Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Intermission

It wasn't a movie. It wasn't slow and delicate with soft lighting and a full moon. It was the middle of the day on his lunch break and he slammed his body against me as soon as he stepped over the threshold. "Bed. Naked. Now."

Off I ran, tripping as I ripped out of my pants, left them in the hallway, my shirt on top of the dresser, my boxers flung across the room onto the TV. I fell backwards onto the bed just as he came in. He kneeled and lifted my legs by the knees, exposing my hole to the chill of the air conditioning. He flashed me a simple smile, then his face went down. Hot, humid breath washed over the tender skin. A warm, thick tongue pressed against my entrance, lapped at it, worked the muscles until I relaxed, opened up, let the warm, wet pressure slip inside. I bit down on my knuckle to try and keep from groaning. But it didn't work.

And when I groaned, he pressed even deeper, slicking the hole with spit. And, like always, he pulled away too soon. His tongue flicked against my balls, sending tiny fluttering sensations all the way up to my cockhead. I focused on them. Almost too much. I almost didn't notice his finger against my hole. It was rough, callused from working on cars. I squirmed lower, taking it deeper. I felt each knuckle pop into me, all the way down to base. He moved it inside me, warmth and pressure, massaging an ache I hadn't realized was there until he tried to address it. in and out, curling and twisting through folds of soft, sensitive flesh. There was no longer any point in trying to hold back my groans.

In with a second finger, stretching me open. I knew he didn't have time to go all the way, and I wondered. But this wasn't a book. I didn't spend my time worrying about the eventualities. It was the middle of the day and my man wanted me, and I wanted him to have his way with me. I wanted whatever he had to give me, and every bit of it.

I didn't get it. he slipped his fingers out and climbed on the bed, curled against me. His hard-on pressed the rough fabric of his pants against my bare flesh. He whispered warm words into my ear. "I have to leave. Don't get dressed. I want to think about you waiting while I'm at work."

It was just intermission.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Memory

The five of us sat around the table, dealing out cards, sipping drinks mixed way too strong. But we were young. Everyone does that when they're young. You wouldn't know it looking at me now, but I was a looker, once. So was he. Long shaggy hair the same brown as burnt cream, full lips, bright, jade colored eyes. He was unshaven that night, the first signs of scruff showing through on a sharp chin and hollow cheekbones. The long hours of the night had left his eyes rimmed red.

He laid his hand out on the table. "Unless you can beat a flush, you're fucked, boys."

I locked gazes with him and spread my cards out in front of me. I had absolutely nothing, but it made him flinch for half a second. When he looked, he grinned at me. "Nothing."

I nodded. "Complete shit."


He was the last to leave. I still remember it sometimes, when I look at the door. Living in the same house, the memories are inescapable. He had a sandwich bag of change that he won from us and a big doofy grin on his face. We'd been there for half an hour, him leaving while all the bugs in the neighborhood came in for the afterparty.

And then he was on me. I can't recall every detail, can't say how he led into it, or if he led into it. But I remembered him against me, his lithe frame and long limbs wrapping around me. Slender fingers worked under my waistband and down around my dick. He stroked up and down. It wasn't some silly romance story. It wasn't how I imagined anything ever happening. It was simply sex, and I fell into it. I clawed into his ass, feeling rough denim over taut muscle. Still he stroked me, up and down, restrained by the tightness of my jeans. I tasted his lips, his tongue, his cheeks. Stubble scratched down my jawline. I smelled the shampoo and the sweat in his hair as we moved. He thrust my back against the wall with a smack, and sill his hand worked.

I pushed him back, hardly able to breathe. I couldn’t come up with anything poetic or lovely or life-changing. "You know where the bedroom is."

"I do unless you moved it."

I nodded and let him lead me backward. I stumbled and ran into my own door, leaned against it and almost fell again when he pushed the door open. We collapsed onto the bed. He undid my jeans and released me. I couldn't help but sigh. I'd wanted it for so long, so many poker games and parties and summer swims, watching him in nothing but trunks or a Speedo or a dripping wet towel barely hanging on around his waist.

But this was better than any of that. Better than I ever could have come up with.

