Here it is! The beginning of something I think you are going to like! I am releasing a series of short stories that many of you have already had a taste of in
the past. Master Bait is a collection of shorts based around the lovely submissive known as Kat Daughtry (curtsy) and the twisted tales of submitting it all for her Master. Submissive Sweetness is full of hot and hard with the bits of background showing the physical and emotional attraction of the submissive and her Master Sweetness. Several shorts are coming your way detailing the romantic and rope-tied tales of Kat and her Master thanks to 7DS Books. The Master Bait series is coming soon! Hold on tight!
“Hello, sweetness,” she smirked just before she pushed him into her mouth.
I get this today! Slightly altered, two hearts in the gear and the inner ring will be full of flames.
Adam walked the path of the small room. Sketches and paintings covered the length of each wall. An artist himself, Adam grew with fascination over the young artist’s work. The sound of Shu pressing the gun back against Zona’s skin broke his attention away from the art. Zona buried her head back inside her crossed arms.
“Why do you hide him? Labor laws?”
Shu cackled. “I promise I fear no labor laws. Come here, I’ll show you why he is in the back.”
Adam walked toward Shu. She leaned closely over Zona and allowed the gun to meet Zona’s skin. She was working on the addition of a new gear. This one was not the largest of the gears, yet very decent in size compared to what looked like an endless amount of small gears interlocking across her back. He watched as her flesh absorbed the color.
“Here we go.” Shu winked. “She’s warming back up.”
He watched Shu focus intently as Zona’s spine arched. Her body was mind-blowing. Slowly, her hips circled with each precise stroke of the tattoo gun. Her fingernails dragged the sides of her arm as her purrs turned into moans. Her body moved against the chair just like she moved when she straddled the Magistrate.
Adam cleared his throat. The blood pumped through his body as he watched her rock against the chair. Shu glanced up long enough to watch him struggle with seeing his sweet Zona enjoy the pain of the gun so intently. The gear was close to completion.
“This is why Edgar is not allowed in while Zona gets ink.” she laughed.
Adam casually adjusted himself. “I understand.”
“I’m almost done. Could you help keep her still? This one is important.”
Adam walked toward the headrest of the chair. He squatted until his eyes were level with hers. He brushed her hair away from her face. She smiled through biting her lip as she locked her gaze into his. Her hands reached for his. Their fingers tangled around like perfectly fitting puzzle pieces.
“Nice tie.” he smiled as he pulled her into a kiss.
Her moans grew heavy against his tongue. Her hands squeezed tightly around his. He could still feel her rocking the lower half of her body. Adam freed a hand and wrapped his arm around her upper back. She broke her lips away from him.
“Don’t let go.” her eyes begged him for more than the moment.
“Never.” he kissed her forehead.
Her lips roamed past his chin onto his neck. She panted between moans. He watched her body squirm even under his firm hold. His breathing hardened between the sight and feel of her in the steam filled room. Her moans turned into randy chatter and cries to God.
Adam knew she wouldn’t calm down until she finished. He had no clue how Shu could possibly work with Zona grinding against the chair. His heart beat a loudness inside his ears. He stood straight and grabbed her hair until it tangled around his knuckles.
“I want you forever, Zona.” he locked her into his gaze. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Her mouth fell open as she gasped silently. He jerked her hair back and owned her with his deep penetrating kiss. She moaned inside her mouth through her climax though his strong hold kept her body motionless. Their mouths locked together well past the silence of the tattoo gun’s hissing. Shu stood and removed her goggles and gloves.
Zona finally pulled away from the kiss as her moans evaporated into purrs and back into silence. Adam brushed his hand against her cheek. She held on to his touch while she stood and moved away from the tattoo chair. She pulled him lower until his ear rested beside her lips.
“Thank you for helping, Magistrate.” she spoke softly. “But never fucking lie to me again. Not if I don’t ask for it.”
She tossed his hand back to his side and turned to Shu. “Thank you, always, Shu. I will give my condolences to Edgar and be on my way.”
