The Truth about Effing Feline - #SciFi #Romance #Humor #Ailurophile

By Edward Hoornaert (Guest Blogger)

“Science Fiction with Romance and Humor”

I have a confession to make. A shameful one, downright beastly! I hope you can forgive me, or at least try to understand.

A cat writes my blog.

It’s true. Every Sunday, Effing Feline writes a post for Snippet Sunday and Weekend Writing Warriors, blog hops that feature writers presenting 8 to 10 sentences from their works. I’m a writer who has published science fiction, sci fi romance, contemporary romance, programming books, software manuals – you name it, I’ve written it. So why don’t I write the blog myself?

Because I miss cats.

You see, I’m asthmatic. A decade ago, I developed an allergy to cats, which was catastrophic -- downright cataclysmic -- because I’m a cat person. I love cats, always have, although it was left to my gracious host, Lisabet, to teach me the word ailurophile. Oh, I like dogs, too, and our family mutt, Twiggles, fills in for Effing Feline on the blog occasionally. But Effing is the main author.

It started out as a one-time gig, but I enjoyed it so much that he became a feature. How, you may ask, can a cat write a blog? Here’s Effing himself, explaining in early 2015 how he does it:

“For several months now, I, Effing Feline, have been writing the Weekend Writing Warriors blog posts for Mr. Valentine, aka Edward Hoornaert. Well, you’ve undoubtedly seen the shocking pictures on 60 Minutes, the National Enquirer, NY Post, YouTube, etc – but in case you haven’t, Ed is determined to teach me a lesson. He’s withholding my catnip to force me to display one of the scandalous pictures here. Oh, the shame of it!”

“Okay, so I don’t do my own typing for the column. So what? The bird hunts and pecks faster than I do, and he works for chicken feed!”

Effing’s personality started out as a cross between two grouchy yet lovable cartoon cats: Garfield and Bucky Kat from Get Fuzzy. Over time, he developed his own inimitable personality: narcissistic, naively funny, and disdainful of dogs.

His style of employee relations leaves something to be desired. When his budgie typist went on strike for more birdseed, here’s how he handled it:

“How, you ask, did I, Effing Feline, solve my labor dispute? By plucking a tail feather and threatening to eat the bird, of course. Now he works for even less!”

But Effing isn’t always a bully. Nor is he as unfeeling as he pretends. For example, after I had to suspend him from the website for repeatedly saying mean things about his fellow pet, Twiggles the Dog, Effing was overwhelmed when Twiggles sent him a Valentine.

“I, Effing Feline, got a Valentine and it was from... from... Twiggles the Dog! Not only a Valentine, but a byootiful stuffed heart that’s perfect for digging my kitty claws into. And not only that, it’s filled with catnip!

“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t get a Valentine for her. I didn’t even think about giving her anything except more insults. I think about those a lot, I’m ashamed to say.

“After getting such a great present, I, Effing Feline, am choked up. Speechless — except to admit, reluctantly, that I kinda, maybe, sorta love Twiggles. Just a tiny bit.”

You can catch Effing’s blog posts every Sunday at http://eahoornaert.com.

Constellation XXI

Rediscovering Love at the Worst Possible Time

Although Sienna Dukelsky had been the most promising student pilot at Keening AstroSpace Academy, she inexplicably settles for a routine, unglamorous job guiding incoming spaceships to safe berths at Farflung Space Station. Rumors blamed her startling decision on heartbreak after Crispin Hunt, the love of her life, got expelled.

Approaching Farflung years several later, Crispin’s freighter is met by Sienna’s tugship. Love rekindles, though dampened by old betrayals. And when her ship loses power while aimed straight at the space station, Sienna must confront astonishing secrets about Crispin and his cargo—secrets that make hers the most important job in the galaxy.

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Passion hotter than the sun - His Secret Love by @AnyaBSummers #eroticromance #BDSM #giveaway

Blurb

Meghan Mallory has a plan for her life and it does not involve falling in love. She doesn’t have the time nor the inclination. She’s too busy trying to save the world. But when a freak snowstorm puts her in the path of a man she has secretly been fascinated with for years, she is forced to reconsider her stance on dating. Spencer is rude and obnoxious with his bad boy swagger but then he rescues her when she gets stranded on the side of the road, like a knight in tarnished armor, and sweeps her away to his house to ride out the blizzard.

