KUMIR is Published!

3 Mar

51jSrGtEGeL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-v3-big,TopRight,0,-55_SX278_SY278_PIkin4,BottomRight,1,22_AA300_SH20_OU01_If you’ve been following along with the serialized version of the book, I hope you’ve enjoyed it. But it’s such a pain trying to scroll and click through links, right?

Never fear: you can now order KUMIR both in Dead-Tree and Kindle formats. I will also have copies with me as I travel, which will be more expensive than the kindle version and less than the shipped paperbacks.

I will also add that the kindle edition is both lendable and DRM-free, because I believe that the story should get out there.


The New Erotic Thriller from Graydancer

“…a wholly unique and innovative voice…”-Michelle Belanger

The author of “The Sex Mages” puts a new face on an old story of magic, sex, and greed…

“This neighborhood is dying, and you don’t need the kind of trouble you’ll find here. That’s why you need to be on your way, Miss Woman-with-No-Name.”

She smiled, looking down at the table. “Oh, I don’t know about that. On one side you have a bunch of testosterone-filled old-school pornographers running their own little biker brothel.”

“And on the other side you have an over-the-hill porn starlet and her overcompensating control-freak husband using the wonders of the internet and the grace of God to pull in the cash.”

“I believe there’s some money to be made here for a girl like me…”

If Sons of Anarchy was crossed with Lost Girl, THIS is what it would look like.

Why should I buy your book when I can read it here free?

Good question. The answer is: if you don’t want to, don’t. I put it up here for free in the hopes you’d enjoy it; I can tell you that if you did send me money, I’d enjoy that, too. Your $2.99 (or $12.99) helps me put coffee in my body and transform it into that other substance, words. I’m already working on an anthology, a nonfiction vanilla book, and the fourth Sex Mages book. The only reason I don’t get them out faster is because I have to keep stopping to do other work for clients to put food on the table.

So, you want more words from me? Buy my books, and I’ll be able to put more time into it. It’s as simple as that.

Thanks for your support!

KUMIR, Chapter 26: Exeunt Ridens

15 Feb

courtesy My Lush Life via Flickr CC

Jane walked out of the compound into the flashing red lights of the ambulances and police car. Law enforcement had finally shown up and was dealing with the last of the wounded and unconscious Incubikers left by Patrick and Jason’s assault. She paused to take in the sight of wrecked bikes, unconscious and wounded bikers, and turned to Jason. In his military gear he blended in perfectly with the police and EMS personnel. He looked nothing like the calm barista she’d first met in a flannel shirt and apron. His face held the grim satisfaction of a veteran and he wore his military webbing and gear as if born to them.

“You guys did good,” she said, softly. “But it looks like we won the battle but lost the war. Level not achieved…”

Jason shrugged. “The Gods work in mysterious ways,” he said. “At least these guys are gone. And Tony and Kitten.” He looked across the street at the empty steel facade of Kitten’s Toy Shoppe. “As long as neither of them have the kumir, that’s at least some measure of security.” He paused, cleared his throat, and looked sideways at her. “Look – about what I said before. You need to keep your secrets, that’s fine. I think – I think it’s possible to be friends even if you don’t understand each other.” Jane just looked at him. “And besides…you’re good in a fight. We could use your help, maybe…” Jane’s stare finally unnerved him enough that he simply trailed off.

She held it for a second longer, then relaxed into a laughing smile. “Maybe what, Jason? Forge an alliance of sexual rebels, fighting against the evil empire of the repressed and nonconsensual?” She punched him in the shoulder, not hard but enough to shift him. “I don’t know about you, qadishi, but my people aren’t anywhere near that organized. Hell, that’s why they had to send me out here, and I didn’t even accomplish the goddamn mission.” She looked down the alley, and saw that her motorcycle still leaned, unobtrusively, against the wall of the café. “Eh. I fucking hate long goodbyes, Jason. I’m glad Patrick’s gone already.” She gave Patrick a hug suddenly, pressing her full body against him. “As for you, this is all your gonna get from me, so better enjoy it.”

Jason squeezed her back, hard, and for just that interval they were both back in the healing room, sharing the eternal now of the white orgasmic light

Then it was over. She felt a tear rolling down his cheek and into her hair. She ignored it and gave him a pat on his body armor as she pulled back.

courtesy My Lush Life via Flickr CCTurning, she caught a glimpse down the street of Theo’s boots laying dirty and scuffed on pristine white sheets, bound tight to the gurney as Jonesy shut the door to the ambulance. The speed-freak driver saw her and waved, happily. Jane started towards him, calling over her shoulder to Jason. “I’ll be over to the Café in a bit to get my things. I need to say goodbye to Jonesy.” Jason nodded, wiping his eyes unselfconsciously, but she was already halfway down the street. He watched her a moment longer, and turned towards the warm glow spilling from the shattered windows of the café.