Zona stomped away until she vanished in the back of the shoppe. Shu shut off the boiler and began to clean her tools. Adam remained in the same spot, lost in her reaction to his promise. Shu edged past him as she wiped the chair clean.
“I believe you, actually.” she nudged him.
“Pardon?”
“I think you would give it all up for Zona.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“She knows that.” Shu popped him with the cleaning towel. “You frighten the poor girl, Magistrate. You complicate her mission.”
“Complicate.” he nodded. “And what about fate?”
“We aren’t like you, sir.” she patted his shoulder. “We cannot afford fate. We barely afford tomorrow.”
Adam struggled to wrap his mind around her statement. He shook his head and walked toward the main door. “Condolences,” he pointed toward the back of the shoppe, “The gear was for Lucian?”
“Yes, Magistrate.” Shu sighed. “Every gear on her back is a life lost for the cause.”
“She’s covered in them.”
“I know. I gave her each one.” she cracked a nervous laugh. “I only wonder who will tattoo her when I am gone.”
Adam shot her a look of genuine concern. “So, don’t die.”
“We all die, Magistrate. The end.” she silenced the conversation as Zona reentered the room.
Please enjoy a taste of my next release. This is a short story in the Master’s Betrayal series coming soon from 7DS Books.
“No, take a hot shower,” she had said, “and think of what my mouth would feel like on your dick.”
She was well aware how far out of her league Michael was. She lingered on his every word, waiting for him to realize it as well. Half of her heart thought fate had blessed her by allowing him to appear. The pessimist pushed through just as hard, convinced that fate was taunting her with her missing piece. She could taste him, adore him, wish for him, but he would never be her own.
They brushed the small talk out of the way with spurts of silence until she moaned. Michael knew what the sound meant. Her fingers danced against the lace of her panties as he spoke. He described the room to her and what he would soon do to her. She whimpered his name and sighed.
“I’ll be there shortly, sweetness.”
He hung up his cell and looked down. What was it about her voice, her attitude, her everything that turned him on so much? His cock was rock hard, practically busting his zipper. He needed her now. It had taken so long for them to get this close, and now he wasn’t sure how he could make it through the ten minutes she said it would take her to arrive.
He looked to his right and spied the shower. Perfect. He wanted to be clean for her. Every inch of him clean and ready for her hands, her mouth, her everything. In one of their earliest conversations, when the talk had gotten a bit naughty, he had joked that he was going to need a cold shower.
“No, take a hot shower,” she had said, “and think of what my mouth would feel like on your dick.”
He hadn’t taken a shower since then without thinking about just that.
The only issue, a detail really, a footnote–but what made the whole thing so exciting and so tragic–was that no matter how perfect this would be, it would end, and too soon. They both had someone waiting at home, and little ones who looked up to them, thinking they were perfect. That was the one thing that might have held him back.
It wasn’t that there was anything really wrong at home. Sure, the usual irritations about running out of this, or arguments about forgetting to do that. But he wasn’t running away from anything. No, this wasn’t a salve. This wasn’t a negative seeking a respite. This was a positive seeking fulfillment. He wanted Kat–needed her–not because she wasn’t someone else, but because she was who she was.
He wasn’t sure that made a difference, but he told himself it did. He started to strip for his shower. He would have taken off his wedding band, but that had come off as soon as he’d cleared security at the airport. This trip was about him and Kat. The end.
Once the water reached too hot, he stepped in. His dick was still hard, as hard as it had ever been. She did that to him. He grabbed the hotel soap, lathered up his cock, and thought about what her mouth would feel like in seven minutes.
First off, please play this lovely song as you read. It only adds to the passion of the post.
I was born a leader. I never fell into the crowd. I was made by God to show we may be his flock- but we each own a unique soul. Mine happens to be a bit more open than many. I gave my will away. I gave my fate. My faith. My heart. My soul. I named a Master. He accepted.
We were both wrong. He was not ready to claim me as a partner in life, my needs not being as important as his own. He failed the concept of love. He failed the concept of faith. He has chosen to settle in a half life. God gave him that free will- to settle or to soar- that is his choice. I had no right to offer a man my total self. I own my heart, fate and faith. My soul is not mine to give.
