Archive for the ‘Stories Stripped’ Category

Hello Readers,

This Month we have a mix of entries for Bad-Ass Heros. Read our three Excerpts and vote to let us know which makes you want to read on.  Who sounds like the biggest bad-ass?

The Books will be announced with the Winner Halloween Morning

- Feel free to share the link to these FREE reads.

READ – BLUE EXCERPT – GREEN EXCERPT -  BLACK EXCERPT

- Some Reads Have Adult Content – These Excerpts are Meant for Readers over the age of 18.

The next Contests Coming Up

November – Nice Hero Moment

December – Naughty Heros

- If you are interested in entering email Terry Kate – romanceinthebackseat @ gmail.com

He was tall, six two maybe, six three, lean, but with that whippy look that said he’d be ugly in a fight, and tireless in bed, and as relentlessly unfeeling in one as the other. His chest, furry red, was bare beneath a worn leather vest. He wore Levis, second-skin tight, unbuttoned at the fly, and open so low they revealed a patch of coppery pubic hair. Another inch, two at the most, and he’d have been flashing naked wienie. It was crude and vulgar, juvenile, almost–and, undeniably sexy, but a brutal kind of sexy.

Only, incongruously, and even as he felt the pull of the man’s sexual magnetism, Stanley nevertheless found himself wondering if that wienie almost on display was long and especially thin. Is there a polite way to ask about that, Miss Manners? Excuse me, but could I check the lead in your pencil?

He pulled his eyes away from that gleaming bush and saw that Rack had taken note of his interest. Rack’s smile was taunting, inviting and threatening all at once.

“I’m looking into the death of Donnie Mcintosh,” Stanley said, realizing that his voice had come out higher than he’d planned, and tugging it down into a chest tone instead. “I understand you knew him.”

“Knew him?” Rack laughed and looked around. His audience at the bar and the pool table laughed with him. “Fuck, yes,” he looked back at Stanley. “It’s a small town, you know? I guess there’s lots of guys here who knew him. One way or the other.” A few more snickers from the bar.

Stanley had this all but overwhelming urge to turn and run as fast as his legs would take him. Which, all things considered, would almost certainly not be fast enough. He tried to think how far it was to the door. Ten feet? Ten miles? His hands were shaking. He clasped them tightly behind his back, and stood his ground. “Uh, since you brought it up,” he said, “what way or the other? Just a matter of curiosity, you understand.”

“So what is this, another fag investigating a dead one?”

“Gay,” Stanley said. He absolutely hated the word fag. It was one thing if another queen used it, but coming from this…this…man, it really frosted him. Anger gave him courage, overcoming his fear. “We prefer gay to fag.”

“Meaning, you are a fag.” He waited for Stanley to confirm or deny it, but Stanley only regarded him coldly. After a moment, Rack gave him an amused sneer. “Let me ask you, fag, aren’t you scared, coming into a place like this, all these real men?”

Stanley glanced around. Several of the bikers were watching the scene with undisguised amusement. Behind him, the door opened, letting in a quick flash of light, and closed again as someone came in. Oh, great, he thought, like they needed reinforcements. There goes my path of retreat.

“I cut my teeth on tougher men than I see here,” Stanley said. He hoped he sounded appropriately disdainful. Inside, he was thinking, Oh, crap, and wondering again how far it was to the door, and if he could get there before they caught him.

“Is that right?” Rack said, stepping closer to Stanley, so close that Stanley, short as he was, had to tilt his head back to look up into his face. Close enough he’d hardly have to do more than move his hand ever so slightly to run his fingers through that gleaming pubic hair. Like, say, if he wanted to check Rack’s pencil for thickness. Involuntarily, his fingers wriggled in anticipation. Maybe he could get a good feel before he died. Go out with one in his hand, at least.

“Big talk, little girl,” Rack said, “considering there’s a bunch of us, and you’re all alone.”

“Only, he’s not alone,” a voice said directly behind Stanley. Stanley jumped a foot or so into the air, and looked over his shoulder, and his eyes went wide.

“Tom,” he said, hardly able to believe what he saw. “What are you…?”

Rack looked momentarily a little less sure of himself. Tom Danzel was maybe an inch or two shorter than the biker, but his shoulders were about as wide as the pool table across the room, and his arms, even covered as they were by the sleeves of his windbreaker, were obviously massive. And, in any tough guy attitude competition, Tom was a good bet for the gold medal.

“So, who are you,” Rack asked, attempting and not quite pulling off an air of bravado, “his Daddy?”

“I’m the guy who’s going to relocate your asshole if you don’t take a few steps back.”

“Yeah?” Rack said, but he did take two or three steps back.

Tom looked at Stanley, the briefest of glances, and nodded his head toward the door. “Go,” he said. “Outside.”

Stanley had been known to take umbrage when Tom, as was his way, barked orders at him, but just now he did not argue. There were times, after all, when it was best to follow orders, and he counted this one of them.

He went past Tom, but at the door he paused, waiting for Tom. Scared or not, he couldn’t leave him here alone. You didn’t just walk out on your partner, even a partner who was an asshole. Anyway, the asshole had probably just saved his skin.

