New Release: The Fencing Master #mmromance #serial #erotic

Announcing the Release of 

The Fencing Master 

A Rake in London #6

A Regency M/M Serial
Being A Recounting of the Amorous Adventures of Baron Stephenson and His Valet

  The Fencing Master

In the wake of a few rather unsettling days, Gavin, Baron Stephenson is in dire need of distraction. Despite Gavin's refusal to see him, the hapless but handsome Bernard St. John sends round daily missives and tawdry gifts. His heretofore perfect secretary has begun to act like a bedlamite, flushing and stammering and refusing to meet Gavin’s eyes.

That part Gavin can reason out for himself. Clearly, Marcus seduced the fellow and the bloody idiot was embarrassed.

Fortunately for the dashing Baron, an émigré from France has established a new fencing salon in town.   

Unfortunately for the fencing master, neither Marcus nor Gavin are in the mood to forgive trespasses.


The lesson had been all that he hoped. Guillaume’s speed and agility forced Gavin to keep his mind on the activity and away from the distractions that had caused his restlessness. He’d been disappointed, especially after seeing the blood flecking the duke’s shirt, to discover that the fencing master refused to teach his “secret method” to anyone until after a few lessons.
Apparently the Duke had so impressed the master with his skill and control that he’d been made an exception on his second visit.
Gavin wasn’t certain he cared enough to make a second visit, let alone three, four, or however many it took for Guillaume to judge his abilities and style.
For today, he was pleasantly exhausted from the strenuous effort, his limbs sweetly liquid, and his mind at peace. That was enough. He entered the dressing room and found it deserted. His attire had been laid out, his cases stood at the ready to receive his equipment.
“Damn you, Marcus.” In all the thrill of the exercise, he’d managed to forget that he’d thoroughly roused his valet’s ire before entering the fencing salon. Resigned, he placed his foil in its case before stripping off his shirt.
A commotion of some sort drew his attention to the hallway, and he considered stepping out shirtless to see what had occurred, when the door to the dressing room banged open and Marcus stalked inside, one big hand wrapped around the French fencing master’s neck, apparently squeezing quite fiercely if the fellow’s complexion was anything to judge by.
Marcus kicked the door shut behind them and shook the Frenchman like one would a badly behaved puppy. “And see, my lord? See what I find?”
Gavin paused with his hands at the waist of his fencing breeches. He quirked a brow, humor suddenly restored. “Ah…it would seem you’ve found a fencing master.” He smiled, a practiced expression that he intended to convey a bit of cynicism, a touch of ennui, and a lot of mystery.
“A peeper. That’s what I’ve found.” Marcus threw the stoic-faced Frenchman forward, and the man stumbled into the center of the room, coming to a halt before he collided with Gavin, much to Gavin’s disappointment. 

Other Titles in This Series: 

# 1   The Aristocrat & His Servant
Gavin, Baron Stephenson is an aristocrat accustomed to taking his pleasures where he will, but he always comes home to his oldest friend, his dearest lover, his servant Marcus.
WARNING: The Aristocrat & His Servant is a 5,500-word erotic story of lovers indulging in light-hearted banter and little afternoon frolic. This is Book One in a Series recounting the sensual adventures of Baron Stephenson and his lover, Marcus Jennings.

#2   A Debt of Honor: Collected
Having won a sum of money at the gambling tables, Gavin, Baron Stephenson, is anxious to collect on the debt. He suspects that Bernard St. John hasn’t the funds to pay, and intends to offer the man a method of settling up that he hopes will satisfy them both.
WARNING: This 5,000 word short story, the second in a series detailing the amorous adventurous of a Rake of the London aristocracy, contains a touch of dishonor, a smattering of blackmail, a healthy dose of homoerotica, and a not so innocent victim.

#3   A Visit to His Tailor
Having triumphed with his blackmail attempt, Gavin rejoins his beloved manservant to recount his adventure only to find that the man is intent on a sartorial make-over. The trip to the tailor is just the start of an all new erotic adventure for the lovers.
WARNING: This Regency era short story contains homoerotic sex acts, sounding, voyeurism and just a touch of yearning for a different world.

