FLASH FICTION

The First Thanksgiving After

By Cleo Taurus

The house was full of laughter and good cheer. Preacher had allowed his Rose to invite the other happy couples that had no close family over to celebrate the food filled holiday. Putting the finishing touches on the large table, Rose looked over the crystal and fine china that had been given to them as wedding presents. Her mind went back to other holidays, the ones she suffered as a child growing up in a house so cold it would have given the North Pole a run for its money for sheer frigidity. Preacher, Taylor and the other men were in the great room watching football on the big screen, and the women were laughing and talking in the kitchen. Rose just stood there, counting places, making sure each setting had the correct number of utensils and wine glasses when she felt a hard smack on her ass. Stifling a yelp, she looked over her shoulder and glared at her husband and Dom, Preacher.

“What was that for Sir?” Rose could see by the look on his face not to call him anything else.

“Where was your mind at my Rose?” 

“On the table!”  Rose answered as she rubbed her sore ass cheek.

“No, it wasn’t and you know not to lie to me. It was on HER, wasn’t it?”

Rose sighed quietly and stood there, safe in Preacher’s arms. It had been a rough and also wonderful year for her, and it was all due to the man holding her close now. When her mother died, she completely shut down mentally and emotionally. It was only through the love of her Dom, and what he had to do to bring her out of it, that she was sane and happy. Rose leaned her head back against his chest, and tried not to let a tear slide down her eye.

“Yes, it was Sir. But only for a moment.” She turned around and faced him, her arms sliding around his waist. Looking into the eyes of the man she loved and would die for, her mind was at ease, and her heart was full.

“What’s on your mind my Rose?” He asked her as he tightened his hold on his wife.

“I know it’s stupid, and I don’t know why I feel this way, but I wonder what she would have thought about you and I. I mean, I know her opinion of me wasn’t much when she was alive, but I once thought if she could see how happy I am, then maybe she would accept me.”

“Then you would be wrong Rosie doll.”

The strong voice coming from across the room made her jump. She thought they were alone. When she looked over her shoulder a smile broke across her face and she pulled out of Preachers arm. It was her brother Tim, standing next to the table smiling, and behind him his partner Warren.

“I didn’t expect you to make it! I thought you were going to Megan’s for the holiday!” Rose jumped in her brother’s arms and gave him a tight hug.

“Not a chance in hell would we go there Rose, there’s no place I would rather be then here with you and Brice.”  He held her with one arm and walked over to Rose’s husband, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the invite.”

Preacher shook his hand and pulled his wife back against him. His arm slung over her shoulder, Preacher gave Warren a nod, and then turned to her brother again.

“Glad you two could make it; you both are always welcome in our home, and at our table. Rose, I think we need two more settings don’t you?”

She hurriedly went to grab everything and as Preacher watched her scamper away he let out a chuckle. In the months since they married, she had barely had a need for what he used to give her. Now, it was as simple as having her sit at his feet in the evenings, or tying her to the bed at night next to him.  Preacher could tell when she needed something extra, and he made sure to give it to her. Never again did he EVER want to see her so shut down as he did that night.

“I never thanked you Brice, for what you did for Rose.”

Tim’s voice was calm and confidant, and as the two men stood there facing each other, an unspoken understanding passed between them.

“I love your sister, what I did, to her, was for us both.” Preacher knew that Rose had confided in her older brother, and he was fine with that. After all in his mind it was hers to tell. If she was ok with it then so was he.

“I know what a bitch my mother was, and as much as I tried I couldn’t save her, only you and your love could do that.”

“I would do it all over again just to see her smiling at the end of it. I hated to hurt her, but I knew it was what she needed.” Preacher turned to look at Tim, his eyes never leaving the other man’s. “But she hasn’t needed that kind of pain since that night. She’s stronger now, more… content.”

Just then Rose walked back in the room and quickly made two more places at the table. Smiling up at her brother and Warren, she hugged them both again. “I’m so HAPPY you two are here!”