Spencer Collins likes his life just fine, thank you very much. As the owner of the lifestyle club Cuffs & Spurs in Jackson Hole, he has a bevy of available subs who are his to command – not that any of them have held his interest in longer than he can remember. When his best friend’s sister-in-law gets herself into trouble, Spencer heads out to rescue the little brat who is in need of a firm hand. But he never expects to be forced to confront the incendiary heat that has always existed between them.

As the storm rages around them, they surrender to a passion hotter than the sun. Now that he has felt her surrender, Spencer attempts to lure Meghan into his world. But will they let go of their pasts or will they allow secrets to destroy them?

Excerpt

“I’m to tell you that your sister is pissed you worried her this way.”

Meghan squelched the ever-present guilt when it came to her sister and sighed. “She always worries. Why aren’t we going to Carter’s? It’s a hell of a lot closer than your place in Jackson.”

She studied his profile, the angular, firm jaw covered with a neatly trimmed black beard.

His gaze was trained on the road as he navigated. The way his big hands—the fingers long and bluntly tipped—kept a firm hold on the wheel made driving in these horrendous conditions appear effortless. “We aren’t going into town. My house is roughly ten minutes from here.” His gruff voice, the deep, rather exasperated, bass slithered along her spine like a caress.

“But I don’t want to stay with you,” she protested. She’d rather be stranded on Hoth or on the U.S.S. Enterprise without power. Plus, she’d been looking forward to a night or two at Casa Jones with lots of yummy food and the chance to hang with her nephew. She was indoctrinating him into her love of pop culture and science with measured success. Then there was also the tiny little fact that the thought of being cooped up with Spencer, alone, made her entire body simmer, and not in anger but anticipation.

“Why? Chicken?” he dared and glanced her way.

Meghan’s heart thudded. Her mouth went dry. And deep down she knew the answer was a resounding yes, not that she would ever admit it. With a deadpan glare, she snorted. “Nope. In your dreams, big guy.”

“Relax. I don’t bite. I have guest rooms you can pick from and we will hardly see each other.”

“Sure. Thanks. I just don’t want to be an inconvenience.” Not just to him but to anyone. Not ever again.

He rolled his shoulders in a manly shrug that was so distinctly bored alpha male, her entire body whimpered with the desire to feel all that strength against her.

And then he opened his mouth. “There are always ways in which you can thank me.”

The innuendo flash-fried her brain, bombarding her with carnal images she wanted to deny. But her body told a far different story. Stupid hormones. Her blood ignited. She pressed her thighs together to squelch the distinct throbbing and felt her nipples bead into hard points. Thank god the parka cloaked and hid her desire. She didn’t want to feel this way about him—or anyone, for that matter.

She cast him a withering stare. “Ew. Thanks, but no. You can let me out right here if this rescue comes with those kinds of strings.”

“Just saying, if you really feel that bad, I can find plenty of chores to keep you occupied.”

“Chores?” She glanced his way. His lips were compressed into a thin line but those midnight eyes of his, the ones she saw in her darkest fantasies, danced with merriment. He was teasing her, the big lug.

“Sure. I could use a maid or a cook.”

She couldn’t help it. Really, the man drove her to it. And perhaps her brain had not yet completely defrosted from her sojourn on the side of the road and then the tawdry images her brain had conjured at his innuendo… Her fist curled of its own accord. She punched him in the arm.

“You’re such a jerk. You had me thinking—”

Before she could retract her left fist, he snatched her wrist. “Careful, brat. Had you thinking what?”

And his dark gaze glittered, bored through her defenses before shifting back to the road.

What did he see? Did he intuit that she was fascinated by him? That the thought of him putting his big hands on her again liquefied her insides? Just the simple contact of his hand gripping her wrist, his thumb pressed against her wildly beating pulse, made her panties wet.

About the Author

Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Anya grew up listening to Cardinals baseball and reading anything she could get her hands on. She remembers her mother saying if only she would read the right type of books instead binging her way through the romance aisles at the bookstore, she’d have been a doctor. While Anya never did get that doctorate, she graduated cum laude from the University of Missouri-St. Louis with an M.A. in History.