#4   An Engagement at the Theater
Having resolved his wardrobe deficiencies to his valet's satisfaction, Gavin leaves Marcus to sort out the ways and means to fulfill the desire their spying in the tailor shop has aroused, while he re-engages with his recent conquest, the not so innocent Bernard.
WARNING: This 4800 word story is the fourth in a series of Regency era m/m erotic shorts detailing the amorous adventures Baron Gavin Stephenson and his friends. It contains scenes of consensual homo-erotic sex, including anal intercourse in a public venue.

 #5   Servant at Play
The morning after Gavin, Baron Stephenson, returns from his evening at the theater, troubled and unusually reticent, his valet and lover, Marcus, decides to let sleeping lords lie abed while he pursues other sport.
Nicodemus Martins, the enticing but apparently oblivious secretary is arriving to deal with his master's business affairs, and despite the man's consistent refusal to recognize his flirtations, Marcus is determined to press his suit and brook no resistance to his seduction.
WARNING: This tale of regency m/m seduction contains dubious consent, a prissy secretary, and a hint of trouble to come


Story Orgy Presents: Like A Wolf Part Ten #mmromance #storyorgy

Welcome back and good morning all! 
Today is predicted to be absolutely gorgeous here in the countryside, and that means only one thing. It's going to be real hard to stay in this chair and focused on getting the work done that needs to be done today!  

Like A Wolf

A Little Red Riding Hood Story In Which the Wolf Must Choose Between Innocent Red, and the Seductively Skilled Hunter He’s Been Toying With For Years

