penned by alex morgan

Corporate Takeover: A Master's Dungeon story - coming March 16 from loveyoudivine Alterotica!

A corporate millionaire becomes attracted to mutt, living out fantasies he’s only dreamed of. Will he make Master Mike an offer for mutt He can’t refuse?

Bill Sutcliffe is a powerful businessman, isolated in his corporate ivory tower. When a benefactor arranges for him to have an afternoon rendezvous with mutt, he becomes enamored of the young man, and the opportunity to live out fantasies he can only imagine.

A loud voice startled me so badly i jumped. A flashlight beam was directed into my eyes. While rehearsing this moment in my mind, i had come up with a number of excuses and explanations but in my surprise, all of them fled my mind.

my blood ran cold when i realized it wasn't Mr. Sutcliffe standing there. Where was he? Who was this?

The overhead lights came on and a portly man with curly gray hair, an expensive suit and wire-rimmed glasses stood in a doorway i had seen in my earlier visits but never told where it led. What frightened me most wasn't my being discovered, but the pistol he pointed at me.

“I'm a friend of Mr. Sutcliffe's. He asked me to meet him here.” i managed to find my voice.

“Liar!” he snapped. “Bill isn't here. He told me something like this might happen.”

“you were on his computer! you were searching for our company secrets, weren't you?” His voice turned to a hiss as he approached. “you're a spy!”

“Silence!” he roared. “Back away from the desk.” He pointed the gun at my head. i got to my feet and took a few steps away. He glanced at the computer screen as he advanced on me so he could not have missed the game i was playing but his expression never changed.

“You heard me. Strip!” he bellowed. “I don’t' know what weapons you might have hidden or maybe you've already got some files downloaded on a flash disk in your pockets.

You can catch more bears with honey than vinegar, right? At least, that’s what Taylor is going to do.

“A conference.” I groaned in mock disgust. “I hate it when these things fall right before Christmas. Nobody’s focused on doing work. They’re just thinking about the holidays. You?"

“Business meeting with a client tomorrow and then Brian and I are going to the Upper Peninsula for the holidays.”

I was disappointed to find out they were going to be in Indianapolis for only one night and that their hotel was nowhere near mine. Lawrence sounded let down, too.

Was he really? I wouldn't allow myself the luxury that all of us were thinking 'what if'.

I did let myself enjoy the comfort of his arm over my shoulder. The vibration and the heat of the plane as it taxied and took off combined to make me drowsy and I dozed off with my head resting in the crook of his arm.

“Sorry about that, Taylor,” he said apologetically. “I had to turn the other cheek.”

“‛Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek.’”

An effervescent flight attendant stepped next to Brian and flashed a blinding smile. “Something to drink?”

I saw a micro-second of hesitation as she caught sight of Lawrence’s arm over my shoulder and her smile faltered before she recovered. He ordered a vodka and Sprite, for Brian a rum and coke and I asked for red wine. I was reaching for my billfold when Brian produced his credit card and paid for all our drinks.

“Thank you. How can I ever repay you?” I asked with a wink. As if in response, the captain announced he was dimming the lights in the cabin and a few seconds later, the plane plunged into semi-darkness.

Captain Andrew’s merman lover Tirnan’s paradise island is being threatened by a volcano. Now the whole world is watching. How long can he keep Tirnan’s presence a secret?

Captain Andrew and the crew of the Diamond learn that the volcano on El Paradiso, the tropical paradise where Tirnan and the mer-people live is about to erupt. The world’s attention is focused on the tiny spec of land. Andrew and his crew must race against time to keep the mer-people’s presence a secret. How can they do that when scientists and reporters from all over the globe are descending on El Paradiso?

Andrew scanned the web-site with growing interest and concern. The news on the screen told of underwater tremors in the Caribbean Ocean signaling the movement of magma beneath the earth’s crust. One of the volcanos in that region would erupt in the near future. How long before it did, the article didn’t say, but it was most likely Gukumatz on El Paradiso, named for the Mayan god of the elements: Fire, Water, Air and Earth. Volcanologists, geologists, other scientists and news agencies from around the world were descending on the island. The report was dated the previous day. The world had more than a twenty-four hour start.