Anya is a bestselling and award-winning author published in multiple fiction genres. She also writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance under the name Maggie Mae Gallagher. A total geek at her core, when she is not writing, she adores attending the latest comic con or spending time with her family. She currently lives in the Midwest with her two furry felines.

Visit my website here:

www.anyasummers.com

Plus, I have an Exclusive Bonus Scene from HIS SECRET LOVE available for a FREE download by subscribing to my newsletter. https://goo.gl/phM786

Website as Maggie Mae Gallagher: http://www.maggiemaegallagher.com/

Visit me on social media here:

http://www.facebook.com/AnyaSummersAuthor

Twitter: @AnyaBSummers

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15183606.Anya_Summers

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Anya-Summers/e/B01EGTVRKC/

Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/anya-summers

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/anyasummersauthor/

Buy Link for His Secret Love

https://www.amazon.com/Secret-Love-Cuffs-Spurs-Book-ebook/dp/B07NKN5Y2S/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_2

Anya Summers will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Review Tuesday: Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecroft Shelley - #ReviewTuesday #Philosophy #precocious

Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecroft Shelley

Everyone knows the story of Frankenstein's monster, Mary Shelley's famous cautionary tale about the risks of playing God. Realizing recently that I'd never read the book, I downloaded a copy from ProjectGutenberg.

My mind was full of images from Ken Russell's film "Gothic", about the so-called "haunted summer" when Mary Shelley, her lover Percy Shelley, Lord Byron and the ambiguous Dr. Polidori gathered at Byron's mansion and challenged each other to write a horror story. I expected lightning, gore, darkness, and philosophy from the precocious author (only nineteen when she penned the book).

Alas, I was deeply disappointed by this novel. The entire book is a one post-hoc narration (from the God-defying scientist Victor Frankenstein) embedded within another (an adventurer traveling in the Artic, whose name and history matter not at all). At one point, the tale-telling goes to a third level, when Victor Frankenstein repeats the account shared by his monstrous creation, who is both intelligent and gentle initially, craving acceptance and love, but who is universally rejected and feared.

There is no direct action whatsoever, and no detail about the methods used by Frankenstein to create his unnatural offspring. All we know is the horror he claims to have felt when he first looked upon the monster's face. He abandons the being he has fashioned, and sets tragedy in motion.

I was embarrassed to discover that all the bits I thought I knew about the Frankenstein tale were all products of Hollywood. And to be honest, I found myself puzzled by the enduring influence of this slim novel. It raises a few philosophical questions, about the nature of humanity and personal responsibility, as well as the dangers of judging based on exterior appearance, but overall, the book had little emotional or intellectual impact on me.

The main lesson I took from the experience of reading Frankenstein involved the power of culture and media to twist a story from its original form into something quite different.

Love and Secrets -- #RomanticSuspense #Giveaway #Germany @AuthorMNaidoo

Blurb

Two men... two worlds... one desperate promise...

If Anna had only known how the simple push of a button would turn her life upside down, she would never have pressed ‘Play.’

Just 22 seconds into the recording she’s hit by the realization that, if the voice in the thick German accent is right, she has been living with an unthinkable lie for the past thirty years.

There is only one way to find out: Follow the instruction left by a dead person and head back to Germany, to a life Anna has next to no conscious memory of.

To her surprise, she finds an unexpected ally in Peter, an old childhood friend whose law degree and language skills prove to be more than useful. Besides, he has the most gorgeous blue eyes and the uncanny ability to push Anna's buttons without the slightest effort. At every turn, their search for answers is littered with more lies and revelations.

Anna must ultimately decide whether even the noblest of ends, truly justify the means and whether some secrets should better stay buried.

“Mystery, history, and a twist at every turn. Brilliant characters and prolific storytelling... irresistible!”

Excerpt

"Happy now?"

"I'll tell you in a minute." Peter grabbed a cookie and took a slow and careful bite. Like a wine connoisseur would taste a sip of rare, expensive wine, he chewed slowly, eyes closed, a pondering frown on his forehead. Anna waited for the verdict, patiently, while everything in her wanted to pick up a sofa cushion and smack his smug face. She had never been a physical person, but somehow he brought out that side of her. God, could he be any more obnoxious?