Preacher had called everyone into the dining room as Rose told him all was ready, and he stood at the head of the table. Looking around, surrounded by his closest friends, family and the only woman he ever loved, he took her hand in his. Rose was his Thanksgiving, she was what he would be forever thankful for.

Her husband on one side, brother on the other, Rose was thankful for them both, and the loss of love from her mother wasn’t as important as she once thought. That is what she was truly thankful for.

The Road to Yesterday

By Cleo Taurus

She loved this time of year, fall in New Hampshire. The leaves were so many different hues of gold, browns, reds and greens; it was as if God just ran a multicolored paint brush over the entire area. Sitting on the Harley I200, a bike so many thought was too powerful for her to handle, she traveled down the road, her mind awash in memories. It was here, in this quiet little corner of the world, where she grew up, had her first kiss, and rode her first motorcycle. It was on the back of Jacob Miller’s soft panel, the rumbling between her legs making her hot and horny for the eighteen-year-old boy. When he’d pulled over, parking the bike near a field of daisies and kissed her, she’d melted in his arms. It was only the fact that she was a scared little virgin that stopped it from going too far. She knew, even then, Jacob wasn't the one who would pop her cherry. That was meant for someone else. She just hadn't met him yet.

The curves and twists of the road brought her attention back to the here and now. Miranda concentrated on keeping the massively powerful bike upright. Her leather-clad body and the black helmet could only offer so much protection, and the last thing she wanted to do was wipe out in the middle of nowhere.  This road was hardly used, and if she got hurt she could lay for hours before someone found her. When she’d started this trek, it hadn't been in her mind to use any bike but his. It would have been easier to use her lady Harley, as Jed used to call her purple bike, rolling his eyes every time she pulled up next to him. In his mind, any bike painted anything other than black with silver chrome was a girly bike. It took her a month to learn how to handle his motorcycle, but once she’d mastered it, Miranda never rode hers again.

She rode for hours, covering all the places she and Jed had once passed; the biker bars, the house the two had shared once upon a time, and the motel where she finally became a woman. Jed was patient and kind with her that first time, but after that, his dominance came out. Miranda loved when he tied her up in knots, keeping her on edge for hours, finally allowing her to come. He was her Master, her lover, her husband, her soul.

There, up in the distance, was the place she was looking for. Pulling over, she took off the helmet, her long blonde hair cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. Miranda shook her head, pushed down the kickstand, and threw her leg over the bike. Standing there, she opened her mind to all the thoughts she hadn't allowed in a year. How he would love to toss her over the bike, spread her legs and fuck her till she screamed his name, the sound of her pleasure echoing down the valley. Jed loved to hear his name from her lips, and always, it was what she cried out as she came for him. Her body would shake from the passion of having his hands on her and the way he would paddle her ass until it was black and blue, then spread her ass cheeks and take her hard and fast. How many times had she heard, “Don’t come yet, Miranda.” She couldn't even put a number to it. Jed fucked her wherever and whenever he wanted, and she never said no to him. She was programmed to only his touch, only his commands. That was deliberate on his part, and God help any man who ever put a hand on her. She was HIS, and no one touched what was HIS.

Miranda reached into the saddlebag, and pulled out the brass and gold urn. She held it close to her heart as tears started to run down her cheeks. She was brave, he always told her so. Jed was so proud of his girl, and now, she hoped he was going to be proud of her one last time. It was hard to believe, it was only a year ago that the van hit him head on, she could still remember seeing his body go flying off his bike, and never would she forget the sound of his body hitting then bouncing off the hot concrete of the road. Her screams then weren't ones of pleasure, but of a woman seeing her future die in front of her eyes. Miranda cradled him in his arms as he took his last breath, and then felt her own heart shattering. It took months for her to begin to feel anything again, and when his buddies brought his fixed Harley to her, she broke down for the first time since his death. It was then that she made her plans.