“What’s going to happen to the mer-people if they’re discovered?” Mr. James asked in a raspy voice when Andrew looked up from the screen.

“Andy, we have to return to El Paradiso,” Blackmoor, the only person in the world the captain allowed to call him such, said. “Now.” His voice was low and pleading, not adversarial.

Andrew looked into the big man’s deep brown eyes framed by a full beard and mustache.

I don’t ever recall seeing him without a smile on his face. Whoever he has on the island, he’s scared to death for him.

The captain nodded. He couldn’t imagine letting anything happen to Tirnan, especially if there was something he could do to prevent it.

“Check with the galley to make sure if we’re fully stocked on essentials,” Andrew said to Mr. James. The pilot turned and left the cabin.

“We’ve finished refueling and the engines are in good working order,” Blackmoor said. “The ship is ready to go at a second’s notice.”

He pivoted to the door to leave but the captain stopped him. “Vince.” Andrew rose from his chair and approached the bosun. He fingered the garland around the big mans’ neck, brushing his fingers lightly across Vince’s nipples.

The bosun grinned back. “Jemmar.” He enunciated a soft ‘j’ as he spoke the name. Andrew watched as the bosun’s eyes twinkled and his smile grew.

Blurb: A former slave of Master Mike’s is back and now a Master himself. But he still harbors a grudge against Mike for selling him off years ago. Now he’s out for revenge

“I was angry for a very long time,” Master Bert said. “But I came to realize that You did Me a favor. I realized that I was more inclined to be a Master than a slave.”

"That would certainly make a lot of sense," Master Mike responded. "You had an opinion on nearly everything I did and weren't afraid of voicing it."

Bert chuckled and took a drink of His beer. "That should've been My first clue."

Master Bert laughed again. This time it didn't seem natural, more like it was forced. It sounded obsequious to my ears. Was He trying to convince master His anger had subsided simply to placate Him? Why after all this time? Was He nervous? Was He sweating?

i shook my head to clear my thoughts and stop imagining things. my canine persona always brought out the guard dog in me and i was on alert for any threat to Master. But it seemed my imagination was running amok. There wasn't any danger here, was there?

Young, rich, spoiled and naïve George Lattimer sets out to hitchhike Route 66 across the country in the summer of 1964. After a bad experience getting a ride, he finds himself lost in the Ozark wilderness and stumbles upon the lair of three large, hairy outdoorsmen, hiding from the U.S. Marshals. They are determined to keep their hideaway a secret at all costs.

“Who are you?” The large man spoke. His voice wasn’t loud but it seemed to shake the entire room.

George stared up at him. The man wore no shirt and appeared to have muscle upon muscle, all covered in hair.

None of the friends and neighbors had this level of musculature. When George’s parents hosted pool parties, everyone hung out in bathing suits, all pasty white, scrawny and clean-shaven.

George couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s chest. The other two men in the room were also muscular, tan and hairy but not to the extent as the first.

George jumped at the outburst. “I’m just hitchhiking cross-country,” he said weakly.

George was stymied. Why was this guy so paranoid? What was so special about this dilapidated hideaway?

“First of all,” the man continued when George didn’t answer. “You don’t have any identification. Where’s your billfold? You don’t travel with money?” He pointed to George’s clothes which were hanging over the back of another chair.

“I lost it when I ran away from…” He caught himself. “When I ran into the woods.”

A slight smile crept into the man’s face. “Why did you run into the woods? Who were you running from?”

“I seem to have touched a nerve, George.” the man sneered when he spoke the name.

Embarrassed by his experience with Louis, George tried to decide on a story, a believable one. In halting speech he managed to fumble through telling how he stumbled upon their secret place, omitting the part about being forced to suck Louis’ dick.

The three men seemed to relax slightly. George didn’t know if they believed him or not, but they no longer had their fingers on the triggers of their weapons.

Portia de Moncur reviewed Invisible Curtain for MM Good Book Reviews and gave it 4 1/2 Hearts!