Mistake. Moments ago, reading the word shredded my heart. But mistakes are made. We all make them, flawed humans that we are. See, I- I can own the mistake and look you dead in the eye and tell you even with the mistake- I hold no regret. I loved a man. I love a man. If you love someone once- you love them forever. My mistake was only giving him all of me without saving any for myself. I am claiming that back now- though, he will always hold a part of me. I must claim the bigger half.
Love.
Love is what? Love is friendship. Love is laughter. Love is that needing someone when the best things in life happen- that person you want to be the first to know. Love is aching. Love is missing someone when they are missing. Love is that person you also want to share your lowest moments with- those fears- those failures, because with love- they love all of you and fears and failures only make them hold you closer. Love is the feeling of two hands feeling made for one another. Love is silence when it is comfortable because your eyes say I love you. Love is losing track of time because that person seems to make the world stand still. Love is communication. Love is holding on. Love is knowing it is never perfect. But it is worth it.
Passion.
Passion is carnal. Passion is often mistaken for cheapness. Sex is sex- and can easily be cheap and fill a void for a matter of moments, but once the sex is over, the void grows larger.
Passion holds. Passion binds. Passion is belonging. Passion is feeling. Passion is that missing piece. Passion is no limits. Passion is touching the flesh of another and feeling like you are sliding into your own skin, as if it were missing all along. Passion grasps the impulse of desire and raw need and twines it with the love of the friendship- the partner- the missing piece and makes it a memory you hold no shame in when you talk to God about it.
The acts of passion- these are different for different souls. Some couples may lay beneath white cotton sheets and whisper sonnets with soft strokes of that deep connection. Some souls may look into the eyes of each other and see the rim of burning flames- the need to feel every sensation under the human capability- be it pleasure or pain- to say they shared this with their “one”…and when it is right- there is no need to talk, to ask- You can read the eyes, you can read the flesh and together- you move as if the scene has been written and well read.
Mistakes happen. Mistakes are one of those things you know a split second in that it is indeed, a mistake and you stop- You work from that moment to correct it. Regret works the same way. I know it instantly. Anyone that tries to convince themselves otherwise is living their own life for others, not themselves, which is sad- Since God gave us each a life to life. Why would you ever live yours for someone else? That is like saying the one God gave them was not good enough so you are helping pick up his slack.
My life. My mistakes. Never regrets.
Love and passion. What is life without it?
What do I care what anyone thinks of my loves or passions when I speak so freely of them with my maker, the Master of my soul, the giver of my free will.
God gives us free will to choose a mate. If we cannot make it work- if they are not the one- God, the good Master he is, you know, he will jump in- He will send that missing piece. He will send someone to adore you. I believe this.
I can pray. I can ask his guidance. He will give it. You just have to close your mouth and open the eyes of your soul to see his reply.
I talk to God about poetry. I talk to him about holding hands. I talk to him about laying awake restless knowing the way I fall asleep so quickly on the chest of someone he sent me. I talk to him about coffee and homeless men taking the time to notice the happiness of people falling in love. I talk to him about long talks by the pool and gummy bears. I talk to him about the way a song plays on the radio at just the right time- because I think he plays it for me, to keep my mind where it needs to be.
Also, I talk to him about the taste of of lips when I love you is said with a kiss. I talk to him about the beauty I feel when my flaws show clearly against my flesh when standing nude in front of the right one. I talk to him about how someone can smell my scent three thousand miles away in a crowd. I talk to him about how I can walk in pain daily, with each step- yet how my pain vanishes in the ropes of passion with the one that promised me forever. I talk to God about how to please a man that keeps me happy enough for butterflies to land freely on my shoulders. And the pain. I talk to God about the pain I ask the man to give me. Not because I am sick or disturbed, but because the man knows my limits without asking. The pain the man God sent me touches my flesh in a spiritual pleasure that erased the emotional pain every other man ever lashed upon me. This does not have to be understood by anyone. It is understood by God, the man he sent and myself. What else do we need?
