Welcome
to Charity Sunday for September.
Today
I’m supporting an organization that, for me, is a model of
compassion and courage: Médecins
sans Frontières or Doctors without Borders. Since 1971 – for
more than fifty years – MSF has been providing emergency medical
assistance to victims of natural disasters and man-made conflicts.
Staffed by volunteer doctors, nurses and other health professionals
who work in often-horrific conditions for very limited compensation,
MSF is distinguished by its commitment to deliver care to anyone who
needs it, regardless of ethnicity, nationality or political
affiliation.
Right
now, MSF teams are working in Afghanistan to help the thousands of
people left homeless by the recent earthquake; in Sudan, where civil
war continues to devastate communities and families; in Burundi,
where a deadly outbreak of cholera is threatening to undermine lives
already left fragile due to poverty and poor infrastructure. Perhaps
most critical, MSF is witnessing and responding to the desperate
situation in Gaza, where more than 60,000 people have been killed by
Israeli forces, millions are facing famine and not a single hospital
has been left functioning. Israel’s unrelenting assault on the
Palestinian enclave has killed more than 1,800 health professionals,
including 13
MSF workers. Nevertheless, the organization continues to do what
it can to offer care, while calling for an immediate halt to what the
United Nations has labeled genocide.
Consider
the courage required to continue serving as part of the MSF mission in Gaza, facing
daily the possibility of death. Humanitarian workers should be
protected, not targeted. I marvel at the level of compassion required
to remain dedicated to helping the inhabitants of Gaza.
So
today I pledge to contribute three dollars to MSF for each comment I
receive on this post. But money alone is not enough. We must speak
out against aggression and for peace. So I hope you’ll share this
post widely, and raise the call for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza
and resumed distribution of food, water and other aid.
The
situation in Gaza is so dire, it almost feels disrespectful to
include an excerpt from one of my (normally fairly light-hearted)
romance or erotic titles. On the other hand, maybe we need to be
reminded that love exists in this violent world. So here’s a bit
from my multi-genre, multi-partner, not-very-serious erotic romance
Rajasthani Moon.
Blurb
A
bandit prince cursed into beast form under the full moon
A
brilliant but sadistic Rajah whose robotic sex toys mingle torture
and delight.
A
voluptuous spy on a mission from Her Majesty, tasked with discovering
Rajasthan’s secrets.
She
has never faced such a challenge.
When
Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most
lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects
to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit
once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit –
to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.
Excerpt
He
groped for a moment, while she held her breath. His calloused fingers
struck sparks from her flesh. Of course, he discovered her weapon
almost instantly. He drew it out, chuckling once more when he saw its
size. Her skin mourned the loss of his touch.
“What
a surprise! A gun instead of the promised gold.” He tightened his
hold on her wrists until she feared the bones would snap. “Who are
you, my lady? Not, I think, a common traveller.”
“That’s
none of your concern…sir.” Cecily decided that it might be wise
to be polite.
“Oh,
I think it is. Not many women travel on their own across the wastes
of my country, especially in the most modern of conveyances. Those
that do are wise to carry a weapon—but this one will not help you.
Who sent you, madam? What is your business here?”
“I’ll
not share my business with a common brigand.”
“And
if I were someone else? Would you tell me then how and why you happen
to cross my path?”
Cecily
of course had a cover story. Her documents attested that she was the
sister of a wealthy Bombay textile merchant, come to Rajasthan
looking for business contacts. She was not, however, about to divulge
anything to this rogue.
“I
will tell you nothing.”
“Indeed?
I think I may be able to change your mind.” After tucking the
pistol into the folds of his garment, he drew out a length of what,
aside from its strange silvery colour, looked like common rope. He
dangled it near her trapped wrists. “Bind,” he said.
The
rope came alive, coiling like a snake. Quick as a cobra strike, it
looped itself around her forearms—once, twice, half a dozen times,
pulling tighter with each cycle. Before she could devise a plan,
Cecily found her crossed arms were laced together as firmly as the
back of a corset.
“How
dare you? Untie me at once!”
“So
that you can stab me? Or shoot me? Who knows what other cunning
devices you have hidden about your charming person? No, on the
contrary, I think I’d be wise to bind your legs as well.”
He
climbed into the carriage, bringing with him a strong odour of horse
and male sweat. Although the vehicle was designed for two passengers,
his considerable height and broad shoulders made it feel distinctly
crowded, especially with Cecily’s non-trivial bulk occupying a
significant area of the floor. He crouched down and reached for her
ankle. She scooted away, kicking out at him. Her boot connected
solidly with his shin.
“Shiva’s
balls!” he cursed. “That hurts!” She cocked her knee back for a
second blow, but he caught her foot in mid-kick and raised it until
her leg was almost at right angles to her prone body. Her skirt
slipped down, baring her knee and part of her thigh, and releasing a
flood of her woman-scent.
The
miscreant’s eyes widened. No doubt his nostrils flared as well, but
they were hidden beneath his impromptu mask. Had Cecily been a fair
English rose of a woman, her cheeks would have burnt bright pink. Her
mixed heritage allowed her to hide her embarrassment.
“Unhand
me, sir!”
Instead,
he seized her other ankle, brought her leg parallel to the first, and
whipped out another of his devilish self-binding ropes.
“No,
please, sir!” Seeing that outrage would get her nowhere, Cecily
decided to try deception. If he bound her legs, she would never be
able to escape him. “Stop, please. I will reveal everything to
you.”
“Of
course you will, madam.” The mockery in his voice stung, especially
when she remembered that most of her lower body was now visible to
his sharp eyes. “Back at my quarters. Bind.”
In
an instant, the robotic shackles wound themselves around her calves
and ankles. She tried tensing her muscles, so as to create some slack
later. The device clamped down with relentless power, forcing her to
relax.
“There.
I hope I’ll be safe now from your most unladylike aggression.”
Cecily
fumed inside, but managed to maintain a calm demeanour.
The
bandit grasped her around the waist with both hands. “Just have to
get you out of this coach and onto my horse…” His rough fingers
dug into her bare flesh, yet she missed the pain when he released her
after heaving her body up onto the seat. “You’re not exactly
delicate, but that’s fine with me. I prefer a woman with some meat
on her bones.”
The
substantial bulge in his dusty black pantaloons made his meaning more
than clear.
“Do
not imagine you’ll succeed in stealing my virtue, sir. I’ll kill
myself first.”
“I
doubt that very much.” She couldn’t see his grin, hidden as it
was behind his mask, but she could feel it, hear it in his taunt. “If
you were the virginal flower you pretend to be, I suspect you would
not be travelling with this.”
He
picked up the brass egg, its shiny surface now dulled by her
secretions, and held it to his shrouded nose. “Mmm. Recently used,
too.”
Please
leave me a comment. And do whatever you can, personally, to stop the slaughter and
starvation in the Middle East
