For earlier stories in this series, see "Bite of the Schlange" and "Siren Song Symphony" * The black ship glided up the Italian coast and hove to in Laguna Venita. The Venetians were a strange and decadent lot; only they would sustain a tradition of a two-day annual festival "celebrating" the twelfth-century visitation of the Black Plague to their canal ci...
The harbor at Algiers seemed almost to disappear altogether as the pirate ships moved into the deep-water port right up to the dock and then, when there was no more room at the docks, right up against the ship between them and the dock—and so on until the whole surface of the space between the two headlands encasing the harbor was just one continuous deck wi...
Less than five months from the time the Master—I no longer could think of and refer to him as the Indian doctor—had initiated me, I had four more-or-less regular sex partners dominating me. I couldn't use the word lover at that point, however. All of them were using me more for their own pleasure and needs than for mutual satisfaction. On Saturday afternoons...
Chapter One: New Year's Eve 1989 There were four of them on the bed in the second-floor master bedroom of the Baccarat Hotel and Residence Condo building on Manhattan's West 53rd Street, conveniently located near the Broadway theater district. The caterers were downstairs in the living area doing last-minute preparations for Ted Sullivan's early-evening buf...
Chapter One: Kazan to Novorossiysk As soon as he had seen the truck convoy start to pull into the courtyard of the makeshift main building of the Imperial Military Academy, Pyotr dropped the weights he was working with in the exercise yard and loped down the slope and through the grove of trees that bordered one side of the river park on the rise above Kaza...
I would have never known sheer ecstasy or just how wanton I naturally was if it hadn't been for the British diplomat and writer Lawrence Durrell. And it wasn't really because of his writing, either; it was because of his mountainside villa in the ancient Byzantine abbey town of Bellapais on the steep slopes of the Kyrenia Mountains in the Turkish zone of Cyp...
This story was written to be the final part of the Bellapais Villa story series, which is a co-operative writing venture with sr71plt, but a very different story has replaced it. * The island ferry from Mersin in Turkey had arrived at Kyrenia in Northern Cyprus on time, which was a rare event, and after disembarking, I took the old familiar walk along the...
I truly regretted what I had to do after making Steve, the cute but oh so obvious young thing, my love slave. But it was all for a good cause, including Steve's, if he was able to take hold and prove he had talents for running intelligence assets. I took him under my wing and into my bed in my London flat, and when I wasn't trying to teach him how to run as...
I was met in the baggage area of the Munich international airport by a florid, slightly oversized man, obviously Germanic, who apparently knew who I was, although I didn't have a clue who he was beyond him having introduced himself as Hans when he approached me. They obviously wanted it that way and I was at their command. I didn't actually have any luggage...
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. As fiction, the characters are not bound by the usual dictates of modern society. Unsafe sexual practices can be un...