Hoping everyone has had a great Christmas and New Years and experiences a 2018 full of all the joy (and kink) they desire. 🙂
An excerpt from the first chapter of The Warden’s Girl
Behind an imposing electrified chain link fence covered in coils of razor wire, the tall shadow of Veronica Striker fell over the frosty ground. Flanked by several CO’s, the warden of Ferryforth Female Correctional Facility began walking the grounds of a prison housing over a thousand stolen souls, locked behind the concrete and bars of a world that no longer wanted them.
She was a handsome woman, her features naturally hard, but not without beauty. Now approaching her fiftieth year, Veronica had almost three decades of experience; first in the military, then in corrections.
She had brown eyes and shoulder length caramel hair dappled with gray. She didn’t dye it, that would have been a vanity too far in her opinion. Veronica was not given to vanity. She was given to function over form. Her clean cut gray suit hit all the right lines, giving her a businesslike appearance. Stoic and stern, that was how she appeared as she walked the yard toward Cell Block C, her feet clad in long black boots with a flat heel.
Veronica looked the part, her dark eyes rimmed with black lashes capable of peering into any inmate’s soul, her sharp brows ready to rise or fall with necessary suspicion or skepticism. With her military background, Veronica was physically fit and mentally tough. Both were necessary in dealing with over a thousand female inmates, every single one of whom would test the boundaries if given the chance.
With decades of experience in women’s correctional facilities, Warden Veronica Striker knows trouble when she sees it – and trouble is written all over the newest inmate in her prison.
Charlie James has several years to serve, and she intends to make the most of her time. But as Charlie struggles to fit into the strict routine of prison life, not to mention the challenges of other, more powerful inmates with demands of their own, she finds herself catching more than her fair share of the stern Ms Striker’s attentions.
What begins as mutual antagonism and suspicion soon turns into romantic tension between warden and inmate, and when Charlie’s secrets are revealed to be a whole lot bigger than Veronica suspected, she’s left picking up the pieces of a gambit gone wrong and hoping it’s not too late to save a girl who desperately needs saving from herself.
Due out sometime later this week, I’ve got a new lesbian romance with strong themes of discipline and such between a stern mature warden and a bratty new inmate. Stay tuned and check out this sneak peak in the meantime 🙂
“You look pretty relaxed, inmate,” the warden noted in her feminine drawl. It was a dangerous observation. Charlie knew that. She was entering a verbal minefield. She would have to be careful.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Charlie replied, as stiff-lipped as she could.
“Makes me think I’m running some kind of vacation spot here. Is that what you think this is? A spa?”
“If it is, the facilities are pretty run down, and the toilets are a little public for my taste. I mean, unless this is a spa for a certain kind of fetishist…”
She trailed off, noticing that the warden’s eyes had become two sharp slits, her head dipped so that she was looking at Charlie with a stern expression which produced a visceral response low in Charlie’s belly.
God, this woman was hot. She had the gravitas of experience and the bearing of a woman who had served her country. Strict and yet feminine, with just enough make up that it would have been plausibly deniable. The warden’s features were focused on her so intensely that Charlie felt like a mouse beneath a hawk’s glare, awed and yeah, even a little frightened.
“That attitude is going to get you a world of pain, inmate.”
Charlie knew that the proper response wasn’t to burst into a grin, but she really couldn’t help it.
“Inmate, I will make sure that smile does not appear again for a very long time if you don’t stop smirking at me,” Veronica snapped.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Charlie snorted.
She was giggling now. It was a serious situation. She knew it was a serious situation. And normally, she was a very serious person. But there was just something about having strips torn off her by Veronica Striker which made her feel uncharacteristically silly. The warden had a way of making her feel like a naughty girl caught out after she’d been put to bed or something. She’d known going in that prison tended to regress inmates in a whole lot of ways, but Charlie hadn’t felt it as strongly before as she did at that very moment as she was lectured for her attitude. She’d entered Ferryforth as a grown woman, but there was nothing adult about the way she was being dressed down now.
“I see, inmate,” Veronica said in icy tones. “You think this is funny, do you? You think getting an attitude with me is going to work out for you?”
“No ma’am, I bet it’s not,” Charlie said, doing her absolute best to stifle her giggles. “I can’t help it, I’m sorry.”
“I just make you giggle with glee, do I? Is that how it is, inmate?”
Charlie’s eyes were watering now. She didn’t know if she was misreading the situation completely, but suddenly she could have sworn that the warden was having a hard time not smiling as well.
“Well, you did ask me if it was a spa, so I figured you were telling jokes, ma’am. Sorry for laughing.”
“You think you’re too good for this place, James?”