Paranormal sleuth Corey Shaw is enjoying vacation with his family in the Baltic Sea when terrorists bomb restaurants hosting World Cup parties in London and Copenhagen. On each occasion the explosion coincides with the cruise ship leaving port. Although the United States isn’t attacked directly, Corey and his colleagues are unavoidably drawn into the investigation with or without the blessing of international intelligence agencies. When a third bomb goes off in St. Petersburg, Russia, Corey is convinced the answer lies aboard his ship.

Corey is torn between a vacation with his family, his burgeoning attraction to handsome dancer, Raul and solving the mystery behind the bombings.

He must use all his psionic abilities to protect his family, and his friends, and keep the world safe from this worrying upsurge in international terrorism

Faruq Boussora gauged the distance between vehicles driving westbound on Lower Thames Street and when a gap appeared, he dashed across to the median, ignoring the horns blaring at him. His heavy backpack jostled on his shoulders, causing him to stumble. The straps rubbed sore spots on his back no matter how he tried to shift its weight. He hacked a few times to clear his lungs of the diesel smoke and the stench from his nostrils.

He was on a mission of peace. Although he knew many would think it was one of murder and terror, he didn’t care. The infidels would see the truth, see the error of their ways. They had developed weapons that were an abomination to mankind. The infidels were abominations. How would they like having those weapons turned against them?

Would that make us just as guilty if we use them as well? No. The ends will justify the means. Isn’t that the phrase the infidels always used?

Faruq fancied himself being part of the new ambitious program. Why else was he chosen for this mission, hand-selected from dozens of candidates? He trained for months and now he was ready.

Faruq crossed Byward Street and entered the relative quiet of Great Tower Street. A few steps away, he walked into the Hung, Drawn and Quartered Pub, a popular gathering place in London despite its macabre moniker.

He scanned the interior, noting with satisfaction the place wasn’t completely full. The smell of food made his mouth water and his stomach growl with anticipation. More people entered behind him but his favorite booth sat empty and he made his way to it, avoiding waiters and waitresses carrying trays of food and pitchers of beer. He sat his backpack on the floor underneath the table, relieved to be unburdened from its weight, and slid into the seat.

A young waitress with bleached white hair hanging to her shoulders appeared at his elbow.

“ ’allo, Mr. ’alliwell,” she said, giving him a bright smile and making an effort to pronounce his name. “’aven’t seen you in ‘ere for a while.” Her tongue piercing glinted in the dim light of the pub as she spoke.

Faruq bit his lip, preventing a smile from splitting his face at the alias he’d given her. It sounded so proper, so British. And Sarah was so sweet, so gullible. “Hello, Sarah. It’s been a few weeks, yes. I had business in America,” he said. He had worked hard to drop his middle-Eastern accent and perfect the Queen’s English. Maybe I should add a South London drawl? No, that would be overkill.

“Well, it’s great to see ya again. Gonna be stayin’ with us a spell?” Sarah asked. She balanced a tray in one hand and put the other on the table, shifting her weight.

Faruq ignored the question and tried to divert his gaze from Sarah’s ample cleavage. “The place looks just the same as the last time I visited.” He glanced around the pub. Nothing has changed. That’s good.

“Expected us to tart the place up, did ya?” She laughed. Faruq smiled back. “The usual?” He nodded and Sarah withdrew.

Faruq leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, resting his chin on interlaced fingers. Of course, he hadn’t expected them to renovate. He would’ve found that out weeks ago if they had. Therefore, no last minute changes to his plans. From his earlier surveillance of the place, he chose this booth as the most advantageous spot from which to launch his mission.

His handsome and uncharacteristically fairer-than-normal features let him blend in with the Londoners without drawing attention to himself, and his mastery of their speech and even a few dialects made his disguise complete. Since 9/11 and the 7/7 London bombings, Faruq felt all eyes were on him and anyone who even resembled someone of middle-Eastern descent.

The water splashed against the ship outside below the window, but the wine and the book dominated his attention and Andrew tuned out the susurrus.

Something in the sound of the splashes changed and Andrew, alert, looked to the windows, listening. The soft noises came at regular intervals, almost like a cadence, but this sound wasn’t like waves hitting the ship or breaking on the shore. Putting his book on the arm of the chair, Andrew rose and crept to the window.