Monday, August 11, 2014

Ananse, Puck, and Coyote: Sexy Tricksters

Darlings, I have an idea. And it's not one that I found in the bottom of a wine bottle, this time. It makes me a little bit nervous as well, darlings, but I'm going to trust it.

I have a thing for tricksters. A big thing. A naughty thing. They're so sexually charged and unpredictable and... well, kind of slutty, to be honest. Maybe not every one of them, but enough to make it a general trait of the archetype. And we all know how much I love a good slut.

My idea? Novellas or novelettes based around tricksters. Ananse, the great spider. Maui, the creator of the Hawaiian Islands. Puck, the fair sprite of A Midsummer Night's Dream. All erotic, of course.

My question to you is this: who are your favorite tricksters? Who do you want to see writhing in orgiastic passion. let me know and who knows? They might end up in one of the books. Of course, you'll have to subscribe to stay abreast of it all.


Saturday, August 9, 2014

Fan Fiction: Good or Evil?

Darlings, darlings, darlings! I feel wonderful and reinvigorated. Wine for all! Wine and whiskey and chocolate and men! Well, maybe not men. I've left them all a bit exhausted. But wine and chocolate and whiskey, those I can provide.

If you don't know, I got my start in fan fiction. I know, I know, it's not the most socially acceptable way to go about things… but when have I ever been known to be socially acceptable?

A lot of people take issues with fan fiction, and I can see why. It's not all that marketable, it's not always original, and an awful lot of it ends up in the public eye unpolished. But I don't think at all that these are bad things, to be honest.

Not marketable: let's ignore Fifty Shades. We'll just let that one slide right under the radar. Yes, fan fiction isn't terribly marketable. Obviously, you can sometimes get into shared world or extended universe books, but it's very hard to work with those things.

But does everyone start out writing marketable fiction? Of course not. No one does. Why not fan fiction?

Not original: Let's look at this. Fan. Fiction. It's derivative by nature. That's the nature of the work. Yes, it can be original, in a sense, but there's always a tether to something else. Not to mention that there are only 36 plots in the whole world, no matter the origin of your characters of settings. Deal with it.

Not polished: I have one statement on this. It's the same statement I make on any and all self-published work: a lot of it is unpolished. But a lot of work that is submitted to a 'legitimate house' is also unpolished. We as the reading public simply didn't see it. While I'm a big supporter of editing prior to publication, the fact is that we are, in fact, seeing what would have, before the self-publishing revolution, never made it out. So it's not all that strange, really.

The point is that fan fiction is not inherently evil. Not at all. I might even begin writing it again. Who knows? The idea has been occurring to me lately. If you stick around and subscribe, you may just see something interesting coming out.


Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Tiny Tale Tuesday: Zero G

Music thrummed, echoing off the sleek walls. Bright, multicolored lights flashed to the beat. I hung out at the edge of the cylindrical room, watching as scantily clad men floated by. My fingers wrapped around a cold metal handle, keeping me in place. Everything smelled of sweat.

Zero G wasn't the first orbital night club to be launched, but it was one of the most successful. And, you know, the best gay crowd out of any of them. Every Tuesday and Sunday. Not a big bone to get thrown to us, but I was good with it. At least until we got an actual orbital gay bar.

There. Just above me. An open handhold at the top. I pushed off against the wall, headed through the crowd. The windows were up there. I didn't get to them every night, but I always tried. Tonight, I had one. Just a three by six window. But the stars. They were endless. Millions of them. Stars and planets, brightness and color twinkling out there beyond reach.

"Hey." A voice from behind me, cutting across the music. "They're something, aren't they?" The slightest hint of a lisp. A heat floated up next to me. I saw brown hair and pale skin out of the corner of my eye. I heard him sigh. His breath fogged the porthole. "There could be anything. As weird as it is on Earth, we just couldn't even fathom what's out there. Our little minds would blow up."

I looked over at him. Blue-green eyes, sharp eyebrows, a string of wooden beads with a cross around his neck and strung through a gauged ear piercing. He tongued one of the beads up into his mouth and bit it, flashing bright white teeth.

I shook my head. "Does that line actually work?"

He spat out the bead. "You tell me. Does it?"

"No." I pulled closer. What the hell? It wasn't outer space, but this view was damn nice, itself. "But you don't need to talk." I pressed my lips against his, tasting the remnants of white wine in his mouth. Sweet and cheap. Like a good man.