Walking over to the ambulance, Jane smiled wearily at Jonesy. “I wouldn’t go too far,” she said, waving behind her towards the other injured Incubikers. “I suspect you’re going to be coming back here pretty soon.”

The ambulance driver ran a hand through the greasy locks on his head, pushing them out of his eyes for just a moment and Jane saw they were a brilliant blue. “S’ok,” he said merrily. “I like takin’ care of people.” He nodded towards the back of the ambulance. “That guy, he’s gonna be ok. Not gonna look so pretty, but his face still works. Mostly.” He shrugged. “Maybe Doc Jonesy’ll make it work better. Maybe.”

Jane looked sadly at the closed doors. “Well. That’ll be somethin’, then.”

Jonesy nodded. “Yeah. It’s better than poor Padre Innocente, that’s for sure. Nuthin‘ to do for him. He wasn’t even mostly dead.”

Jane couldn’t help but smile. “Nuthin’ to do but go through his pockets for spare change, then?”

He nodded happily and walked towards the front of the ambulance. Hand on the door handle, he looked at Jane, a crafty look trying to conquer the blissed-out expression he normally wore. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked her in a dramatic stage whisper.

Jane smiled and played along. “Sure!” she whispered back. “I promise, I won’t tell no one.”

Jonesy looked exaggeratedly to each side, checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned in. “The Padre?” He waited until Jane nodded, and then continued even more gravely. “He didn’t have no spare change.” His eyes were heavy with the solemnity of this revelation.

Jane nodded back, her expression grave. “I believe you, Jonesy.” She waited, but he didn’t seem to have anything else to add, so she squeezed his shoulder and turned away. “Take care,” she called over her shoulder, heading towards the café.

“Nope, no spare change at all. Just that pretty necklace.” Jonesy slammed the door of the ambulance, and Jane froze, just barely hearing his next words. “Sure does look pretty here on my mirror, though.”

Jane’s mouth opened, but whatever she said was drowned as the siren whooped to life and the ambulance drove off down St. Antoine’s, leaving her laughing in the chaotic flashing red of the night.


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奈加あきら・Akira Naka by Vincent GUILBERT

12 Feb


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KUMIR, Chapter 25: All Debts Paid

8 Feb


Jane whimpered, eyes wide, desperately trying to twist her neck and look at the man who held her. “Theo…” she rasped. “We were…good! You know we were. Don’t throw…us…away! Please!”

He laughed cruel and low into her ear. “You really think that was anything, slut? You were a distraction. I used you like I’d use a tissue to blow my nose.” He flexed his bicep and cut off her carotid again. The brothers laughed together as Jane felt the world graying out again. .

She coughed, and let out one last gasping plea. “I know…where…kumir…is-”

Her words cut off as Michael slapped her again. “Really, bitch?” he barked, but his voice sounded less confident in their anger. “Why would I believe anything you say? You’ve played us from the start.”

Jane moaned, a little dribble of spit dripping from her mouth to the carpet. “I just…wanna live.” She swallowed, and as Michael’s hand lifted, she winced. “I swear! I can get you Isabella’s necklace! It’s at Kitten’s…secret place…”

Michael’s hand paused mid-slap as he thought about it. A moment later he tapped Theo’s shoulder. He released Jane and she slumped to the floor, coughing through desperate breaths as she tried to recover. She could still hear shouts and crashes from below through the roaring of blood in her ears. Silently she wished Patrick and Jason luck in rescuing Alec. Her own diversionary tactics weren’t working quite as planned.

Michael’s boot hit her in the side, and she barely managed to roll with the impact and escape some broken ribs. “Talk, you poxy trollop, before I break your nose again.” he shouted. “What is Kitten’s secret place?”

Jane looked up at the two men, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Look, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Yeah, I thought I could play you and them off against each other. I seduced Kitten, I seduced Theo…” She looked over at him, and he spit at her, the gobbet landing on her cheek. Jane didn’t bother to wipe it off, just slumped lower to the floor. “He…you know your brother, he’s too strong, too loyal to you for me to really get to him. But Kitten wasn’t! She was going leave Tony, for me! We were going to take the kumir… going to-“

Michael kicked her again, but the blow was half-hearted as he calculated the possibility that she was actually being truthful. Finally he grimaced. “I don’t give a fuck what you sluts were going to do, I just want you to tell me where this goddamned kumir strast’i is!” He drew his foot back again.