If Tom had any fears, however, they didn’t show. He shot one quick, measuring glance around the room, letting it rest for a fleeting second on the trio at the pool table, and, turning his back on Rack, strolled with complete nonchalance to the door. “Let’s go,” he said, pushing it open for Stanley to go out before him.

- IF YOU ARE READING ON YOU ARE ATTESTING TO THE FACT THAT YOU ARE  18 OR OLDER -

“You deserve a spanking,” he said plainly, his steely gaze pinning her in her place.

She stopped her ranting to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

He leapt away from the counter and reached for her, pulling her hard against his body. Looking down into her eyes, he repeated himself calmly with an air of authority. “I said that you deserve a spanking and, by God, I’ll give you one if you put yourself down again. I told you in the emails how I’d spank your ass. You may have lied about your appearance. Although, God knows why, because I like what I see better than what you pretended to be. But I won’t stand here and listen to you make yourself out to be some ugly duckling. You’re far from it, sweetheart.”

She pushed at him, her hand like a feather against concrete. “You can’t come into my house and threaten me.”

He cracked a grin. “It’s not a threat, darling. It’s a promise.”

“Oh really?” Now she was pissed. “Get off of me.”

“Believe me, baby. If I paddle your bottom, you’ll like it.”

“You just try it and I’ll make you sorry.” For emphasis she poked his chest. Okay, so even she knew that she was no match for his physical strength, but she had to stand up for herself even though the idea of his large hands slapping her bottom made her pussy clench and her ass tingle delightfully.

“Given how close we became over the Internet, I don’t think you’d fight me if I tried to spank you. I think you would very much enjoy my kind of spanking.”

“That sure of yourself, huh, Finn?”

“I just believe in being open and honest. And since you insist on putting yourself down, then maybe a spanking will teach you a lesson and prove to you how sensual you are. Especially if I caress that very fine ass after each spank.”

“Hardly. That’ll just make me want to smack you. But then, it sounds like you like to play rough,” she teased, her voice husky, seductive.

He smiled, showing off brilliant white teeth. “Want to hear how I’m going to make love to you the second time?”

“I don’t recall saying I’d make love to you, Finn.” And damn, but didn’t she just drench her panties!

His lips curved in a mischievous grin. “You want to. I can see it in the way your eyes flare up when I touch you. I bet if I reached between your legs right now you’d be nice and wet for me. Wouldn’t you?”

She stilled in his grasp. “Maybe.” Her cheeks were flaming so much they hurt. “What happened to making love the first time?”

Leaning his head down, he spoke softly in her ear. “The first time is obvious. I’ll be gentle. Allow your body to adjust to my thick cock. I have no doubt you’ll make it the hardest and longest it’s ever been just by standing so close to me. And if your sweet kisses are any indication, I’d say that hot little pussy of yours is as tight as a virgin. So the first time we fuck, I’ll be a gentleman. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to enjoy you. I want you to enjoy me.” His lips touched the side of her jaw, feathering kisses along her neck.

She gulped. “And the second time?”

“The second time, I plan to tie you to the bed and fuck that sweet pussy until you beg me to let you come. I’ve never tied a woman to my bed but always fantasized about it. I’m gonna fulfill that particular fantasy with you.” He stopped kissing her neck and looked at her. “Have you ever had an orgasm, Emma?”

God, it was so much easier to have these erotic conversations via email where she could hide behind her screen. Talking to him face to face was too intimate, making her belly roll with waves of nervousness. “Of course I have, but not with a man. With my vibrator.” She felt her cheeks blush harder. “God, why did I just blurt that out? Why didn’t I just lie?”

His hands hovered at the top of her ass. “Why would you want to lie to me again? It doesn’t seem to fit your personality.”

She sighed. “Because you’re larger than life and I’m, well, I’m just a plain woman on a farm. There’s no way I could possibly hold your attention.”

His eyes flared with anger, the deep blue growing darker.

“What?” she asked nervously.

“Thought I warned you about putting yourself down? Guess I have to drive that particular point home.”

He took her by the hand and walked over to a kitchen chair, pulling it from under the table and sitting. Before she guessed what he meant to do, Finn pulled Emma over his knees with little effort.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Finn? Let me go.” Her temper quickly heated with indignation. How dare he?

When his hand landed across her ass, the sting was like a flash fire and quickly followed by another slap. Emma knew she should be pissed at him for manhandling her, but the pressure building deep inside her womb had her gasping for breath and riding a wave of unbelievable desire to be fucked. He wasn’t spanking her to hurt her. No, he was spanking her to arouse her. Sneaky bastard!

As the spanking continued, her hands automatically moved to cover her poor behind, but Finn was too quick and caught her wrists in his hand. Removing the bandana from her hair, Finn quickly but gently bound her hands behind her back with the red cloth and returned his attention to her bottom. The loss of control overwhelmed her at first, until she realized she was completely safe in his arms.

“I like you tied like this, Emma, baby. It makes you squirm so adorably.”