Chapter Ten
He opened the book to the folded page…

Darkness glinted behind the diner windows, above the checkered curtains on their brass rods. Somewhere out in the night, a horn honked, a lonely call for company that went unanswered in the stillness. The sentiment echoed in Robbie’s heart, just as empty as the street beyond the locked door.
The closed sign had been flipped over hours earlier. The rest of his crew had long since departed. Robert lingered, obsessing over things he couldn’t change, reluctant to go home, unable to knock on his grandmere’s door a second time this week.
So he’d spent the hours doing what he always did when life didn’t measure up.  He opened the cookbook to the folded page and measured flour and sugar and spices, cups of whole berries and crisp crescent slices of apple. He rolled crusts to perfect thinness, and he baked. He filled the emptiness with pie. Sweet, tart, delicious, heart-warming.
Sixteen pies, golden crusted, steaming hot, cooled on the counter. The air was ripe with the scents of cinnamon and sweet, juicy fruit.
Cherry, blackberry, blueberry, apple… And still his mouth was dry and tension knotted his stomach.
There’s no such thing as too much pie. His inner fat kid…the same kid who held on to that fear and resentment of gym class…wasn’t interested in eating those pies.
All Robert could think about was the plates Manny Dyer had sent back. All that food he’d ordered, and every single plate had come back to the kitchen nearly full. A bite or two of each item, that was the most he’d eaten.
It wasbar the moment he’d encountered Hank’s lover in the hallwaythe most demoralizing moment of his life.
He’d always known he wasn’t handsome, or athletic, or a great conversationalist. Average Joe, if Joe weighed a few pounds more than he should, that was Robert Redding. But he’d somehow always thought he’d had this one talent…he could cook like nobody’s business.
Except now, maybe he couldn’t. If a foodie like Manny Dyer couldn’t choke down more than a few bites of anything Robbie had prepared…
His mind shied away… Brownies. Not everyone was a pie person, strange as that might seem. Seizing on the distraction, he grabbed a can of cocoa powder from under the counter.
A rap on the glass door drew his attention. Ordinarily he’d have ignored it. It was par for the course at most restaurants. If someone saw people inside, the closed sign might as well not exist. Tonight, it was some drunk’s lucky day though. He was so desperately in need of distraction, Robert turned to the door.
His eyes widened. “Ruby?” Setting the cocoa powder down he skirted the counter to open the door.
Ruby grabbed his arm with a tired smile. “Hey, I was hoping I’d find you still here.”                               She followed him into the dining room and made a beeline straight for the counter.
“I’m so sorry.” He apologized, leading her to a stool. 
“Sorry?” Ruby dropped her purse on the countertop and a briefcase on the floor. with a shrug. “What for? I’m just so glad you’re still here. It’s been a hell of a day. God save me from celebrity businessmen. Is that apple pie I smell? Is there coffee?”
On autopilot, wondering if it was unethical to ask about Manny Dyer’s response to his food, he cut a wedge of apple pie, and poured a cup of coffee. “I guess…I’m apologizing for not cooking well enough for your friend.”
He passed her the plate and cup and retrieved a silver setting and basket of sweeteners.
“Don’t be silly.” She sounded so tired, world weary, and he was pulled from his own self-absorbed pity to look at Ruby more closely. “He loved it.”
“People who love my food do not leave mounds of it on the plates. If they can’t finish it, they ask for doggie bags.” Robert hitched himself up onto the stool next to hers and shook his head. “Don’t be nice to me. He barely ate a few bites of all that stuff he ordered. It’s okay. Not everyone likes simple food. I’m good with that.” And he realized that he was. He liked comfortable, homey recipes, and damned if he was going to let some stuck up restaurant critic slash foodie businessman steal his self-confidence.
Or some moody, intense, dangerous gourmet…
Ruby dug into the pie and moaned quietly as she chewed the first bite.
Pride welled inside Robert again, and he felt his world…which he’d admit had been off kilter since Hank Wolf entered it, tilt back to its proper, customary axis. He smiled and watched Ruby eat. Who cared what Manny Dyer thought? That appreciative moan and greedy gleam in Ruby’s eyes…that was what Robert cooked for.
“No, really. He raved about it. It was just that we’d already had dinner.” Her eyes widened, lips parted on a gasp. “Robbie?”
Immediately he jumped from the stool. “What?” His attention went to the pie, then followed her hand as she dropped the fork and reached for her stomach.
“I’m … I think I need to go to the hospital. I…” She fumbled off the stool, reaching for her bag. “I need to call Bree.”
“The baby?” He grabbed her elbow, then dropped it, bent to pick up the briefcase. “What do I…” Although he knew it was futile, Robert glanced frantically around for someone, anyone who might be able to deal with this better than he could. The empty restaurant yielded no capable prospects. “What do I do?”
Ruby laughed, a strained sound at best. “You? Nothing. I need to call and have Bree meet me at the hospital. She’s my birthing coach.” She winced and clutched at his arm.
Alarmed, Robbie caught her around the waist, trying to lend support. “I don’t think you can drive, Ruby. Here.” He handed her the briefcase and released her. “Wait here. Let me get my keys and lock the back door. I’ll take you.”
“Would you?” She peered up at him through teary lashes. “I hate to impose, but…”
“Absolutely, I would.” He raced to the back room, locking the door first, then snatching his keys and wallet from his office. He reached the dining room less than a minute after leaving it, to find Ruby on her cell phone, stooped over the counter, speaking in a low, intense voice.
She stood quickly, wincing again. “Bree, my ride is leaving now. Tell your ogre of a boss you have to go. I’m not having this baby without you.”


