail.  That’s how I “hear” the words when I read reviews like that.

For the record, I don’t think all men have fixed roles any more than I think all women have fixed roles or all transgendered people have fixed roles.  I also believe that some people prefer to have more fixed roles.

Tom in Blowback always wants to submit (and preferably to women where his trust issues are less likely to make him fight the restraints).

Temar and Shan in the Desert World books are flexible. Events have made Temar a little hesitant, but by the end of Desert World Rebirth, we have plenty of flexibility.

Jeremy is not flexible at all.  The protagonist of Out of Balance is a bit of a pain slut (or a lot of one) and he really needs bondage and pain to get his groove on. On the other hand, Ferro from “Shepherd Slave and Vow” is just a happy slut.  He’ll try anything, anytime. Top, bottom, or in the middle—he’s good with it all.

However, I’ve had about three reviewers wailing (yep, an unfair characterization and unnecessary editorialization that I’m going to keep using because it makes me feel better) that “like most women” I think men have fixed sexuality.

No, no I don’t.  I think men and women and intersexed individuals and transgendered and heterosexuals and homosexuals and bisexuals and bigendered and cisgendered and transsexuals and pangendered and transvestites are all unique.

So, in some of my stories, you’ll find those who are flexible.  Vin from my upcoming In the Weeds is all Dom all the time. In fact, he has trouble reining in his urges to both dominate and play papa-bear all the time.  However, as much as he loves to dominate, he is happy to be the pitcher or the catcher.  So he’s half-flexible.  Stunt from my in progress Mountain Prey really does need to be tied up and taken hard to let go, so he’s inflexible.  Rahul Dwivedi from a book still in draft and blurb stage is so flexible it will break your mind.  Fireplay, topping, bottoming, sensation play… if he hears about it, he wants to try it.  All of it.

So stop assuming.  Stop assuming that gay men have to pursue flexible roles. Stop assuming that they can’t enjoy flexible roles.  Stop assuming that topping means dominating or that a submissive can’t be a damn good top. Stop assuming that any two people–gay or straight– have to express sexuality the same way or that people have to even have sex to be sexual.

Just stop assuming.

Personally, I’m going to keep writing books with characters as different as the people I know in real life.  RJ is a woman who identifies as a man. Miss Dolphinia is a pushy old queen who is as dominant as they come. Nikolai prefers hand-jobs or oral sex, while Carl wants to be the “catcher” every time.

Variety is the spice of life, but only some people want a spicy bedroom. That’s okay, too.


Dominants and Dean

So, I just mainlined seasons one through five of Supernatural. Sex.

Yep, sex.  That’s what I kept thinking about while I watched it, and I’m sure that came in part from the rather… um… energetic sex scenes the series included.

Unlike shows like The Sentinel where I had a background in fanfic before seeing the show, I walked into Supernatural utterly blind.  Despite the fact that I knew a lot of people slashed the brothers, I really don’t see the sexual subtext between them.  What I see between them is the smoldering anger and jealousy that festers in dysfunctional families.

However, I did find myself drawn to certain pairings.  I would love to put Dean with any number of people.  Prior to season five, I wanted him with Anna, the angel.  From the time I first met her, I wanted him with Ellen, the tough hunter and mother to Jo. I liked the history he had with Cassie Robinson, the tough reporter who refused to believe in the Supernatural. Hell, I wouldn’t have minded Dean going with the art dealer Sarah Blake. Hell, I even have a little fantasy involving Gabriel and Kali and Dean (or Gabriel and Dean or Kali and Dean). Early in the show, I couldn’t understand why people wanted Dean with Castiel, the cold angel who came with a big dose of colder reality.  Yes, I changed my mind later, but I’ll get to that.

Looking at my list of pairings, I had to wonder what I was thinking, because I was clearly off the script from the rest of fandom.  Yep, I was definitely heading in het directions, and usually I do like slash pairings.  I don’t think I ran into the answer until I started feeling the Castiel/Dean love.  When Castiel lost his temper and beat the snot out of Dean because Dean wanted to give up, I honestly felt the slashy vibe raise its little head.

So, what do these characters all have in common?  Anna, Ellen, Cassie, Sara, Gabriel, Kali, and late season five Castiel.  That’s an odd list.