"And?" He just had to make her ask, hadn't he?

"Not quite…." He grinned. "But the closest any cookie has ever come. Martha would be proud."

Before she could stop herself, reflex took over, and the sofa cushion landed on the back of Peter's head. Bam!

"Ouch! That hurt!" He rubbed his head and looked at her more in surprise than pain.

"Good." Anna crossed her arms in front of her chest, jaw clenched, eyes shooting off invisible darts.

"Okay, guess I deserved that. Sorry, I'm not usually this…" He was looking for the right word.

"Chauvinistic?" Anna jumped in.

"No. Good one, but not quite." He looked up at the ceiling, still pondering.

"Obnoxious?"

"Wow. Don't hold back now."

"Irritatingly annoying?" Anna offered.

"I was going to say delightfully charming," he paused before adding, "or failing at it. Anyway, is that how you treat a friend that's doing you a favor?"

Now it was her turn to apologize. "Sorry." She reached out and offered her hand, "Truce?"

Peter took it, but instead of shaking it he held on and pulled her onto the sofa next to him. "Are we gonna do this or what?"

About the Author

M.Naidoo lives in Northern California with her husband, two daughters, and three dogs. Born and raised in Germany, she was able to draw on a wealth of memories and passed down stories for Where Sleeping Lies Lie.

When she is not in front of her computer, pounding out story lines and characters, she enjoys reading, movies, spending time with her family, and long walks on the beach - her proverbial 'happy place'. M's love for the shore line and ocean shine through in the vivid descriptions of the coast in her debut novel The Pelican.

"Juggling my life as a writer and a full-time 'real' job has its challenges. I don't get to spend half as much time as I'd like doing what I love, and there are never enough hours in the day. Still, I feel extremely lucky to be following my passion, and I am enjoying every minute of it. Getting here has been one heck of a ride!"

Like and follow M. Naidoo on social media

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMNaidoo

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For information about the author, her blog, upcoming releases, and more visit www.mnaidoo.com

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07NL34N26

M. Naidoo will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Charity Sunday: CARE for Mozambique and Malawi - #Africa #disaster #CharitySunday

March has been rough on the world. Earthquakes. Floods, Landslides. Collapsing buildings. Plane crashes. Terrorist attacks. Honestly, if you want to make any sort of difference, it’s difficult to know where to start.

Out of all the disasters and tragedies, I’ve decided to focus on the devastation wrought by Cyclone Idai on the desperately poor African countries of Mozambique and Malawi. On March 14^th, this powerful storm triggered horrendous flooding and mudslides that have completely destroyed much of the already fragile infrastructure in these two nations. At least a million and a half people have been affected, nearly half a million in the city of Beira alone, which was submerged until just a few days ago.

There are, of course, many organizations working to provide rescue and relief services in the face of this catastrophe. Today I’ve decided to support CARE, which is particularly focused on the needs of women and girls. 

You can find out more about the charity’s efforts to allay the suffering of Idai’s victims here.

Credit: Direct Relief.org

As usual, I will donate one dollar to my chosen charity for each comment I receive on this post. Furthermore, I’ll give away a copy my latest release, Valentine’s Visit: Four-Way Friend Swap, to one randomly selected commenter.

So please, do say something to let me know you’ve read this post!

As usual, I also have an excerpt to thank you for dropping by. Today’s snippet comes from Monsoon Fever, a MMF romance set in India just after World War I. It includes a disaster scene, which as is often the case affects the poorest and most vulnerable people.

It took nearly four hours for the auto to creep back to the plantation. Full night had fallen by the time they arrived. The rain had slackened, but it was still heavy enough to drench them, despite their umbrellas, on the climb up the path.

Jon must be terribly worried, thought Priscilla. She imagined him pacing back and forth on the veranda, peering into the night for any sign of them. Guilt weighed on her spirit, though she knew she was not responsible for the weather or the delay. Her intense reactions to Anil did not alter her deep love for her husband.