The moon hung, ripe and glowing, nearly full, perfectly centered in a patch of sky between the telephone poles at the end of the highway. Those men who favored fantasy might believe they could drive right onto it, park and look back at the earth in their rear view mirror.  For just a second, his foot pressed harder on the accelerator, before he remembered that Hank Wolf wasn’t a believer in fantasy…not anymore. Nor did he want a speeding ticket. Practical and dangerous went hand in hand.
Danger in dining. The first reviewer to use the term had tickled his fancy, and he’d appropriated the phrase on his business cards and advertising. The idea that not knowing what you were going to be served was dangerous and amusing… Because of course, Hank always knew.
He knew what he was serving, and how it was to be eaten, he was in control of the whole experience for everyone who chose to dine with him.
In control, of himself, his food, his life. And that’s the way he liked it. If eating at Hungry was dangerous, then Hank was the master of that danger.
The ink black pavement slipped away under the wheels of his truck, Hank tapped relentlessly on the steering wheel, unable to contain the wave of energy that sharpened his senses and quickened his breath. Miles of road passed under him before he realized he didn’t really know where he was going, just that since he’d passed his own turn-off he apparently wasn’t going home.
It should have bothered him the moment he recognized it, that sense that he wasn’t, in reality, in control at this precise moment. After all, he’d left the restaurant after locking up with every intention of going home and tumbling into his own bed, hadn’t he?
Excitement hummed through his veins. He felt giddy, maybe drunk described it better, since he’d never been giddy in his life. Manny Dyer had eaten his food. He’d cooked for a culinary icon. A legend had dined in his restaurant, sat in his dining room, tasted his wares.
A broad smile stretched his lips, and since there was no one to see, he let it.
Despite the laws against it, Hank grabbed his phone and called someone, and knew that this was what he’d wanted to do all along.
He’d wanted an excuse to call for days now.
Someone he had no business calling in the darkest hours of the night.
Except someone answered the phone, and the excitement took over. “Red…you’ll never guess. The most amazing thing happened in the restaurant tonight.”
“Oh… Amazing must be the theme of the night.”
Red’s voice was strange, hushed and sort of filled with a wonder…a youthful if somewhat tamed exuberance. His words, full of emotion seemed too big for the whisper that conveyed them.
“You too?” Hank tilted his head to the side to hold the phone in place while he pushed the button to let the window slide down. Cool night air washed over his skin, raising a trail of prickling goose bumps. A core of calm eradicated the heavy darkness in his stomach that had stuck there since that day outside the lunch basket two weeks earlier when Red’s chocolate chip cookies had landed on the sidewalk at his feet, a crumbled mess of comfort and love rejected. Like thick sweet cream poured into strong black coffee, Hank recognized an irreversible change, and he welcomed it. “Hey… Can I come over and we can talk about it?”
Since his unsatisfactory conversation with Hunter days earlier, he’d been well aware that he really wanted to talk to Red, certain that Red would understand his excitement and pleasure over a certain diner in his establishment. The fact that he’d left things between them…broken…was awkward, but Hank knew now how he wanted things to be, and he had to believe that Red would be willing to listen.
“Actually, I’m not home.”
A hundred reasons for the hushed voice flitted through Hank’s mind in the moment it took him to brake at a red light. The cream curdled, the excitement faded. Because the only reason that stuck…the one that made the most sense? Was that Red was whispering because he wasn’t alone.
An image of Red, auburn hair gleaming in the moon’s bright light, scattered on some Lothario’s pillows, pale skin like the aforementioned cream in the darkness, naked and sated gazing at the moon through the window and dreaming of romance and happily ever after… While the vile seducer, the man himself…a predator, dark and undeserving, an evil user of young men, a villain who didn’t deserve the innocence and joy that Red carried around with him…snored in the background.
The image unfurled in his brain and refused to be dismissed. Hank’s grip tightened painfully on the steering wheel. “Where are you?” Hair prickled on his arms. A growl rumbled low in his throat. Words he’d never meant to say spewed into the night, uncontrolled, sharp, dangerous. “Who is he? Who are you with?”
Soft laughter brushed his senses, a response so wrong that Hank forgot that green meant go and stayed, as the light before him changed.
Finally, Red stopped laughing, and his voice came louder, no longer a whisper. “I’m at the hospital, and tonight…Hank…tonight I fell in love for real.”
“Oh.” His mind and heart glossed over the first part…and latched on to the second. In love for real. The pain was so unexpected, so vicious, it exploded outward from his stomach to his lungs, burning into his nose and searing his eyes. The green light in front of him wavered, turned amber, ran like a Dali painting. “That’s…good.”
What had he expected? That Red would linger and waste away in the background of life because Hank hadn’t been ready to admit that he wanted what Red offered? Wanted love and home and comfort?
Had he really expected that the love he’d known Red was starting to feel would be a forever kind of thing that he could set aside and pick up at will?
Had he really intended to treat Red like Hunter had treated him all those years?
“You had it right the first time. It’s amazing.”
With a shaking hand, Hank brushed warm raindrops from his cheeks. “I’m happy for you.” And he really was making progress, since he recognized that immediately as a lie. One day it would be true, so maybe it was more a prophecy than a lie. “Listen,” his instincts for self-preservation, so recently set aside, came to his rescue. “It’s late, I’ve got to do the market run in the morning. I’m going to let you go now.”
He disregarded the color of the light, and flipped a u-ey there in the intersection. Home wasn’t much…being empty and dark, and all, but it was all he had at the moment.
“I thought you wanted to meet and talk? We could go out to the truck stop, they’re open twenty-four hours and the coffee isn’t so bad. We have amazing news to share.”
Hank didn’t think he could stand to hear the details about Red’s amazing new man, and suddenly it didn’t matter that Manny Dyer had liked his food, gotten his concept. “I’m tired.” He offered up the lame excuse, realizing as he did so that it was true. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“Stop by the diner after you do your shopping, and I’ll make you lunch.” Red offered. “We can talk then.”
“I…good bye, Red.” Disconnecting took a split second, letting go of the phone, letting go of Red…that might take longer.