So mistakes. Sure. He made them. I rebuke the thought that my existence would be a mistake. Maybe the way he handled the gift God gave him- me, to adore him. My mistake was placing his needs over mine and God’s place as my Master, followed by me as Master of my own fate. He could be Master of parts of me. But my mistake was giving him all of me. I do not regret anything I learn from. If I never see him again, I know I will cross his mind every single day. Especially when he talks to God. And if we ever get it right, he will have to Master his own fate. I will master my own and together, in love, God will be our Master- and if he fails. God will not let me suffer alone. I gave this man, my missing piece, a large piece of me. So either he returns as my missing piece with the new one I gave him- Or one day, God sends me the one the can complete the new missing piece.
Either way. God Masters my soul. I master my fate. I am THE Kat Daughtry. I am a precious gift.
Last night was my first night out since my lover gave up on everything. Honestly, pathetic as it is, I had not done my hair or makeup since September 17th. I’ve just been a zombie. Unacceptable.
I did my hair last night and started looking like myself again. I did my makeup- thick perfect eyeliner- perfect lavender eye shadow with glitter. Wine toned lipstick…
And then I peeled myself inside a low cut tight-in-all-the-right- spots sweater. It was a me I have not seen in too long. I wear a cross around my neck. Never leaves me since a dear friend put it on me during a very hard time. (Thanks to my dear beautiful D.F.) But, it hit me. I had it. One more thing, in my closet, unopened.
I dug it out beneath everything stacked on top of it to make me forget it existed. (Like that worked.) I opened the box and there it was, in my hands, wanting to be used.
I put that thick black leather collar around my neck. I got it good and tight. It was so heavy and the studs and front ring glimmered.
I took several moments and lost myself…in myself.
I am sweet as hell. I am funny. I am sarcastic. I am smart and witty. I keep an open mind. I am talented and compassionate. I am beautiful on the inside.
But I stood there- dark hair shadowing my pale face. Those eyebrows like a black and white classic movie star- those high cheek bones. The thick eye liner making the ring of fire in my eyes flicker like visual passion. Those wine seeping pouty lips and a thick collar of ownership topping my curves of a perfect hourglass figure.
I am by no means under any illusion that I am perfect. But damn, as beautiful as I am on the inside- I match it well on the outside. For the first time in my life, I see it. I can’t half live over a man that can’t explain why he is cutting off the ones that love him- a man that can’t even apologize for the mess he left for me to clean… A man that took the role of Master over me, to own me.
I am the best friend, the partner, the lover- The one that understands and pushes a man to be his best without demanding his best be what is best for me. I am the woman you want to take around your friends, family and coworkers, but not for long because you want to take her home and feel nerves tingle you didn’t even know existed. I am a pleaser. I am a rare, once in a life time precious gift. I am too rare to be owned. I am a strong and stunning gift from God. God owns me. He may let/allow me to brighten your life and give you memories that will make you smile randomly everyday for the rest of your life- but I am not something any mortal man can own.
I am one heck of a catch and if you don’t catch me- If you let me fall…. I will always be that one. That sigh over a cup of coffee when the breeze brings my scent or one of those little things cross your mind. I am the one that got away. And if you allow that to happen, I am precious enough that my absence will hurt you far after someone has come to heal my pain.
The collar is back in the box, put away. I may wear it for someone, one day. I will likely wear it for myself, alone. But if I need to talk to my Master, the one that owns me. I will close my eyes and I will pray. God is the only one with the power to own my will.
For all my readers, dealing with my heartbreak and reading all these posts we all know I created only to call out to my sweetness, my Hillcrest- I owe you. Love, support, friendship, kind words, calls and emails… I appreciate you all.
To break the habit of these sad aching cries for my missing partner- I give you the only gift I have… my heart in a different hue. I give you a bit more into the world of Adam and Zona and an unedited peek at the WIP- Steamfate…..
His unconscious thoughts were pure. Unlike the others that spoke of society, possessions, betrayals, and scandals; Adam mumbled his hopes, his wishes and goals. Adam mumbled his dreams and the girl with the ring of fire in her eyes. She thought he had seen her somehow and tied him to the bed out of fear. “Who are you?” he would incoherently grumble as if he were talking to her as she sifted through his belongings.