Now, standing in the place where her future ended, she opened up the top of the urn and tipped it, letting the ashes of her past fly into the wind. Watching as Jed flew to the heavens, she wiped her tears for the last time. “It’s been a year Jed,” she murmured quietly, “and I've missed you every second of every day, but now it’s time for me to find my future again. I will always love you, but I can’t mourn you anymore. I need to move on,” she put the lid back on the urn and packed it away, “and I need to find joy again.”

Miranda kissed the tips of her fingers and held them up, kissing her Jed for the last time. Climbing back on his bike, she rode away, the road to yesterday now becoming the road to the future.


for more incredible flash fiction pieces  please visit the Horny Devil Promotional Page for links to other Horny Devil Authors participating in this event:

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Master of discipline, Preacher, has enjoyed an endless line of subs begging for his special brand of punishment. Every moment of control is like ambrosia until the day he meets the one woman who would need him most.

Rose is a woman with dark secrets until the seams of her chaotic lifestyle begin to slowly fall apart. Keeping everything bottled up is merely a survival tactic until she meets the one man who refuses to accept her excuses. 

Will her natural submissive nature allow Preacher to help her overcome her past? Or will she run away as she has always done, leaving her empty and full of regret for the rest of her life?

"You are not worthless."

Spanking Bench Confessional was a short erotic read filled with such intensity and raw emotion that it felt like I was holding my breath the entire time. Cleo Taurus knows her stuff, and she puts it all out there in her stories. You can tell that the author loves and believes in her characters.

Master Brice or Preacher, is an intense human being. He is the Dom you come to when there is no one else that can break through your walls. He is the one who can accomplish what others can't. He is the one to make you confess. Experienced as Preacher was, 20 years being a Dom, he has never wanted anyone more than his Little Rose. No one has ever came this close to his heart, and yet he felt if HE confessed, he would lose her forever.

Rose was fifty shades of ****ed up, all thanks to her witch of a mother. Growing up the black sheep of the family, her mother treated her like dirt, like she was an accident, and the only reason why she was there was because of her father and his money. With her father dying when she was young, she had no one to turn to, to escape the horrible jabs from mommy dearest. All was lost, until Preacher stepped into the picture and gave Rose what she needed....a good, intense, emotional beating.

"She was wrong, you are perfect, why can't you see what I see when I look at you?"

These two characters broke my heart. You could tell that Preacher didn't like how tough he got with Rose, but he knew it was what she needed. To love someone so much, and to not be able to voice that without fear of her running away and losing her forever, ugh! Incredibly sad. This was written so well, I couldn't help but feel like the author must have pulled from past experience. We all deal with these struggles every day, and we all deal with it in different ways. It's the people who stick with you through the thick and thin that deserve our complete love and trust, and Master Brice was it for Rose. I want to give you all a little warning. Spanking Bench Confessional was NOT BDSM-light at all. There are some intense, tough scenes that will get to you, just make sure you pay attention to the underlying love and devotion that comes after the crack of the whip.

 5 STAR REVIEWS FOR
THE ARRANGEMENT!!

The right, and privilege to read and write what I want.

I just today had an intense discussion, *read got my ass tore a new one* by someone who I had a relationship with a long, long time ago. I found out a mutual friend had liked my author page, and had helped me out by promoting it on HER page. With me so far?

Ok so, she did me a big favor by doing that as it has brought interest not only to me but to my fellow authors. However when said EX saw it, he *gasp* googled Cleo, which took him to my amazon page, my blog, my face book author fan page, etc. He THEN read the blurbs on my stories. AND THAT was when the fun started! I got a text from him, basically telling me, I was going to hell, I wrote smut, I was a terrible influence,
you get what I'm saying right?

I read it all, then because I am so calm, cool and rational, I called him. why? I don't know, I was bored. I said hello, ask him how his life was going, his job, his kids, was he not getting laid anymore? the typical between friends phone call right?  HE told me, and I quote, "you know, if you had GOD in your life the way I do, you would be writing books praising his name! not that porno crap you pass off as literature! It's people like me causing the downfall of America!' end quote. I thought about it for a minute, then, well, I'm afraid I wasn't as christian and I try to be. I lit into him like a freight train barreling down the track with no brakes.