“I think everybody is too good for this place,” Charlie replied. There were a few snorts of agreement around the room.
The warden’s brows rose as the inquisition continued. “You really want to give me attitude, girl? You think that’s going to end well?”
“No ma’am, just being honest, ma’am.”
Charlie wished she could get a grip on herself and stop squirming and giggling in front of this woman. Warden Striker was starting to look like she wanted to live up to her name. She was rubbing her palms together in a motion which made Charlie’s butt instinctively clench beneath the second hand underwear.
“You better watch your mouth, inmate. You can bring a whole mess of trouble down on your head if you’re not careful.”
“Thank you for the warning, ma’am,” Charlie said politely, finally managing to compose herself. She did her best to keep the smile from her lips, but she couldn’t help it in her eyes. The warden was picking up on that, she could tell. Fuck. She was going to have to get herself under control. Pissing off the warden on day one was not part of the plan.
Veronica’s eyes lingered on hers. There was definitely something between them. An energy which passed between their gazes and made Charlie tingle deep to her toes.
“You don’t like us.”
“I’m being held here against my will, my dear,” Ayla said patiently. “Be assured, my demeanor is not a comment on your character.”
Yira nodded, understanding. “It’s sort of funny, isn’t it. First you were born in a prison. Then you’re sent back to another one and they think it will make you better. It’s like trying to fix poisoning with more poison.”
“Well,” Ayla noted. “I may not know much about elves, but apparently this one knows a great deal about me.”
“I heard my mother speaking with Ariadne,” Yira admitted. “I overhear things sometimes.”
“Your mother… Riva?”
Yira nodded. “Mhm.”
“Why don’t you come in,” Ayla said with a smile that hinted at warmth, but didn’t quite supply it. “You can close the door if you like.”
Ayla patted the bed next to her and Yira approached, an eager look on her face. She sat down a few inches from Ayla, her knees turned toward the witch so that their legs almost touched. At that distance, her beauty was all the more evident. Her eyes were deep pools of caramel, and her hair was like a silken skein of rich wood tones. Delicate but pronounced features made her face quite pleasing to look at, her eyes narrower and more angled than Ayla’s, her cheekbones higher, and her face narrower. Full elf blood was always something to behold. Ayla found her eyes hovering about Yira’s mouth. She had pretty lips with a lovely shape and a slight natural pout.
In comparison, Ayla was broader in both shoulder and waist, and curvier, her features exotic but far more grounded. Her pale blonde hair was thinner than the elven strands, and her eyes held an earthier touch, her bright green gaze taking all of Yira in.
“Your mother told you about me?”
Yira swallowed and nodded. “I was curious to see if you were really like she says.”
“And am I?”
“You’re…” Yira colored. “You’re much more than I imagined you would be. She… the goddess, she made you sound like one of the broken elves. The ones who are all twisted and sick. But you are neither. So you can’t have done anything so bad after all.”
“I’m also not a full elf,” Ayla reminded her gently. “Though I do not think I have done anything particularly ‘bad’.”
“Bad enough to annoy a goddess,” Yira grinned a little. “That made me curious too. Everyone here is very… good.”
“Elves have to be good,” Ayla said. “As you just said, being bad twists and disfigures an elf.”
“We have to be good,” Yira nodded. “But we don’t have to be boring.”
Ayla smiled an understanding smile. “I see,” she said. “You have not yet lived long enough to know that boring circumstances are ones to be treasured.”
“I am old enough,” Yira replied with a small note of indignation. “I am well past the maturation. I have lived a long time.”
“And you will live a great deal longer,” Ayla said. “The things you will see will soon teach you that these days of boredom are not to be scoffed at.”
Yira wrinkled her nose slightly. “You’re starting to sound like my mother.”
“Well, that will not do,” Ayla laughed.
“You don’t like her, do you?”
“I don’t like being prisoner,” Ayla said. “It is as simple as that. I do not know her.”
“Maybe you could think of it as being… I don’t know, maybe don’t think of it as being a prison?” Yira looked at her with that innocent, warm gaze which sent a bolt of pure pain through Ayla’s chest. This young woman knew nothing. She believed in hopes and dreams and the concept of love and a great many other fairy tales – all of which were true, of course. What Yira was ignorant of was the shadow side of all those things.
“You’re a very beautiful young woman,” Ayla said. “You should not linger with someone like me.”
Ayla’s hand left the bed and ran lightly over Yira’s thigh. She watched the younger woman’s eyes closely, saw the unmistakeable gleam of arousal and felt the excited clenching which made every muscle in her legs and lower belly taut.
“Because I am dangerous to be with.”
