Monday, 23 February 2015

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Cytheria - Dove, diplomat, negotiator...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

So just who is Cytheria, the mysterious alien empath from the planet Turacoena?

Here's a snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -

Diplomatic Negotiator Cytheria stepped from the shower and looked around for her dress uniform. For a moment she stood, naked and barefoot, and let her hair fall down from the towel she'd wrapped around it, enjoying the luxury of feeling its wet caress drape her damp skin. She pulled the towel over her hair, rubbing the ends dry, massaging her head as she stretched her neck and shoulders. She'd not used the auto-dry function of the sonic shower, preferring the tactile sensation of the towel, soft and warm on her smooth skin and silky hair. She knew she only had a few minutes to herself, a few minutes of down time, a few minutes of indulgence.

The towel slipped down over and then off her breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool air after the shower, and she stroked it over the flat, firm muscles of her stomach.

The mission was tiring, exhausting, the schedule punishing. Anchises had briefed the captain and first mate, then returned to his quarters in the adjoining room. It was her turn. She needed to dress, then find her way to the shuttle hangar bay and meet Mr. James to make the modifications to the subspace comms array. The thought of working alongside a Trapichean, a race that had long interested her, was intriguing. Anchises's meeting with her had left him almost swamped by the emotional intensity of her feelings for the captain, and now Cytheria had to face her.

She moved the towel lower to brush against the damp, soft hair of her pussy. The emotional pressure in the briefing rooms down on Halo Five had almost swamped her at times, and the wash of the heightened feelings on the Sulaco were not helping. She fell back onto the couch, leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and slowly circled the towel around the tightening button of her clit and up and down the moist warmth of her lips.

It would be ideal, now, to give into the emotions, to let them play across her mind and ease the stress in her body, to indulge the physical response to the empathic connection her mind made. She needed release.

The days ahead were fraught with danger, with the need for secrecy, diplomacy, and tact. And self-control. It wasn't going to be easy.

I am Cytheria. You are not my emotions, you are not me. I am who I am.

She dropped the towel and sighed.

I am Cytheria.

There was no time. The first mate had arranged with Anchises that she would meet her in the hangar in... Damn. No time at all. She grabbed the blue uniform on the couch beside her and slid her legs into the tight one-piece garment. Her feet slipped easily into the boots as she pulled the body up and her arms in. The self-fastening seals closed and flattened as she ran her hand down the front. She pulled a brush through her hair and looked in the mirror. Blue-gray eyes looked back at her with a tiredness in them. Her hair was a lost cause, so she just let it fall, deciding to find some way of tying it up when she got to work on the shuttle comms system.

The access pass Anchises had brought from the briefing lay on the table. Cytheria picked it up, hit the door button, and hurried down the corridor to find the shuttle hangar bay.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

Friday, 20 February 2015

#FFF Flash Fiction Friday - flower girl

The Flash Friday Fiction gang are the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read.

Every Friday we write flashes of precisley100 words inspired by a given picture.

She emerged from the flowers and faced the sun. Warmth flooded her body. New, fresh, her skin welcomed the energy, embraced the power. Movement, free, chosen, no longer the whim of the breeze; she explored and tested the range and extent of her limbs. Her fingers stretched and found her hair. Through the silky flow her hands moved and met curls and petals and buds. Jewels, from her seeds, tumbled down her back.

Her lover's wish had been granted when he'd scattered her in the meadow by the light of the full moon and the morning star. She was reborn.

Please check out the other Friday Fiction Flashers

Friday, 6 February 2015

#FFF Flash Friday Fiction - the plumber

The Flash Friday Fiction gang are the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read.

Every Friday we write flashes of precisley100 words inspired by a given picture.


"I've got the problem solved now. Your problem was the ball cock in your overflow tank up in your loft. You had a slow drip that was lowering your pressure," said the plumber.
"Oh, I see'" I replied. Tradespeople scare me with their technical talk. I feel as if I'm going to look daft if I try to understand.
"Was the ladder ok?" I asked.
"Yes, I had no trouble getting it up. Shall I show you how to work the shower now?" the plumber asked.
"Yes, please'" I said. She really is the best plumber I've ever dealt with....

Please check out the other Friday Fiction Flashers