What was making that strange noise, he wondered. He peeked around the window sill to avoid frightening away whatever was out there.

The full moon loomed enormous in the sky and its light reflecting off the water dazzled him. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw white foam on the surface below his windows, where something had just submerged.

A porpoise! Or maybe a dolphin, Andrew thought with a thrill. Being captain of a cruise ship in the Caribbean, he saw many wonderful and amazing creatures. It wasn’t at all unusual to see porpoises, dolphins and even whales but the excitement never wore off. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the tail as it broke the surface again, but there was something strange about it.

A head rose out of the water, long blond hair flowed over the broad muscular shoulders that followed, wet skin gleamed in the moonlight. A fire stirred in Andrew’s loins. He sucked in his breath as the figure looked upward to him, revealing the most handsome face he had ever seen.

It’s not hard to get an A in Professor Richards’ class, but it’s easier if YOU are.

Male students who have Professor Richards’ English literature class discover that it’s not difficult to pass his courses. Of course, it involves special tutoring, many late night hours ‘studying’ and working hard. But the effort pays off with special credit and some of it may even involve English lit.

Peter put the last graded paper onto a stack with the rest of the tests. He glanced at the clock on his desk.

“4:30,” he muttered. “Maybe I’ll leave in a few minutes and get an early start on the weekend.” He leaned back in his chair and thought about his wife, waiting for him at home. “Or is she dreading when I come home?”

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Alan Bradford stood in the threshold.

“Professor Richards, can I talk to you a minute?” He seemed almost bashful, standing in gym shorts and a tank top.

Peter ran his eyes over the lean body and lingered on the slight bulge in Alan’s shorts. He swallowed hard. “Sure, come on in.” He motioned to a chair in front of his desk.

His shyness makes him even more adorable, Peter thought. “What’s on your mind?”

“Um,” Alan looked away. “Brian told me that you gave him an ‘A’ on the test so he can play tomorrow.”

Peter sucked in his breath. “Yes,” he said, hoping the young man wouldn’t notice his sudden fear.

The professor exhaled slowly. “Yes, but are you sure? His cock began to swell in anticipation.

Alan nodded. “I have to get an ‘A’ in this course if I’m going to graduate summa cum laude next semester.”

“So are you ready to do this?” Peter’s dick pressed against the tight confines of his pants.

Mutt is a sex slave sworn to obey his Master commands, even if that means acting as a dog or having sex with another Master. Mutt’s only purpose is to please his Master.

One night, Master takes him to help train another couple interested in puppy play. During the session, Master decides to show off Mutt’s extensive training, but the pet fails to keep one of Master’s strictest rules. As a result, he is forced to experience his Dom’s wrath.

Facing humiliating punishment at the hands of his Master, he is kept chained and locked in the dungeon. When he sees Master again, he realizes that his punishment has only begun….and that he may not survive it.

Todd gets his first taste of BDSM at a leather bar and yearns for more. He becomes a slave to Master Mike, a hard-core serious master and trainer of slaves. Despite the challenges of giving up complete control of his life, Todd finds his descent into sexual slavery a journey that he never wants to end.

i heard Master get out of the car and start calling orders. The lid opened up and the sudden dim light blinded me. Hands grabbed me and hauled me out of the trunk. They laid me on the ground and untied me. My arms and legs had stiffened from being restrained so i couldn’t move for a few seconds. i groaned in pain as the blood returned to my extremities and i managed to rise to my feet.

eight thirty-five stood next to two more slaves, both shaved from head to toe and not wearing a stitch of clothing, except for the chain collars and padlocks around their necks. i glanced around and saw we were in a large triple car garage. Where you would expect to see cars or storage shelves sat a work space with power tools, welding equipment, stacks of lumber and bundles of iron and steel bars. i caught a glimpse of cages, benches and St. Andrew’s crosses in various stages of construction.

“eight thirty-five will show you where you will stay tonight.” He turned and left the garage through a door into the house. The two slaves followed him. eight thirty-five picked a flashlight from a shelf and led me through the same door and down a staircase into a basement room. he locked me into a cage with a pallet for a bed and a blanket.