She had not, technically, been unfaithful. Still, she was honest enough to admit to herself that, if the storm had not interrupted, she would have gladly surrendered herself to Anil. In public, in a sacred space, she would have been willing—no, eager—to allow the seductive native access to her body. Her sex ached, remembering his intimate touch. She looked up at him, but she could not read his expression in the dark. Did he still want her? Would he try again?

Priscilla tried to compose herself, to think only of Jon and his concern. As the house came into view, she stopped short in surprise.

Normally at this time, Lalida would have lit the kerosene lamps and golden light would be spilling out from the windows onto the path. But the bungalow was completely dark, and silent too, no sounds of clattering dishes from the kitchen, no scratchy jazz coming from Jon’s gramophone.

“Jon? Jonathan?” Priscilla voice signalled her alarm as she and Anil climbed to the porch. The door was half open, definitely a bad sign. “Lalida?” Had they been attacked and abducted by some of bandits that occasionally roamed the hills? But there was no sign of any struggle or violence.

She clutched at Anil’s soggy coat. “What could have happened? Where are they?”

“Where are the lamps?” Before she could answer, he located a lantern and a box of lucifers on the mantel. In a moment he had it lit. They looked around the parlour, seeking clues.

Priscilla saw it first. The note was scrawled on a scrap torn from a ledger, and fastened to the dining room door frame with a nail.

“Landslide at the village. Gone to help.” The writing was barely legible, but she recognised Jon’s hand.

A landslide! Priscilla recalled the heaps of mud and rock piled by the road on the way to Gauhati. “We must go to them,” Anil insisted, reading over her shoulder. “A landslide can bury a whole town, or sweep it away.” He searched her face. “Do you have shovels or picks? And buckets, buckets would be useful.”

“In the utility shed, behind the house.” Anil was already on his way out the door.

Jon had taken most of the tools, but they found a short spade and a mattock. They grabbed them and scrambled up the slippery path toward the village, rain still washing over them in dense squalls. As they approached the site of the village, home to the plantation workers and their families, shouts filled the air. Lanterns flickered in the wet, black night.

Priscilla had visited the village several times, bringing sweets for the children and English soap for their mothers. She hardly recognised the scene of devastation before her now. There was no sign of the wooden huts that sheltered the workers. She saw only a vast sea of mud, with splintered planks and beams jutting out at odd angles. Half naked men dug frantically in the muck, looking like an army of demons in the shifting lantern-light. Children hung onto their mothers, wailing or watching the rescue efforts silent and wide-eyed. An elderly woman, tattered sari clinging to her wizened body, crouched under a tree half-crushed by a huge boulder.

Priscilla saw Jon near the far perimeter, wielding a shovel and yelling orders to the other men. She stumbled across the ex-village, the treacherous mud sucking at her feet, and threw herself into his arms.

“Darling! I was so worried.” she cried. “Are you all right?”

Jonathan held her so tight she could scarcely breathe. His chest was bare and streaked with dirt. His blond hair was black with rain and soil. “Priscilla! Thank God! I’m so glad to see you!”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad—nearly all the houses were destroyed—but it could have been much worse. Most of the villagers were up at the shrine when the hillside gave way. We think that there are only a few people buried. We’re trying to find them before it’s too late.”

***

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Intimacy with Strangers - #fantasy #CustomEroticaSource #WritingToSpec

 Image by Brigitte Warner

 

This post is not about one night stands. I might explore that topic some other time: the thrill of the unknown, the intoxication with the unfamiliar, the tantalizing possibility that a random encounter might lead to a world-altering epiphany. Today, however, I’m actually talking about writing.

I publish both long and short erotica and erotic romance, in ebook and in print. I have a respectable back list for someone who doesn’t write full time. However, some of my best work doesn’t show up in the publishing history on my website, namely, the erotic tales I write to spec for Custom Erotica Source.

CES offers an unusual service. For a fee, and in complete privacy, CES provides a professionally written realization of a customer’s erotic fantasy scenario. Via an online questionnaire, the customer supplies all the details: the names, genders, ages, orientations, appearance and personalities of the characters; their relationships; the plot; particular erotic stimuli to emphasize; the type of language desired (from suggestive to filthy); and so on. Then the author (in this case, yours truly) takes this specification and spins it into a story from 1500 to 5000 words long (depending on what the customer orders).