Then she came across the painting. Her face grew flush as she gazed at her reflection painted on the canvas. Zona knew she had never made any form of contact or crossing with the man tied to the bed. She feared her identity had been shared as a criminal of the revolution. Though, the more she listened to his mumbles revolving around the fire-eyed girl, she was certain this was more than an oddity in coincidence. This was fate.
I will post some steamy portions soon but for tonight…..There it is. Steamfate is not just hot passionate sexual perfection. There is a lot of that, but Steamfate…Oh, it is the revolution. It is the spark of life. Of destiny.
Last night I started this blog post. I didn’t finish it, but I had a good 700 words. 700 words of hoping he was reading. 700 words of hoping my tale of pain and need and adoration would wake him up. 700 words of love.
I am a writer. Words are my outlet. Words flow like blood from a vein when trying to call out to a lover. My words have bled enough to fill an ocean. For what? For the silence. I hear my own echoes. Nothing more.
I know a man that loves me. I know a man that has left me alone, drowning in tears. A man that knows he holds my complete trust, my passions, my future. His words and promises were the sweetest I have known. His eyes secured the truth of his words.
I feel more sorrow for the other woman than I do myself or him. Yes, the other woman. Once a man shares his heart, fears, flesh and dreams with you- the one that ignored him becomes the other woman. The obstacle. The dark force. I hear he had no choice. She gave him an ultimatum. I hate that he is not strong enough to fight back. To fight for me. I know I echo his every thought. I can’t sleep at night because I am fully alive inside his dreams. I do wish he would fight. I wish he would lean on me instead of allowing himself to be beaten over an ultimatum. But for her, I pity. I ache for her. For keeping someone by your side in guilt, in fear, in anger- In the form of ultimatum shows the total lacking of the concept and emotion that is love. The lack of love for him, to deny such happiness as he has found. And the lack of love for herself to demand and hold a man by her side that aches and has tasted the waters of happiness elsewhere. That must be a lonelier feeling than I will ever know. God bless her heart. I do mean that.
I am sure she feels that she has won. I don’t know what her prize is. Social status? What other people think? Settling? All the things I would never want. I have his poetry, his promises, his dreams. I have photos to see those sweet eyes when he thinks of me. I can listen to the lullaby when I need his voice. I don’t have his everyday. But that is his choice- and something I must live with. He is a man of reason, and I must trust in that.
“Love is not a door to keep open or to close. It is a bridge. Don’t burn it.” – Great advice from an even greater woman. I take that advice. No more calling to my love. He knows where I am and how I feel. He could always feel my pain without talking to me. I doubt that has changed. So no doors. Only bridges. And as I cross this bridge alone, I keep the flames of bitterness and wondering why far away from the rope that binds the bridge. That binds us. I hold the rope for a future crossing.
He may settle forever. Ache forever. Never grab the rope and cross the bridge. It is not saying I will wait and keep my life on hold. My life will not allow such right now. It is not saying hurt can be ignored. It is saying that should the day ever come that he finds the power within himself, the power I know he already has deep down inside, to break away from the tainted commitment he feels bound to, no matter how much unhappiness it breeds, there is this bridge. It won’t be easy, but if he tries, he could cross it. He could claim his fate. Each day makes that bridge more of a journey. But I will never burn it. But calling to my love, my sweetness- I am done. I am worthy of more than wondering in dark silence. I am worthy of total adoration.
So maybe being a writer has weak spots. Flaws. I need more than words. Adore me.
the past. Master Bait is a collection of shorts based around the lovely submissive known as Kat Daughtry (curtsy) and the twisted tales of submitting it all for her Master. Submissive Sweetness is full of hot and hard with the bits of background showing the physical and emotional attraction of the submissive and her Master Sweetness. Several shorts are coming your way detailing the romantic and rope-tied tales of Kat and her Master thanks to 7DS Books. The Master Bait series is coming soon! Hold on tight!