“Someone will come and get you in the morning.”He left me alone, turning out the flashlight.

i didn’t sleep well that night because the cramped cage didn’t allow me to stretch out. It was also pitch black in the room. If there were windows in there, they must have been covered completely to not let any light from outside. i dozed off and on for a while, and finally fell into a restless sleep only to be woken up a short time later to the sound of running feet overhead.

Daylight filtered in through a window high up on a wall, and covered with a heavy curtain. i looked around the room and saw three other naked forms in cages similar to mine. One guy was starting to come around but the other two slept on through the ruckus. Not knowing what to do, i lay still and listened to the noises coming from above to see if i could determine what was going on.

The footsteps didn’t sound hurried or rushed, rather more like people determined to get things done efficiently and quickly. The door to our room opened and eight thirty-five came down the stairs. Without a word, he opened all the cages and roused the two sleeping forms. he showed us to a toilet where we could relieve ourselves.

“you three report to the kitchen,” he said to the others. he turned to me. “you are to stay here until Master calls for you.” i thought i detected a tone of condescension in his voice but tried to dismiss it from my mind as just me being self-conscious about my nakedness.

i was a little disappointed that I had to remain behind, and even more upset when eight thirty-five locked me back in my cage. Fortunately, i didn’t have to wait long before another slave came to release me. i recognized him from the Master’s blog. A little thinner than the others, he wasn’t as handsome either.

“i’m four-eleven. i’m here to take you to Master Mike.” he said it with a slight smile, which was a relief from what I felt with eight thirty-five. i followed him into a large dining room. Master Mike sat at one end.

Why would someone murder a congressional aide after a fetish party, nailing him to a St. Andrew’s cross? Paranormal gay sleuth Corey Shaw thinks someone may have passed divine judgment on the man. If so, then a murderer is stalking gay men in the bars of Washington, DC.

As he looked into the room beyond, his breath caught in his throat at the horrific scene just a few feet inside the glass. The young man nailed to the St. Andrew’s cross was naked and blood from a huge gash in his throat drenched the lean muscular body. Nails had been driven through this wrists and feet, which were also bloodied. Corey sickened at the sight of the poor soul.

“We’re calling the night crew to see if they saw or heard anything when they closed,” the detective said when Corey returned to the first floor. “Maybe someone remembers him from last night.”

“For a while,” he answered. “I remember him very well. He was flirting with everyone, including me. Asking for drinks and suggesting that he may reciprocate, if you get my drift.” That memory now seemed to be years ago and the fresh face of the young man was a stark contrast to the ghostly white specter he just saw.

“Buy him a drink and he may go home with you.” Corey turned to face the detective squarely in the eyes. He understood. This was no mere wallflower. The victim made himself an easy target. If he teased someone and then rejected him, that could provoke a murderous ire in some people.

Corey glanced at him sharply. That was an inappropriate remark from one law enforcement officer to another. But the detective’s expression showed Corey that he meant no disrespect. Just curiosity. Or was it something else? His earlier question about the Psionic Corps’ interest in the case hinted that he may have misgivings about Corey’s paranormal abilities.

That’s it, Corey thought. Since by his own admission at being at the scene of a crime shortly before it occurred, the detective considered him to be a suspect. He was not offended, because he would be suspicious if the positions were reversed.

“He was so plastered by the time he made it to me, he could barely stand up. I’m not picking up a drunk no matter how cute he is.” Corey spoke matter-of-factly so Nash could get the point. He could tell by the slight change in the detective’s posture and the tone of his voice, Corey thought he did. Even after his stout denial, he didn’t look placated. “But plenty of other guys did.”

“If he was so drunk, why didn’t you offer to take him home instead of having him drive?” Detective Nash asked in a mean voice.

“I’m not a taxi service, detective. He wasn’t showing any indication he wanted to leave, certainly not unaccompanied. I knew he’d find a ride. In more ways than one.”

Now he’s shifting his anger and judgment to the victim, Corey thought. “He may not have found someone at all.”

“I doubt if they would’ve closed up if there were still customers in the bar, so he must’ve left with someone, who brought him back here and murdered him.”

“It’s too soon to be jumping to conclusions like that,” Corey said, surprised that Nash made the comment.