“Rise and fall, left to right, anything that moved not wearing his own colours, Jarryd cut down. The wave of enemy confronted had been broken, flowing off to their sides, but now came the most dangerous time. They mustn’t allow the opposing soldiers to circle and get behind them, possibly cutting them off. Instead, they must pull back and regroup, connecting with the next company.

Jarryd called out to rally, knots of men battling here and there, seemed to hear, falling back as they could. Footing was difficult as one stumbled over the fallen, he climbed up a slight hillock to get a better view of the area. Lvarnan was there, he saw, a few of their own beside him, finishing off a resistant knot of enemy.

“To me! To me,” he shouted. As they rallied to his side, he looked wildly around for Arin. Fought down a surge of fear, as he couldn’t find him in the immediate area, forced himself to look at the bodies at their feet.

“Everyone’s pulling back to the left for a second run,” Lvarnan informed him. He acknowledged the man, but still scanned for his lover.

“We’ve lost about ten I know of,” Lvarnan panted, wiping at the blood dripping from his beard. “But last I saw of him…he were still up.”

Jarryd growled, readjusting his helmet. His men joined with others to reform a defensive line, some helping wounded comrades back.  A horn sounded, calling everyone into position. Though he had no gods he’d ever openly acknowledged, Jarryd now prayed. Another phalanx of enemy was moving forward.

* * * *

Arin fought with terrified determination, fought as Jarryd taught him, not trying to bring an enemy down with sheer force, but instead using his quickness: ducking beneath swings, striking with the edge of his blade for the more vulnerable joints at back of the knee, elbow or neck. He took a glancing blow off his shield, tripped over a fallen comrade and went down, yet managed to avoid the downswing, stabbing at the exposed side. He scrambled to his feet again, shoulder throbbing with the pain of punching his blade through a man’s body. The man’s blue eyes had widened in shock, before the light in them fled.

He couldn’t think of that, he had no time. Think only of Jarryd, of seeing him again. Not of the blood everywhere, of the stink of voided bowels. Another enemy soldier sighted him, yelled challenge. Terrified yet defiant, Arin howled in return. He blocked, letting the other’s blade slide down his own, thrust his shoulder forward trying to knock the warrior off balance, but the man closed too quickly. Arin took an elbow to the spine, vomiting helplessly from the pain.  This is it, he thought, doubling over, awaiting the death stroke.

It didn’t come. A clash of steel sounded over his head.

“Up!” someone yelled at him. “Get up, gods damn you, they’re coming again!”

He never knew who it was who saved him, but he climbed painfully to his feet.  One leg felt numb for some inexplicable reason, but he forced himself to stand on it, limping off in the direction where regroup sounded.

* * * *

There he was, battered, staggering, but alive, Arin tailed a few stragglers who’d finally made their way back to the main. Jarryd let go the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, rushing forward to catch Arin in his arms. The boy was splashed with blood, one sleeve entirely drenched.

“I’m alright, it’s not mine, lieutenant,” Arin gasped.  “I took a blow to the back but I’m alright.” Yet the eyes looking up into Jarryd’s were dazed, unfocused, and the youth clutched one side, panting.

“Arin,” he growled, shaking the lad, who winced in pain, nearly dropping his sword. “You need to get to medical! We’re about to be overrun!”

Reinforcements were supposed to be on their way. A runner had been sent, but no sight of them yet on the rear horizon.

“No time,” shouted Lvarnan, who had been listening nearby. “They must have been right on his tail. Here they come!”

Cursing, Jarryd took defensive position in front of the Arin, meeting the charge with savage ferocity.

* * * *

Too many of them. Sweat and blood dripped in his eyes. He shook it away. Arin was still nearby, he could see him in peripheral vision, but even in that split second of time Jarryd noted the total exhaustion in his moves. Hold on, Jarryd chanted silently to himself in rhythm with his strokes. Hold on!

Nearly surrounded, a lone splatter of red in a turbulent sea of blue, another companion cried out and fell at his left. Jarryd stepped forward to close the gap. In the distance he could hear faintly the horn of approach. The reinforcements were nearing. Jarryd and those left of his men fought on grimly but he knew they couldn’t hold out much longer.

Arin!

Jarryd heard his cry, turned in desperation just as a pass took Arin’s helmet off, battering the youth to his knees. Too tired to rise again, Arin held his sword up in vain to block the coming blow, but was bowled over, hurled backwards by its force.

“No!” Jarryd screamed, finding new strength. He finished the opponent in front of him, lost sight of Arin for a moment before finally pushing through to his side. Blood. The too young, beautiful face was covered with blood, slack. With bare fingers, having lost his shield, Jarryd grasped the murderer’s chin, forcing it against his shoulder, twisted it cruelly, roaring in grief, then knelt by Arin’s limp form, as the body fell away.

He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t speak. It was then all over again.  The gods were cruel, and he was damned. Jarryd stood slowly, tossing away his helmet.  Taking Arin’s sword from the limp fingers, final vengeance in his eyes, Jarryd charged back into battle.”