Those beautifully innocent eyes searched Ayla’s gaze. “You don’t seem dangerous.”
“But I am,” Ayla warned, leaning in a little closer, her hand dipping between the young woman’s thighs. “Very dangerous for one such as you. You should not risk being with me.”
“… being with you?” Yira asked in a breathless stammer.
“That’s why you came in here, isn’t it? The soup isn’t the only hot, wet thing in this room.” Ayla quirked a brow at the elf who was now blushing quite profusely.
“You shouldn’t speak like that,” Yira said.
“Like what? Honestly?” Ayla leaned forward so that their lips were almost touching. “Tell me, Yira. Are you bored now?”
A once-famous witch seductress finds herself outcast and alone after time and fate strip her of friends, lovers, and enemies alike. With little left, she wanders the land she once protected, a vengeful shadow of the healer she once was.
When a skirmish with a goddess sends her into custody in the elven realm she becomes the captive of a wise elder named Riva, a woman who considers the witch little more than a rebel ripe for schooling. She also finds herself an object of infatuation to Riva’s acolyte daughter, Yira, a beautiful elf far too innocent for the witch’s tastes.
Price: 99 cents
Looking through her binoculars, Terra smiled as a slim finger was waved defiantly in her direction. She doubted either one of her bratty soldiers would realize it, but she felt only pride. Cadet and Sarah had breached enemy lines in plain sight without a single shot being fired. No small achievement for a couple of renegades.
As she watched them talk their way further into the camp, she felt a shift in the wind within her heart and mind. It was an instinct which told her that this was not the end of everything, but it was the end of the beginning.
From an awkward naughty cadet who could not pass a single test, to a confident and brave soldier, Terra had watched her charge grow up swiftly. Though she would of course have to have words with both Sarah and Cadet about drinking on missions, not to mention flipping off her position and potentially giving it away, she could not help but be proud of both of them.
“This is Vanli territory. You can’t be here.”
Sarah and Cadet had arrived at the rebel base, an old estate that had once belonged to someone of great wealth who had since passed on in one way or another. At one time, the great vaulted building and extensive gardens would have been home to nobility. Now the crumbling structure was hung with the gold and red of the rebels and the place was packed to bursting with the disenfranchised.
They’d been stopped at the gate by two gardsmen, one of whom’s head was shaven, the other of whom’s hair was as bountiful as it was dreadlocked. They were wearing Vanli colors over piecemeal armor. Heavy gauntlets, light boots, clearly wearing whatever they could get their hands on and their bodies into.
“We’re… uh… here to join?” Cadet’s voice rose to a confusing lilt at the end of her sentence, her eyes rolling with utter disdain at the heavily armed rebel guard’s stupidity.
“Which one of them am I fucking?” Grisham repeated the question, which only served to make her sound all the more guilty.
“Oh god, Tess, tell me it’s not both of them.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tess, that only makes this worse. It’s Cadet, isn’t it. That’s why Terra bought me in. Jesus, Tess!”
“We… it’s not what you think.”
“I do not like this,” Grisham complained to Gray. It was their turn to stand outside on the porch, which was quickly becoming the designated sulking spot. They had retreated from Terra’s eyes and ears to talk to one another, or rather, Grisham had dragged Gray out in order to vent her frustrations. “Sarah has no discipline, Cadet has no training…”
“And yet together they make up for one another’s failings quite well,” Gray said, unconcerned. “They are soldiers, eager to do their work. I have to say, I am quite impressed.” Continue reading
“It needs to be tighter and shorter.”
“It can’t be tighter and shorter. The armor will show.”
“Then take the armor off. You won’t need it.”
“I’d prefer to keep it on.”
“Thanks for getting me out of there.” Sarah slid down next to Cadet, who was standing on the porch, next to the bench. The state of her rear prevented her from sitting down, and made moving pretty uncomfortable too. The moment of triumph she’d experienced in the briefing had since soured. She didn’t know why exactly. Probably because the things that were most upsetting her were still very much in play. She’d found a quiet place outside, away from Terra and Gray who were deep in the planning still. Grisham was somewhere else on the base, doing something important, no doubt.
“Grisham said you made an argument for my release,” Sarah said. “I was kind of surprised.”
Cadet was brooding.
She sat in the corner of the cabin, watching Terra and Gray and Grisham run over the plan for the mission that they were apparently going to undertake sometime soon. They were incredibly focused on it and did not seem to notice her mood.
Reminding herself that being in a military unit was not about her and her feelings, she tried to pay attention to what Terra was saying, but there was so much boring background about terrain and elevation and other things that were probably relevant to the mission, but not at all relevant to a lovesick cadet.