“So you think it wasn't someone here at the Green Lantern?” the detective snapped.

“I'm just saying we can't limit our search to the guys that were here last night, detective.” Corey responded.

The interrogation of Chauncey was finished and he stood behind the bar as Corey approached. He hurried over, extending his hand. “Hi, I’m Chauncey Avant the manager of the Green Lantern. Did I see you here last night?”

Corey introduced himself and Chauncey’s eyes grew wide in surprise when he heard the Psionic Officer title.

Chauncey shook his head. “I didn’t see his face.” He shuddered at the recollection. “As soon as I saw…him, I ran out of the room and dialed 911.”

“Remember the skinny twink wearing only red gym shorts and the Celtic knot work tattoo around his right bicep?”

“Maybe. He didn’t introduce himself to me. Are there many other guys that come in here dressed like that with that tattoo?” Corey gave him a minute.

“It’s gotta be him then.” The manager choked a little as he lowered his head.

“Almost every weekend.” Chauncey pulled himself together. He wasn’t trembling any more.

“Not outside of the Green Lantern. I only knew him as Aiden. I’m sure there are plenty of guys that know him better.”

Of that, I have no doubt, Corey mused. “I noticed that he was very popular.” He emphasized the last word with raised eyebrows.

“If you mean ‘slut’, yes. He was always bragging about how many men he slept with,” Chauncey said sneering. “I don’t think he ever brought money with him. He always wore those skimpy shorts that obviously didn’t have a place for his wallet. He could get anyone to pay for his drinks. All he’d do is rub that flat stomach and his crotch up against them and he got what he wanted.”

“Did he ever return the favor? Like he intimated to me?” Corey wasn’t ready to admit he almost fell for Aiden’s game.

Chauncey brushed some imaginary crumbs off the bar. “Yes and no. Aiden liked to tease the older guys, the uglier ones, the ones he thought didn’t have a chance in hell of getting picked up. He’d make them think they could take him home, but usually he went after the young, good-looking guys. The muscular, beefy men. Those were the ones he left with.”

Haunted by a despicable act in his past, Jake cannot free himself from the darkness that overwhelmed in during that horrific night. Now he is drawn back to the scene of his crime only to have his history repeat itself. How many more victims will fall prey to Jake before he can escape from his Darkness?

I never considered myself to be a serial killer. I mean that I don’t stalk my victims, plotting and waiting for the right time to strike. And I’m not Dexter, preying on other serial murderers, justifying my lust for killing by the faults of my victims.

On the contrary, they seek me out, finding me. Maybe they like the sense of danger, the thrill of the unknown, the forbidden fruit.

Take this guy here. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. If I saw him in a bar, I wouldn’t even dare approach him. Way outta my league.

Guys like him are one of the reasons I don’t go to bars. I’m not considered good-looking and my body certainly won’t stop traffic. Yet, HE came looking for ME. He’s the one who sought me out. Me and my Darkness. That’s what I call it.

Whatever his reasons were to come here, they’ll die with him tonight. I forgot to ask him before I sealed his mouth shut with duct tape. Like all the others he’s realized his mistake too late. There’s panic in his eyes, as he’s trying to figure out what’s going to happen to him. Unfortunately, he knows all too well.

Master Mike introduces mutt to a new form of slavery – pony training. Harnessed to a buggy with a bit and blinders, mutt pulls Master Mike for a ride to the beach. After a day of his new form of slavery, mutt is hoping to relax but Master ties him to a boulder. Is this part of his pony training? Will Master be back before the tide comes in?

With a leer, He climbed into the seat and popped me on my bare ass. The whip stung sharply. “Giddyap!”

i flinched at the pain and started pulling. my shoulders and hips bore the weight of Master so I dug into the soil with my bare feet and pushed forward. i was surprised at the ease that the cart moved once i got it rolling. Master Mike guided me around the spacious yard, practicing with the straps and whip to get me used to the feel of my new training.

It was exhilarating. i almost started prancing like a real pony. Other slaves in the yard stopped their chores and stared. i didn’t look at them but i could felt their envy and I relished it.

After a few laps around the field, He directed me down a path that led through trees lining the yard. i knew this one well. It led to Master’s assortment of torture devices or ‘playthings’ however you wanted to look at it. It was where He trained and punished slaves. Or put them down.