At this point, some of my author colleagues may be shaking their heads. How can I prostitute myself in this way? How can I betray my art? Why would I surrender my creative vision and allow someone else to dictate the content and style of my work?

Well, of course the money is nice. But I do it partly because writing someone else’s erotic dreams is both a fascinating and an educational experience.

When I write something in response to a call for submissions, I have a generic audience in mind. I probably understand the type of tales a particular editor prefers. I know that Total-E-Bound’s readers are looking for something different than people who buy books from Cleis, or Xcite, or Excessica. Furthermore, the anthology theme or the focus of the CFS provides some guidance as to content and tone. Within those broad boundaries, though, I’m free to follow my imagination in any direction it leads. I know I can intrigue and arouse at least some subset of the community of readers; I really can't hope for more.

When I write for CES, on the other hand, I have an audience of one. I know exactly what turns that audience on – because the customer has shared his or her secret desires. It’s my job to put flesh on the bones of the story specification, to make my customer’s lusts concrete and then satisfy them.

To succeed in this task, I have to somehow sync my own erotic imagination with his. I can’t write an arousing story unless I see the characters and the situation through my customer’s eyes. Somehow, I have to intuit the customer’s reactions to the stimuli described in the spec and then coax myself into the same psychological state.

That’s where the intimacy arises. I don’t have any direct communication with the customer (although I am allowed to ask questions, via the management, if I see issues in the spec). Nevertheless, he (almost all my assignments have been writing for men) and I are connected, by his act of sharing his lewd dreams and my willingness to assume them as my own.

Some fantasies I’ve received as assignments don’t appeal to me personally at all. (I’m free to refuse assignments that I might find repugnant, of course. So far the only ones on which I've passed are a series involving body building. I am just not a gym rat!) Still, I’ve managed to turn them into tales that pleased my unknown reader. This requires a kind of suspension of my own sexual identity in order to connect with his. By the time I’m finished, I’m usually turned on by the tale, regardless of my initial reaction. If I’m not, I know I haven’t fulfilled my part of the bargain.

Executing a CES assignment requires a possibly surprising degree of craft. I must pace the story in order to include all details from the spec while still keeping it within the word limit. I have to guard against adding erotic elements that push my own buttons, but might not have the same effect on my audience. At the same time, I need to add sensual details, plausible transitions and especially, emotional authenticity. That’s my added value, as a professional author. If just anyone could write a compelling, intense sexual fantasy, I’d be out of a job.

What really makes it work for me, though, is getting inside my customer’s head. Watching one of these stories unfold is a weird feeling, but exciting, too. It's almost as though someone were whispering naughty ideas in my ear. I may have never considered these notions before, but when I wrap my mind around them, I begin to see the appeal.

It has occurred to me that my submissive tendencies account for some of my success in writing custom fantasies. My master once called me “suggestible”, and I suspect that’s an appropriate evaluation of my personality. The fact that I'm bisexual and exceptionally broad-minded about sex probably helps, too.

My one regret about these CES stories is that nobody else will ever read them. They belong to the customers who paid for them, not to me. I can't post them on my website. I can't even talk about the specific fantasy scenarios involved; that would be a breach of confidentiality. They're eternal secrets, between my customer and me.

The last assignment I handled, though, involved an outrageous, kinky, gender-bending scenario that turned me on from the moment I opened the specification file. My personal sex life became significantly more interesting while I was working on the tale, because of the fantasies it inspired. I had no problem identifying with my audience in this case. And yet writing that story was possibly more difficult than my previous assignments, because I had to stop my own imagination from hijacking the customer's vision.

I view my tales for CES as a sort of writing exercise. They require a level of control far beyond what's needed for a free form story written to satisfy a vague theme. I believe that they've helped me hone my skills as an author of erotica.

The real payoff, though, is emotional – the heady sense of power that comes from bringing my customer's dirtiest dreams to life. At the same time, it's a sort of ecstatic surrender, a willingness to sink into my customer's desires.

I will never know who my readers are, and they'll never really know me. For a short while, though, we're as close as lovers.

AFTERGLOW - New contempory BDSM romance from @BreannaHayse - #BDSM #MarineBiologist #DomesticDiscipline

If you’re an AQUAMAN and Neil Gaiman fan, you WILL fall in love with THE GENERALS’ DAUGHTER©

Marine Biologist, and USMC special ops officer, Samantha Quimby, is back with brand new adventures, and (as always) a whole lot of trouble! From a family camping trip in the Sierra Nevadas, to investigating a mysterious phenomena in the black depths of the La Jolla trench, the young woman attracts danger like a bee to honey. As if that’s not enough, Sam’s also introduced to the intimacy of both Richard's love-making and the severity of his discipline. However, neither expect that her instinctive ability to converge with the local cetaceans have an added benefit that can make even the most unpleasant event one Sam longs to repeat as the term Afterglow takes on a whole new meaning!

Sam’s not the only one receiving a stern wake-up call from the special man in her life. Teagan, her brother’s girlfriend, is coming face-to-face with the reality that Michael isn’t going to turn a blind eye to her mischief anymore than he does with his sister. Sam’s influence is rubbing off on the quiet girl, and soon Teagan finds herself in more hot water than ever before.

Will Sam ever learn to behave? This question is the ongoing theme with her family and now, her boyfriend, Lt. Richard Lewis is just as involved. The answer-

Probably not.

Finally- in the process of planning a family vacation to Florida, some old, familiar names are brought up on the ‘to visit’ list, including ‘Big Bill’ Johnson (The Game Plan), Dr. Dan Paige and Dorian Graye (The Whip Master, Billion Dollar Daddies and Northern Lights: Lena). Does this mean that the Generals might consider giving in to temptation and have an adventure of their own?

You better believe it!

Goodreads * Amazon

Other books in The Generals’ Daughter series:

The Siren

Generals' Daughter© Book 1

**Only .99 cents or FREE in KU!**

Goodreads * Amazon

Up a Notch

Generals' Daughter© Book 2

Goodreads * Amazon

 

Caught in a Net

Generals' Daughter© Book 3

Goodreads * Amazon

 

Convergence

Generals' Daughter© Book 4

Goodreads * Amazon

 

Under Cover

Generals' Daughter© Book 5

Goodreads * Amazon

 

About the Author

BDSM/AP lifestyler Breanna Hayse strives to give her readers truth and reality of the BDSM/Age-Play/Total Power and Erotic Exchange lifestyle.

Who am I?

I'm a native Californian gone 'wild', and had the opportunity to travel the globe and discover the world through the eyes of both a Marine Intelligence specialist and a BDSM lifestyler.

I left the service to go into hospice nursing and grief counseling, eventually working as a marriage and family therapist for those involved in alternative lifestyle development. This experience has allowed me to gain unique inspiration for my books and offer realistic plots and relatable characters.

In 2004, my husband, John, and I joined forces to work with both submissives and dominants - teaching, training, listening and loving. Our goal was to take the mystery and fear out of the lifestyle and mentor people in safe, consensual and healthy relationships.

My first book, The Game Plan, was published in 2012 and opened the door to the now-booming world of Age-Play literature. Since that time, I've devoted my 'spare' time to writing, researching, community involvement, and private and group pro bono counseling in deviant behavior, alternative lifestyle, and addiction recovery.

I was formally 'dungeon trained' as a Domme before discovering my submissive side when I joined the service. My scenarios are pulled primarily from either personal experience or observation, including spending time in BDSM clubs as the safety/medical officer. My multi-faceted background allows me to glean from many avenues and give a unique and intelligent literary experience through elements of fantasy and fiction. I also discuss the questions and psychology of the lifestyle in a manner that is fun and informative, and based on 'the real deal.'

I live with my husband, musician, and fellow-author, John Hayse, and two border collies in southern California. We practice a 24/7 D&S relationship with speckles of AP (and many trips to Build-A-Bear), and happily spend every moment together that we can. My hobbies include my puppies, hiding my vanilla salt-water taffy where John can't find it, exotic art, collecting inspirational trinkets, and developing my own paddle line. You can also see me as a featured author/instructor in professional conference settings and as a Sexpert for kinkyliterature.com.

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