“Headboard!” Jane blurted out before he could kick her again. “It’s hidden in her headboard. Left knob, pull it three times, then push down” she gasped. “It pops open on the other side.” She bowed her head to her hands, shoulders shaking. “It’s there, I swear. Please! Just don’t…use that drug on me. Not like that…again.” She looked up at Michael, eyes red and streaming tears. “I couldn’t take-” Her voice stopped as she saw his pitiless expression. She shifted her gaze. “Please, Theo – I can…you know it can be good between us…”

Michael backhanded her again, saying “Theo doesn’t need a cheating slut like you-”

“Michael.” Theo voice was quiet but it cut through his brother’s tirade and the older man paused. Theo gestured at Jane’s huddled body, her head in her hands as she sobbed. “She’s done. Let me go down and make sure the boys have taken care of that fucking moustachioed barista, and I’ll also check out the magic headboard.” He crouched down and looked at the crying woman like she was an insect he’d pinned to a board. “And Jane…” Her face came up, eyes puffy and wide with tears, cheek bruised from Michael’s slaps. She winced as Theo grabbed her jaw tight, lifting her face higher. He was quiet with menace. “You’re not going to lie, are you? Because you really do want to get on my good side. Just ask Ksenya. He,” He nodded towards his brother. “…doesn’t have one.” Michael laughed sharply, but Theo just held his gaze on Jane’s tearful eyes.

She nodded mutely, afraid to speak, her face the picture of abject surrender. Theo growled and brought his other hand around. Jane winced, expecting another slap, but instead Theo gently cupped the back of her head and drew her face up to his. There was nothing intimate about his kiss at first – it was simply an expression of his power over her. Jane closed her eyes, still half-expecting him to strike her, but as the kiss extended she relaxed against him. She seemed to find sanctuary in the way he held her head, inescapable. She opened her mouth further and moaned into his devouring kiss.

Michael grunted with disgust, turning away, and Theo broke off the kiss finally. He stood, grinning at his brother. “Told ya, bro, you catch more with honey. And when you’re done, it makes breaking ‘em all the sweeter.”

He turned to leave, and Jane called out to him with a suprisingly strong voice. “Hurry and get the necklace, Theo!” He paused at the door, looking back, smiled with a slightly puzzled look as she spoke. Jane’s tears were wiped away, and she smiled encouragingly at him. “Don’t stop for anything, but be sure to watch the grease out there!”

Theo’s smile grew wider, as if he’d just heard the best news in the world. He nodded vigorously to her and gave a thumbs up to his brother as he turned to leave. Michael suddenly realized something was wrong, and called out “Theo!” His voice was lost in the sound of his brother’s boots going down the stairs. As they receded the room fell silent but for the occasional distant crash of whatever struggle was still going on in the floors below them. The three women still huddled by the kitchen, looking confused and worried.

courtesy Kris Van De Sande via Flickr CCMichael slowly walked towards Jane. She didn’t move from her place on the floor, just watched calmly as he approached. Michael looked at the door where his brother had exited, then back at her. “I’ll be a sonuvabitch,” he said. “You just played him, didn’t you?”

Jane looked up at him with wide eyes, face still streaked with dried tears. She slowly nodded and opened one of her clenched fists. A vial of black liquid rested in her palm, the drug that she’d lifted from Theo’s shirt during their struggle.

Michael raised his fist to drive it into her face. Just then the sound of his brother’s bike starting up came through the broken window. The throaty roar of the pipes filled the street, revving fast, and Michael ran past the women to the window, shouting his brother’s name. Jane watched Michael’s face as the sound of the bike clutch popping into gear came through the room. Jane saw the man show the first genuine emotion she’d ever seen as he looked out the window.

Michael’s expression eyes were wide with shock and horror and Jane imagined what he was seeing. His brother accelerating down the street towards Tony’s building. Hurrying, as Jane had told him. Looking down to watch the grease on the street. As Jane had told him. She heard the sound of acceleration followed by a sudden scream and the torturous sound of metal crunching and tearing.

The sound of the crash echoed in the following silence. Michael’s mouth was open in a silent echo the of the scream as he stared out the window. He closed it, finally, whispering “Theo…”

Michael turned slowly from the window to look at Jane. She didn’t move until he moved , stalking towards her with slow and deliberate steps. She stood quickly, wincing as she favored her ribs. She’d not been faking that much, Michael’s kicks hurt. She took a balanced stance and prepared to defend herself.

Michael’s attack beat her down easily, striking with cruel precision that cut through her defenses with ease. Jane was fast and experienced in combat, but so was Michael. With an even match of experience his strength and Jane’s fatigue became the deciding factors. As they threw strikes, blocked, and moved around each other, they both knew that the fight was only prolonged by his sadism and her stubbornness.