That’s a flawed list.

Yep, I finally figured it out. I want a dominant who is flawed, and since I do see Dean as the ultimate submissive, I want him to have a partner who is flawed and owns those flaws.  Anna understood that her grace made her cold and loveless.  Ellen knew she had put Jo in the middle of the fight and she owned her own temper.  Gabriel… well, what can I say about Gabriel, the archangel in witness protection?  These characters know they aren’t perfect, and that makes them better.

No one is perfect, and when a dominant is too perfect (or who sees himself as perfect), I can’t relax and enjoy the story because I’m waiting for the inevitable disaster.

I cringed when people called Charleston from Gathering Storm the “perfect” dom who could fight anyone, plan anything, and understand all.  Um… he was the bait, not the one who came up with the plan to catch the bad guy, he had to call for backup and his job in the first big confrontation was to distract the guy, and when Vinnie first started sniffing around, he thought Vinnie was a bad guy. Charleston is so flawed it’s not funny, but because the story is in Vinnie’s point of view and Vinnie is a little idealistic, those flaws didn’t come through.

However, the fact is that I like flawed dominants.

And that’s why I am starting to feel the Castiel/Dean love. Late in season five, Castiel really started to understand his own flaws.  He doesn’t know what god wants or what he should do.  He recognizes his own anger, and as he told Sam, he knows that he has consistently underestimated the boys.  In other words, he’s now flawed enough for me to enjoy imaging him in a relationship.  Or rather he was always flawed, lost, and ignorant of human capacity for good, but now he recognizes he flaws.

I can trust him to know himself, so I can trust him to know a partner.




I’ve never made a secret out of the fact that I love femdom.  That said, I hate reading much of the genre.  Feeling in need of a fix, I went and banged around Literotica for a while yesterday.  Women tricked men, abused men, terrorized men, and hurt men.  Um… is that sexy?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m out of touch with the rest of the femdom.  Maybe there’s something inherently sexy about a woman forcing a man the way some find rape fantasy the hottest thing since The Great Chicago Fire.  Maybe.  I don’t get it.  I like my dominant women (and men) to care about their submissives. Sure, they screw up, but they love the person they’re dominating.

Da’shay in Blowback is dominant and she pushes Tom places he would never go, but she does that because she knows the danger even if she can’t tell him.  She pushes him because she wants him to find a place where he’s happy.  And yeah, in real life, I would definitely say she pushes too hard, but the glory of fiction is that I can let her get a little dangerous. In the world of fanfic, I’ve made Cordelia (from Buffy) into a Domme more times than you can count.  I’ve let her sharpen her claws on Spike, Xander, Angel, and Harmony.  I’ve allowed Willow and Faith (also from Buffy) to do a more subtle form of taking charge of their men.  I’ve written River (Firefly) as a complete dominant, taking total charge of Jayne over his rather vocal and profane objections.  They all made it clear that they ruled the roost, and no one had permission to disagree with them.

However, reading other femdom stories, I was confronted with stories where women trap men, feminize them or humiliate them.  Men described their small dicks and admitted that a small dick made them a prime target for being owned.  Um… is it just me or is that a little… uh… fucking terrifying?  I thought the idea that a person’s physical traits defined their personality went out years ago. And the women who dominate these men don’t care how much pain they cause or what the male is getting out of it.

I’m guessing you’re not even going to be surprised that many of these are written by men.  I found myself back-buttoning time after time after time.

So, what do I want out of a dominant woman?  I want her to take control and not apologize.  I want her to take her submissive into account, even if she will never be ruled by him.  I want her to admit that she is not perfect and still stand up and insist that her imperfections are no reason to apologize for her strength.

Paige in Insistent Hunger strikes me as a Domme who just hasn’t found her groove yet.  She’s small, but as a cop, she never thinks her size makes her less effective.  She can give a drunk good-old-boy orders and make sure they stick.  And when a retired military man tried to tell her how to handle an investigation, she not-so-nicely told him to go fuck himself. But at the same time, she never tried to get a promotion–she never tried to move beyond being a small-town cop.  She had trust issues and control issues that made her very aware of her own flaws, even while she never backed down.

I guess I will be avoiding Literotica in my search for powerful, dominant women unless I develop an odd need to watch submissives get abused. Not likely.