If you enjoyed my post, click on over to the rest of the Orgiasts and read more! 


Meet Syd and Max, Save 50% #storyorgy #mmromance

The Jealous Guy

A Story Orgy Single

50% off at Select Retailers

The Jealous Guy

"Welcome to Parsnip and Thyme. How many?" A cheerful, perky voice grated over nerves frazzled by pouring over numbers that didn't add up no matter how many times he tried. Sydney Huber, vice president in charge of operations at Carbondale Union, refocused his attention from the recalcitrant numbers to the speaker. A cute young girl in a blue checked dress a la Dorothy of Oz stood at the hostess stand, practically bouncing in place with enthusiasm. She seemed an odd choice for a place he'd always considered tranquil and exclusive. She belonged, he thought nastily, at a TGI Friday's or an Applebee's, where she could foist beer and sickly sweet margaritas on French fry munching, hamburger gobbling twentysomethings and college students.
Sydney frowned at the bubbly blonde. "Just me. The same as yesterday and the day before and every day for the last six months." He paused to survey the room, scarcely recognizing the peaceful café where he'd been eating his lunches for the last six months, seeking the reason for his lunchtime habit. Somehow, he had the strange idea that if he could just set eyes on Max, some magic button would reset and he'd feel right again, be able to cope.
Instead, waiters in green polo shirts, black jeans, and small white aprons darted about with trays of food, pots of coffee, and pitchers of juice. Tall, short, thin, muscular, light-haired, dark-haired, at least four of them, but none the golden-haired, golden-skinned beauty he'd come to see.
Somewhere in the elegant little restaurant a baby was crying, and an anxious mother crooned and begged for the baby to calm down, further disrupting his much needed peace. Voices rose and fell all around, dishes clinked and clattered. There might be less noise at a McDonald's. Sydney scowled. So much for using his lunch hour to recover his equilibrium. His ears were still ringing from his boss's strident demands for instant answers, the sobs and protestations of the tellers who had no idea what had happened, and his own bewildered inability to account for a missing deposit of some twenty thousand dollars.
The dry-erase board with the daily specials boasted of cream of avocado soup and sweet potato sandwiches and a variety of other vegetarian delights. Someone, most likely the bubbly little hostess, had drawn hearts over all the i's and made smiley faces inside all the o's. It looked ridiculous.
The whole world had discovered his favorite little vegetarian café, and while normally Sydney Huber would be pleased for the owner, a lean string bean of a man named Alisdair, today he was irritated beyond measure. It was the final straw on a day that had gone from bad to worse.
"Oh. Yes. Would you like to sit at the counter since it's just you?" Her smile grew, white teeth gleaming, painted lips stretched wide. Her head tilted inquisitively to the side.
"No. I would like to sit in Max's section, as usual." He glanced around the room, as if saying his name would conjure the man.
"I'm afraid Max's section is full. We're very busy today. I'm sorry." She held the menu to her chest and jerked her pointed little chin toward the counter. "There are several single seats at the counter." Three bar chairs were empty there, as she had said, but a good dozen people were packed in at the space, sitting practically elbow to elbow. The older woman who usually worked the counter had been replaced by another young girl, this one dark-haired and pale-skinned. If he sat there, he wouldn't even be able to catch a glimpse of Max in the background, the entire restaurant would be at his back.
"No, Barbie. I'll wait for a table to open up in Max's section." Fuck. Hopefully that would be soon as he didn't have time for an extended lunch today, not with his superior breathing down his neck for the teller audits.
"My name is not Barbie." A petulant tone replaced the bubbly goodwill in the blonde's voice. The smile disappeared and the blue eyes narrowed slightly. The thin blonde pointed to her name tag. "I’m Kate."