Finally a combination of an upward block combined with a strike to her ribs staggered Jane long enough that Michael made the winning move. His arm twined around hers, locking the joint and putting her neck in reach of his hand which wrapped around it. His thumb pressed into the nerve plexus under her jaw and she craned her neck back, trying to move away. Her cervical vertebrae ached as he lifted her smaller form, the weight of her body adding to the torque on her arm and neck. Her other arm waved helplessly, trying to guard her open body but too tired and beaten to do more than ineffectually flop around. Her boots brushed the floor in a vain attempt to find secure footing.

Michael bared his teeth in a feral grin as he watched her struggle and opened his other hand. He held the vial, still half-full, where he’d picked it up from the floor as he’d torn through Jane’s defense. “That’s right, bitch,” he said, cruel satisfaction in his voice. “No Beecee, no little brother. Just me, and I’m not going to fucking kiss you or let you suck my cock.” He flipped the lid off with his thumb. “But believe me, cunt, you will  swallow.” He tightened his grip on her hair and as she gasped with pain he drained the vial into her mouth. Discarding it, he clapped her jaw shut as she struggled. “Now you’ll pay, you little – oof!”

Jane had twisted her body, driving her knee up into his solar plexus. There was a sharp crack as his xiphoid process broke off his sternum. Michael retched and gasped just as Jane pursed her lips and spat the drug into his face, lips pursed like she was playing a horn. The dark liquid aerosolized and Michael released her, coughing and spasming as he fell to his knees. She stood there over him, watching him slowly recover his breath. He wiped his eyes, and looked up at her. The anger was gone from his face.

“Stay there, Michael.” He nodded happily at her, then winced as the motion aggravated the small fractured bone in his belly. Jane slowly walked across the room and picked up her black stone knife. As she walked back towards Michael every step seemed to transform her body from the beaten victim to the dancer’s grace she was accustomed to. As she reached Michael her she gave a wide stretch with her arms, rotating her shoulders back. “Fucking method acting…” she muttered. “And Patrick thought I couldn’t play the innocent! Michael! You believed I was beaten, didn’t you?”

Michael’s expression was unfocused, as if struggling with some inner conflict. “Michael!” Jane repeated, sharply, then crooned to him. “It will make you feel better if you answer my questions. You’ll really enjoy that.”

His face cleared and he smiled. “Oh! Yes, Jane, I was sure I’d kicked the shit out of you.”

“Score one for you,” came Jason’s voice from the door, and Jane looked up. She smiled wearily at him.

“Did you get Alec?”

Jason nodded. “Patrick’s got him on the way to Isabella and Joey. They’re fine – we’re sending them to the middle of nowhere. There’s a Bakushi that will put them in the other half of his duplex and watch over them – literally.” He grinned. “They’ll be fine, as long as they learn to like shoveling snow.”

Jane smiled back. “Good deal. And you?”

Jason shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I thought you needed help. I just wanted to catch the end of the show.” He nodded towards Michael who knelt dazed on the floor. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

Jane sighed as she looked wearily at the beaten man. “Yeah. There’s just one thing left to do.” She went to stand in front of Michael. Kneeling, his head was level with her breasts. Jane put the point of her knife under his chin, lifting his face to her. A thin trickle of blood trailed down from the grizzled whiskers in a crimson trail down his neck, but he didn’t seem to notice. From the kitchen Jane could hear the Russian women muttering nervously to each other as they tried to understand why their abuser was so cowed by the petite blonde.

“Michael,” Jane said. “It will make you feel really good – really really happy – to answer this question for me.” Michael was still breathing ragged with pain, but his eyes shone with devotion as he hung on Jane’s every word. She took a breath, looking intently at him.

“Where is the kumir strast’i?”

Michael’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. His body trembled, and Jane had to move the knife to keep the man from slitting his own throat. An agonized gurgling came from his throat as he struggled “I don’t know!” he cried out, weeping uncontrollably, and fell to his side, sobbing in a fetal position.

Jane looked at the broken man on the floor and thought of all the things she could do to him. All the things she wanted to do to him. She thought of everything she should do to him, everything he’d done, everything he deserved.

Then she shook her head and sheathed her blade. She looked up Ksenya, Valya, and Nastya, now standing closer, unsure of what they saw.

Nu vot, devushki. Sdelai s nim kak khotite,” she said to them. Michael’s stopped sobbing, then, looking up at her with a strange angry helplessness, as if a part of him deep within raged against his lack of control. Jane hoped that was the case.

“I’m…theirs?” he asked, incredulously. “You’re giving me…to them?”

“Yer damn right,” she said, no trace of pity in her voice. “And Michael…” she crouched down, looking close into his face. “You’re going to absolutely hate that. I want you to feel miserable every minute of it. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” Michael nodded happily at her, mindless with devotion.

Jane turned away and started towards the door where Jason waited. Behind her one of the Russian women muttered something and ran back to the kitchen. Coming even with Jason, Jane winced as she heard it.

He cocked his head. “What did she say?”

“She said Podozhdi minutochku! Kofemolku chut’ ne zabyla! Mne eto nado…” Jane repeated. As they went down the stairs, she shook her head slowly. “She asked her friends to wait to start with him because she knew where the coffee grinder was.” Jane kept her face straight ahead. “She said they were going to need it.”

Jason shuddered and followed her down, almost – but not quite – feeling sorry for the man.

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KUMIR, Chapter 24: Diversionary Tactics

1 Feb

KUMIR chapter 24: Diversionary Tactics

Jane's Obsidian BladePatrick looked up at Jason as both men checked the fasteners on their body armor. “You know, I knew things would get rough, eventually. But this was not how I pictured it going down.”

Jason grunted noncommittally and slid a matte-black collapsible baton into one of his belt loops. He set the handle at an angle to give easy access and tapped it with satisfaction. “True ‘nuff. But we go with the flow of fate, my friend, and right now, it’s flowing towards Alec, not towards some magic mind-control necklace.”

“The kumir stras’ti is more than that.”

“Yes, I know.” Jason shrugged. ‘I’ve even seen it.”

Patrick paused in his equipment check. “A picture – wait, of Isabella? Wearing it?” Jason nodded blandly as he strapped a Sykes-Fairbain commando knife upside down on his chest harness. Patrick was stunned. “But…that means you’re worshipping her!”

“Yes,” Jason said matter-of-factly. He paused and gave Patrick a significant look. “We all worship in our own way.” Satisfied with his kit, he thumped his chest armor. “I know that what I do is what is best for her. Therefore it’s easy to do it.” He paused, a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s incredible, you know – the kumir stras’ti. Not just amber. There are other stones, clear like water from a glacier frozen in crystal. Smooth metal spheres woven with the bronze cord, twisting whorls that catch the eye and carry you…away. It has a milkstone, like a chip of comet fallen to earth suspended over the frozen amber…it glowed against her skin, shone with the essence of everything I’ve ever desired…” Jason’s voice had grown soft and distant. Patrick was gentle as he grasped the man’s arm to bring him back.

“You’ll always want her that way, won’t you, brother?”

Jason shook his head, running fingers over his moustache, smoothing it unconsciously. “I dunno. But I knew this guy Patrick a while back who took on a burden that would never be lifted.” He looked into his friends eyes. “He turned out alright.”

They smiled grimly with the familiarity of unhealable wounds. Then Patrick broke the gaze to look up the stairs. “Jane’s been up there a while.” They exchanged worried looks as they realized how unnaturally silent the street had been after Alec’s capture. “I wonder what kind of distraction she’s plan-“

There was a sudden crash came from the alley, the sound of glass breaking and falling to the street. Faint shouts came from the compound, fewer than before but sounding more panicked.

“That would be it,” Jason said. The two of them headed out the door to get their friend.

It felt good to be back in her leathers, Jane thought. Her brown leather chaps over worn gray denim and darker vest over a green chamois shirt gave her both the comfort of familiarity and the protection of armor. Laying rone along the power line, one leg dangling straight down and the other hooked behind for balance, she flexed her grip and looked down at the Incubiker compound, her her dark gloves protecting her from the hum of electricity. She frowned, eyes fierce and bright as she studied the side of the building. She was facing a temptation.

Thanks to a few swallows from a particular tonic recovered from her rucksack she felt a sharp and crisp feral energy. A long sheath at the small of her back held her only visible weapon. The time of tricks and devices was, for the most part, over, so Jane had tried to be subtle with her plan. She really had. A simple strategy: crawl along this power line to the roof of the compound and make her way inside, sowing mayhem and chaos on her way to finding the Doukas brothers – that is, the kumir strast’i. If she happened to meet up with the brothers, well, there were some debts that needed paying…but she was focused on the mission. On her simple plan.

OK, she admitted to herself. Maybe simple wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t really much of a plan at all when she thought about it.

On the other hand, it had more nuance and subtlety than most of her plans.

Now she was inching her way along an line that thrumming with electric current, only held at bay by her leathers. Her hand-over-hand journey high above the street had been absolutely silent, no bulky gear to get in her way or rattle, and the idea of climbing a power line was just crazy enough that no one seemed to be watching.

Most of the windows on the building were sealed tight with the security shutters that Alec hadn’t managed to short-circuit. Jane thought that she could see vague silhouettes moving in the light behind one, though, and the garbled sound of a conversation floated up through the night air. The words were unintelligible but Jane thought she could hear a definite Russian tone to the voice. There was an urgency to their tone that implied some dread and impending arrival. There was too much grime to see inside, but slender silhouettes cut the light as Jane watched.

Of course it was a trap. Jane was under no illusions as to that. The question was, did she want to spring it, or avoid it? Jane continued along the line for a few more feet, stopped, measured the angles with her eyes, and then inched backwards a foot. She lay prone on the wire breathing slowly with eyes closed for a moment. “Eris guide my chaotic way,” she whispered, adding “Mei absolutio” Then, with a smooth motion she rolled off the wire, holding the line with one hand while she drew her obsidian knife with the other and sliced through the metal and insulation in a single stroke.

The swing didn’t take her directly through the window, but she’d planned for that. She hit the wall of the compound feet-first, boots planted wide to absorb the impact. She flexed her knees and pushed away from the wall, letting the bounce carry her to the side. As she reached the outer swing of the arc away from the building she drew her feet together. The hard soles of her boots drove through the window pane with a crash and Jane gracefully arched her body through the frame, landing with a small crunch of shattered glass.

She straightened up and looked around. She had landed in the Doukas’ private kitchen. Expensive dark-metal pans hung from racks set into the ceiling, and a dark slab of a fridge took up almost half a wall, resembling a bank vault more than a home appliance. Jane smiled evilly at the two women who stood over a large granite counter bent over white lines of powder. They reacted slowly to her entrance, their expressions confused by the drugs as they tried to make sense of this woman-in-cowboy-clothes that had just broken through the window.

Jane recognized the women from the truck, and squinted as she tried to remember their names. Ksenya? Valya? Nastya? It annoyed her that she couldn’t remember. They both wore negligee that clung to their slight frames but barely covered their surgically enhanced breasts. Jane could see a bruise on one woman’s ass cheek, about the size of Theo’s hand. She snapped her fingers. “You were Theo’s partner during the duel! Ksenya, right?”

The brunette looked shocked, worriedly glancing at her companion, then back at Jane. “Da?” her voice quavered.

Jane’s expression turned cold along with her voice. “Michael?” she asked softly.

Both women looked at the doorway to the left, then guiltily back at Jane. Neither moved, frozen like rabbits caught in the shadow of a hawk.

Spazeba,” Jane whispered, and moved towards the doorway. Just as she reached it a large hand appeared around the frame, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her violently into the next room.

She was able to convert her fall into a smooth aikidoroll, coming back to her feet with her black knife held blade-reversed. She whirled to see Theo leaning casually against the doorframe.

His smile was amused, but his eyes were dead cold. “Cute blade,” he said, pushing off from the wall and sauntering towards her. “Get it out of a cereal box?”

Jane squinted at him, puzzled, and gave a little shrug. “I don’t know what that means,” she said, shifting her balance slightly on the balls of her feet, knees flexed.

“It means, in Australian terms, ‘thet’s nowt eh knaife’,” came Michael’s voice from behind her. Jane ducked instinctively feeling a whoosh in the air high above her head. She looked up to see Theo easily catch the handle of the K-Bar that Michael had lobbed high over her head. “Wound a little tight tonight, Ms. Jane?” he asked sardonically as Theo flipped the blade in his hand, testing the balance. Jane swore softly and breathed more deeply, spreading her awareness to take in the two brothers who had been waiting for her to take the bait.

Michael held an identical blade as his brother, the standard-issue Marine combat knife altered so the blade was a flat black that seemed to drink in the light. The two men circled Jane slowly, legs bent, feet silent. They moved like hyenas trying to decide the right moment to finish off a wounded gazelle on the savannah.

“My brother is easily distracted by hot asses, Ms. Jane,” Michael said, his voice laconic as if he were delivering a lecture. “But even he develops an immunity over time.” Jane shifted as the older brother spoke, trying to keep him in her peripheral vision as he circled. “Besides,” Michael continued, “considering what we had that sweet redheaded rugmuncher put you through, I don’t think you’ve got anything between your legs he’d want anyway.” He watched Jane’s expression for a reaction, but she simply watched him, calmly. Then he frowned and missed a step, squinting. “Didn’t I break your nose?”

Jane shifted again, making sure both brothers were within her field of view. She held her knife in a low guard position, ready to strike in any dirction. “Maybe you did, maybe you only thought you did.” Jane let mockery creep into her tone. “Kind of like you thought you got me, or that you got Isabella.” The three Russian women watched the predatory dance from the kitchen. They seemed fascinated by Jane’s defiance but unwilling to risk helping her. Jane didn’t blame them; the odds were not good. She flicked a glance back to Michael directly. “Or the Kumir Strast’i.”