I asked him, by what right does HE dare to judge me when last time I checked, only GOD could stand in
judgement of me or anyone else. I told him, if he doesn't like what I write, THEN DON'T FUCKING BUY OR READ IT!  I told him, in my oh so calm and gentle lady like demeanor, the the first Amendment gives me the RIGHT AND THE PRIVILEGE to read, or write whatever I feel like, and as long as it does, and as long as Horny Devil Publishing or ANY publishing house in the future feels like my stories are good enough to publish then by GOD I WILL CONTINUE TO WRITE!! *wave American flag here*

I realize, that what I write my not be for everyone, and I'm fine with that. But I dont look at what I write as porn, although the good Lord knows I do write some sex, I look at them as love stories with a twist. My first three books, the Black Room Series, were all about one man's search for love. My holiday story, Alex's Christmas present, was based on someone I loved, admired and held dear to my heart. The next set of stories are the same. People, who only want to be loved for who and what they are.

After I hung up the phone, I sat there for a minute, just thinking. About fifteen minutes later, I still could find nothing wrong with what I, or any of my fellow authors that I know write. Then, because I am a true smart ass, I texted him back and told him, maybe he should read a book or two. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't be on his third divorce!!!

*laughs* I'm such a stinker!

Big vs skinny........... don't we all need love?

So I've been reading, a lot the last few days since I've been down with the flu. And to my growing horror, and why I never saw this before is completely unknown to me. Why is it, almost all the heroines in most books, small? oh now I don't mean the tits, somehow most have tremendous racks, and hips that "were made for his hands alone". Nope, I'm talking about size.
Are big girls not allowed to love? are we to be forever known as the funny best friend? never knowing a man's touch? I mean..... how the hell fair is that? I am NOT A SIZE 0-6, and haven't been since.. well. my entire life. I am a comfortable size for me. I am, for the most part happy and healthy. Does the fact that I'm not a size 6 mean that I am not entitled to love?
And just so no one calls foul on me, yes, I have written skinny heroines. Now however, as I write and develop my women, I am more conscientious. I know that not every woman is a thin woman. Some of us have meat AND potatoes on our bones. I was talking to one of my favorite fellow authors, Ava Snow, and if you haven't read her you should. I told her that what I loved best about her story was the woman was a REAL WOMAN!!  not some skinny stick figure who needed a few meals.
Not all authors use this kind of woman for their models, but lets be real, the majority do. Its almost as if, if the woman is a thin petite little thing, shes more deserving.
I'm not speaking here for anyone other than myself, and, depending on the story I'm not saying I wont use a thin woman again as my heroine, but I can say, I will be way more aware now.

Primal man vs. Dominant man

I had an interesting discussion a couple of days ago with a group of women, both younger, in their 20's and older, my age. And the topic was do women really want a Primal man or a Dominant man. The younger women really didn't know the difference, hell I was unsure myself till I did some digging.
   The "girls" in the group wanted men they could control. Laughing when we older broads heard that, we all just looked at them. One of my older friends couldn't stop herself and told the younger ones, "Just wait till you lived a little more."
   One of the girls asked well, whats the difference.? So. We all thought about it. I looked at this 27 yr old girl and told her
  A PRIMAL man takes what he wants. He will fuck you six ways from Sunday and he really is all about what his own pleasure. Hes the type of man who would grab you by the back of your hair and whisper in your ear "Im going to fuck you till you pass out.
  A DOMINANT man, demands your submission, all the while taking great care with the precious gift of your body you have given him. He knows, and will give you WHAT YOU NEED, not WHAT YOU WANT. He will take the time to bring down all your barriers, break through your walls, and get into your brain. He's the man who holds all your pleasure in the palm of his hands.
  When the girls thought about it, they all shook their heads and said NO Way in hell.
I just laughed and thought
"wait till they have lived a little."