He sneered at her, curling his lip in derision. "I'm not paid to remember your name, but you're paid for customer service. What kind of hostess doesn't remember the preferences of a customer who eats in their restaurant daily?"
A familiar tanned hand reached across Sydney and plucked the plastic-coated menu from Kate. "One who just started yesterday?" A frisson of awareness prickled its way across Sydney's skin, weaving a trail of heat and butterflies from the point of contact to his stomach and groin. His mind leapt for the distraction, his body yearned for more contact.
A blush heated his cheeks as he realized Max had overheard him being snotty to the hostess, who was beaming worshipfully at his favorite waiter, hell, his favorite person. "Thank you so much, Max. I tried to tell him your section was full."
"It's all right, Kate. I have a table reserved for you, Mr. Huber, right this way." Sydney nodded curtly, ashamed of the way he'd acted.
"I…" He began to apologize, but Max was moving off across the crowded restaurant at a fast clip, dodging tables, chairs, and servers deftly. Sydney closed his mouth with a snap and concentrated on following that sweet ass, clad in tight black denim, framed by the sides of a short white broadcloth apron. "Ahh." He loosened his suddenly too tight necktie and unbuttoned the top button of his collar. He could only hope that no one noticed the swelling in his groin or the direction of his gaze as he was incapable of looking away despite the predictable effect.
Max stopped at a tiny glass and wrought iron table in the corner, where Sydney would have a view of the entire café while he ate. The table had been set up with one place setting and a simple white carnation in a glass vase. Sydney smiled, looking directly into Max's green eyes, relaxing. It was just the way he liked it. "Thank you, Max."
He slipped into the seat and glanced at the menu in Max's hands. "I don't…"
"I know. You want a grilled Havarti and tomato sandwich, a bowl of creamy tomato soup, and a glass of ice water with a wedge of lemon."
"Yes, exactly." He smiled, pleased that Max knew him so well. "Thank you."
Instead of writing down the order and going off to call it, Max stood beside the table, head tipped to the side so that a long lock of fine blond hair that had apparently escaped its ponytail fell forward. "Is something wrong, Mr. Huber?"
"Wrong? Why do you ask?" Nothing wrong at all that a decent lunch and the opportunity to stare at his crush wouldn't cure. He took advantage of the opportunity to study Max's green eyes and high cheekbones, resisted the strange need to pour out his woes, the boss who hated him, the tellers who looked to him to save their jobs, the tension of being responsible for figuring out which of the young men and women had misplaced the deposit, of determining whether one of the people he had hired, had trusted, was a thief or an idiot. Instead, he said, "Call me Syd, Max. I've been coming here a long time, I think we can skip the Mr. Hubers."
Soft pink lips parted, a tongue slicked over them, and Sydney shifted, letting his legs fall apart, giving himself more room. Mesmerized, he followed the path of that tongue as it swept across the lips he wanted to taste, then disappeared back inside the mouth he wanted to explore.
"Okay. You were pretty…short with Kate, Syd. That's not like you."
He forced himself to look away from Max's mouth and meet his gaze. A soft concern lit the green eyes, a faint frown marred the usually clear brow.
"It's not?" Sydney frowned. His lips twitched as he recalled his secretary creeping about with a solemn expression, the way the clerks and tellers ducked to the side as he approached. "I…"
"I always enjoy waiting on you because you're so pleasant." The young man persevered, "You've always got a smile for me and…" Max's voice trailed off and he shrugged. "I’m sorry. It's none of my business, I was just worried. I'll put your order in." He stepped backward and turned as though to leave.
And Sydney found a courage he'd been looking for for the last six months. "Wait."

Find out more of Max and Syd's story next weekend!
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Can't get enough Bad Boyfriends? 

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Be Yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955