She watched Michael’s face carefully as she said the words, but he gave no trace of recognition. His mouth did twitch, though, as a crashing sound came from the floor below them. Jane smiled as she heard more shouting and swearing by the Incubikers struggling for control of their compound. “Or like you think your boys can handle Alex.” She cocked her head slightly and smiled at the gray-haired man. “Frankly, Mr. Michael, I don’t think you have anywhere near as much as you think.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed and he straightened, lowering his knife. “OK. I’m officially tired of this bullshit,” he said. His eyes glanced over Jane’s left shoulder towards his brother. “Fuck this noise, Theo, quit dancing around. Take this bitch out.”

Jane turned to the left to meet Theo’s attack. As he hit her from the right she thought Stupid, stupid, such an obvious feint, they’re brothers, after all, should have known - and then she was caught. Theo gripped her knife hand, pressing in on the nerve juncture just over the thumb joint and forcing her fingers to loosen. The blade clattered to the floor. Her foot sent it spinning across the room as they struggled. Jane held the K-Bar away from her body with a joint lock on his arm, but that unfortunately tied up her own arms. She couldn’t risk any kicks for fear of losing her center of gravity. It came down to a losing battle of her leverage and skill against his strength and weight.

Jane shifted and spun inside of the circle of his arms, driving her hip up under his groin as she pulled his arm down to throw him to the floor.

It was a textbook throw, but unfortunately the textbook hadn’t covered petite blondes tossing large bikers. Jane’s small frame wasn’t enough to lift Theo’s center of gravity any higher than an inch or two. She ended up simply clutching at his shirt, hips shifting like a weird combat lap dance. Theo chuckled and wrapped her neck in the V of his arm, bicep and forearm pressing against her carotid arteries.

Jane’s vision started to tunnel into a gray blur. Her hands clenched Theo’s forearm. She gasped. “Theo! Please! Don’t!” Her voice was desperate and hoarse as she fought to stay conscious.

Theo stopped just before she went under, letting her body sag into the chokehold. Jane’s pulse pounded in her head as he relaxed just enough to keep her conscious. Jane’s vision was still hazy and she could feel the iron in Theo’s arm, ready to take her out at the slightest provocation. Dimly she could see the outline of a man in front of her. Michael? she wondered, just before he slapped her, left to right and then backhanded the other direction. His hand felt as if it would rip her head off.

Michael’s facade of self-control was finally gone. “Fucking cunt! I can’t believe you took out Beecee. He’s been with us since the beginning.” He slapped her again, then grabbed her short hair tight, wrenching her head back. “This time there’s no reason to stop, little whore,” he hissed into her face. “My brother and I are going to make sure you last a long time.” He bared his teeth in a cruel smile. “I’m sure those Russian bitches will appreciate the break. They don’t even know that we’re drugging them – they just wake up sore and tired. That’s because we’re merciful – to them.” Michael shook her head again, fist tight in her hair, and Jane moaned, her body helpless in Theo’s grip.

“You, baby, oh, you’re going to wake up mutilated, despairing, knowing exactly what we’ve done to you, and then we’ll just put you under again.” He laughed harshly. “You’ll be awake just long enough to wonder what part of your body will be cut off the next time you wake up.”

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Military Bondage Play in L.A.

14 Jan


I am bringing one of my favorite classes to L.A. for the first time, thanks to the Bordello of Decadence.

milstyleBondageBoot camp bondage, interrogation techniques, & more!

Military bondage play draws from both fictional and practical methods of bondage with a more martial theme. Samurai, the US Cavalry, native Americans, special forces, Batman & Star Trek: this class explores the fun of bondage role-play in a Military style. The class covers the physical forms of restraint and the reasoning behind them (including how to modify them for the safety and comfort of your “prisoner”). It also goes into the psychological aspects of military discipline, interrogation techniques, and especially the methods of securing and manipulating both the male & female body.

This is one of Graydancer’s most popular classes, and the Bordello of Decadence has agreed to make their space available after the class as well for practicing the skills you’ve learned!


Gray dancer’s Military Bondage Play Class
Wednesday, January 21, 2014, 8-11pm
$10/at the door
Bordello of Decadence
7831 Arroyo Dr, Rosemead, CA

RSVP at the Fetlife Event!

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KUMIR, Chapter 23: The Eidolon of Lust

27 Dec

Le Temps des Finances by Apolonis

Wondering what this is about? Read prior chapters!

When Jason finally felt like opening his eye – only one was available, the other pressed against Jane’s warm skin – he saw the line of needles still sticking in her back, like strange little cel-towers on a warm skin-toned landscape. They’d stopped glowing, the tiny filigreed wires spiraling back in to protect the gems now that the healing was done. Jason sat up, seeing Jane and Isabella lying with eyes closed, breathing easily. Down at the foot of the bed Patrick was sitting quietly, looking at the two women, his hands now folded reverently in his lap.