His hand wrapped around me, squeezed into my butt. His hair fell into my face, tickling, filling my nose with floral shampoo and sweat and cologne.

I released the bar holding me in place and we floated, supported only by each other as we drifted around the club. My pants tightened. I ground against him, felt his hardness against my own. His hand pulled me even closer to him. His heart beat against my bare chest, skin to skin, warm to warm.

He pulled away, but stayed so close I couldn't properly focus. His cross pendant rested against the center of my chest. Each word washed humid breath across my skin. "Do you want to go find some privacy?

"Does that line ever work?"

"You bet your ass."

He won that bet.

Monday, August 4, 2014

News: Street Magic


I have some wonderful news for you all! I have a new novella coming out. It's brand new news. I only just found out this week, and I couldn’t wait any longer to share with you! Street Magic is officially going to be published by Storm Moon Press. Now, I don't have any release date or cover, but it's happening. Huzzah! I drank champagne all day yesterday to celebrate. Well, not necessarily to celebrate, but I certainly did drink champagne. Go out and buy yourself some. You deserve it, because without you, I would be nothing.

If you want to keep getting updates on the status of Street Magic, subscribe. I'll keep you up to date on the process.


Saturday, August 2, 2014

Who's Your Favorite Sherlock? Sherlock's Scandal by Suz deMello

Hello, darlings, and welcome. For once, I'm going to step down and let someone else do the talking. A shocker, I know, darlings, but just grab some wine and have a seat. I promise it will be enjoyable.

Who doesn’t love Sherlock Holmes? Since the publication of the first Holmes story, A Study in Scarlet (1887) the tall, hawk-nosed detective with the caped greatcoat, brilliant mind, and a taste for opera has never lost popularity. Almost as soon as film was invented, Holmes hit the screen (Sherlock Holmes Baffled, 1900) and he’s never left. According to Wikipedia, the Guinness World Records has consistently listed Sherlock Holmes as the "most portrayed movie character" with more than 70 actors playing the part in over 200 films.

When I was young the most famous Holmes was Basil Rathbone, a portrayal I never particularly cared for. He seemed overly arrogant and pompous.  To me, the best Holmes was Jeremy Brett in the beautifully produced and acted Granada Television series (1984-94).

Robert Downey Jr. plays Holmes as scruffy and antisocial, while Benedict Cumberbatch’s modern day Sherlock is edgy, tech-savvy, and self-aware, describing himself as “a high functioning sociopath” (with a touch as Asperger’s I believe).

So Sherlock as a character has shown himself to be mutable; he can change with the times.
Who’s your favorite Sherlock? Why?

In my version, Sherlock has an active sex life, but a bored Sherlock is a dangerous Sherlock. His twin vices of cocaine and sex could prove his undoing, until he meets his match in elusive, enigmatic Irene Adler. Hiding her heart, Irene deserts Sherlock in the midst of their affair. He schemes to win her back, but the lady won’t come easily to hand. Instead, she forces him to compete for honor, glory and  love.

Here’s an excerpt from Sherlock’s Scandal:

We banged against each other hard, wildly, with no rhythm, but frantically, mindless animals seeking completion. My breath came in grunts and pants, and Sherlock’s chest heaved against me as I jerked and bucked. We slid against each other, slippery with sweat before he grabbed my wrists and pinned them high against the headboard. He began to ride me in earnest, with a steadiness that drew me into his rhythm. When we were moving in tandem he released my wrists and dropped his head to kiss my mouth, thrusting his tongue inside when his rod reached deep.

He reached for my legs, drawing them high and setting my ankles on his shoulders before slapping my ass-cheek in cadence with his thrusts. I tore my lips away from his and gasped, “Sherlock!”

He laughed. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, but—“

“But what?” He pulled out of me and flipped me over onto my belly, spanking me again on my available bum.

“But…” I knew that the English had a predilection for spanking their women. In fact, caning was known as the English vice, but I had never before encountered it, and I was not sure I wanted to.

Like what you read? Get it here:

About me:

Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written seventeen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s held the positions of managing editor and senior editor, working for such firms Total-E-Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press. She also takes private clients.

Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.

A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.

find Suzie’s books here: