Charity Sunday: Compassion and Courage – #MSF #EmergencyMedicalCare #CharitySunday

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

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