Reaching for the crown of Jane’s head, Jason carefully withdrew the needle, wiping it down with a surgical cleanser before placing them one by one in the inlaid box. After the third one Jane smiled and stirred, turning her head silently to watch Jason. Isabella still rested, eyes closed. Patrick began untying the ropes slowly so as to not disturb her. Both men moved with a careful ritualistic reverence, only stopping on occasion to caress the Jane, who gave soft, happy murmurs at their touch. As the last coil of rope unwound from her calf Jane carefully slid off to the side of her sleeping friend. Now that the magic had calmed, there was a strange, post-orgiastic awkwardness in the room.

“You’re more than a barista, aren’t you, Jason?” Jane asked softly. He didn’t answer. He turned and rummaged some more in the lacquered case at the foot of the bed. Jane watched to see if he would answer, finally sighing and looking over at Isabella. Her wrists and legs were marked with the impressions of the hemp ropes. Her body sprawled lush and relaxed, her mouth slightly-open with a soft snore. Continue reading 

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KUMIR, Chapter 22: Needles and Light

10 Dec

courtesy Jeannette P via Flickr CC

Jason returned carrying a small flat wooden box with dark curling patterns carved into it. Jane was too weak to actually convulse any more and her body simply shivered in waves that trembled through the ropes that bound her, wrists and ankles, to Isabella. The larger woman was breathing with the deep and easy rhythm of sleep, her face a classic aquiline portrait calm over the top of Jane’s matted hair. The hemp ropes that bound them were a dark crimson, the color of blood, and they pulled the women’s limbs out into an X on the futon. Isabella’s skin looked ruddy and almost luminous in the ambient light of the room, in stark contrast to the pallid tone of Jane’s body.

She was laying face down on Isabella, breath shallow and gasping. Her earlier brief moment of lucidity had been completely overcome by the shock of her ordeal. Blood still flowed from wounds in her nose, breast, and from between her legs, leaving scarlet trails across Isabella’s body and gradually staining the coverlet with dark red blood.

As Jason opened the needle case he glanced worriedly at Patrick. “I don’t think that bleeding is slowing down for any good reason.” Continue reading 

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Towards an Inclusive View of Rope Bondage

3 Dec

ropes provided by BastardRopes.com

Reposted from my Fetlife Writing of the same name.

Recently I read an excellent article about the author Ursula K. Leguin. She spoke of “five principal elements,” which must “work in one insoluble unitary movement” in order to produce great writing.


  • The patterns of the language — the sounds of words.
  • The patterns of syntax and grammar; the way the words and sentences connect themselves together; the ways their connections interconnect to form the larger units (paragraphs, sections, chapters); hence the movement of the work, its tempo, pace, gait, and shape in time.
  • The patterns of the images: what the words make us or let us see with the mind’s eye or sense imaginatively.
  • The patterns of the ideas: what the words and the narration of events make us understand, or use our understanding upon.
  • The patterns of the feelings: what the words and the narration, by using all the above means, make us experience emotionally or spiritually, in areas of our being not directly accessible to or expressible in words.

Since my thoughts tend towards the rope arts, I couldn’t help but see some parallels in what people talk about as being “kokoro”, “kinbaku”, or “really fucking awesome rope scene”, depending on the language you prefer. To me, the parallels went something like this: Continue reading 

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KUMIR: Chapter 21 – Enter the Qadish

18 Nov

KUMIR chapter 24: Diversionary Tactics

Jane snored softly, head in Isabella’s lap as the redhead calmly watched the goat eating. When the door clicked open Isabella looked up, still calm, only mildly curious, a soft smile on her face as a black-gloved hand edged around the opening. It was followed by a man in black fatigues and a military harness strapped over his broad chest. He wore a black bandana tight over his scalp and his face was smeared black with camo paint over and under his neatly trimmed beard. He crept into the room silently and efficiently, closing the door behind him. Putting an ear to the wood he listened for a moment, then glanced up at the cameras in the corners to verify their lights were out. He gave a grim nod and turned towards the two women.

He spoke into a small microphone strapped his shoulder. “Alec, this is Patrick. I’m in the room, video is confirmed disabled, I’m – holy shit!” His eyes widened as realized he was standing in a pool of blood. Beecee’s head was inches away from the edge of the man’s boot, eyes frozen wide with the shock of his unexpected death. The crimson pool was mottled with the white and blue of the biker’s intestines, spilling out of his large belly. The goat stood close over the grisly mound, and Patrick looked away, trying to ignore the happy muffled bleating of the goat as it continued to munch.

He looked at the women and swore again. Isabella looked up at him placidly, body smeared and crusted over with the dried remains of various body fluids. The wild tangle of her auburn hair looked muddy brown. Her eyes had deep circles of fatigue under them, but they still shone with the drug-induced devotion. She looked like a refugee from an 80’s punk band. Continue reading 

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