A chill ran through my body. i had been punished by hanging a few months ago as the result of making a big mistake. i redeemed myself and managed to work my way back into His good graces, but the memory lingered on, vividly in my mind. Back then, i knew i screwed up and saw it coming. Today i was certain i hadn’t made any mistakes and Master wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if He was going to execute me. But i couldn’t be sure and i wouldn’t allow myself that confidence.

Brian is the new, energetic and popular pastor of a church in southern Louisiana. His elderly parishioners dote on him as if he were one of their grandchildren. What’s the problem? He’s gay and so far into the closet that the skeletons are complaining of over-crowding. And he has a slave boy whom he has to keep secret. That’s not so easy in a small town where everyone knows everybody else. And the parishioners are used to their pastors having an open door policy! How can the Master Pastor maintain his lifestyle in a such a close-knit community and not get run out of town?

Darkness had fallen by the time he arrived at the state park, one they had frequented before. He paid the overnight fee to the ranger at the gate and found to his delight their favorite campsite was unoccupied. Not only that, but since it was a Sunday night, the park wasn’t busy and no one was too close to their site.

Brian heard the chirping of crickets, croaking of frogs and other night noises as he got out of the car. There were low sounds from the other campers as well. He went through the motions of setting up camp by erecting the tent and unpacking ice chests. He backed the car into the site such that the trunk faced the woods that surrounded the camping area. When he was satisfied that everything was in place, he popped open the trunk. Jody lay there in the darkness, smiling up at him with his eyes. The ball gag made it difficult to make many facial expressions. Brian threw him over his shoulder and walked a short distance into the trees, just a few yards from the campsite.

“Ah, here’s our favorite tree, slave,” Brian said, setting Jody on his feet and propping him against the trunk. The tree was dead but still had a sturdy trunk, with its branches and twigs reaching into the night, crooked and twisted like pubic hairs after being washed and blow-dried.

“You’re such a hopeless romantic, Master,” Jody said when Brian removed the gag. Pastor Brian retied Jody to the tree with his feet several inches off the ground.

“If I may say so, sir, you were a little rude to Vera White this afternoon.”

“That old biddy comes in right when I had you on the table, so deep inside you my dick was pressing against your Adam’s apple. The Lord will forgive me if I was a bit testy.”

Jody chuckled. “Your testes not withstanding, I think calling her a cadaverous old prune who could call Methuselah ‘sonny’ was a little too much.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll apologize and give her a double portion of wine at communion next Sunday. Anyway, you were good today, too.” Brian’s voice softened. “And I promised you a reward.” He leaned over and tickled the head of Jody’s cock with his tongue. At once, it rose to life and pointed at Brian, begging to be used. Brian swallowed him whole.

Jody let out a loud moan of ecstasy, then clamped his mouth shut. If he made too much noise, he could potentially alert the other campers, who might come to investigate. Pastor Brian could always hide in the trees, leaving him to explain his compromising position. But the fear of discovery just added to the sense of excitement and arousal of outdoor bondage and sex in the open.

He bit his lip, only allowing a soft grunt to be heard. However, Master was making it difficult to be quiet. The tip of his tongue ran up and down his shaft, to his balls. Jody felt the head of his cock press against the back of Brian’s throat.

That sensation of pleasure was all it took to ignite his climax. With a low growl emitted through clenched teeth, he came with such force he felt like a fire hose. Brian kept his mouth firmly clamped around his dick until he was completely drained.

Sweat ran down Jody’s temples, chest and spine. “Thank you, sir,” he panted.

“Duh,” Brian said. “Do you think I’m forgetful?” He produced a small bottle with a spray nozzle from his back pocket with a flourish. He sprayed Jody’s cock and balls until liquid dripped from them.

“I know but right now this is your most vulnerable area,” Brian said with importance. “If one mosquito taps a vein there, she’ll explode and you could bleed to death.”

Brian gave him a grin that was visible even in the gloom. He sprayed more insect repellant on his feet and was working his way up Jody’s legs when the bottle ran dry. “Crap. I need to grab some more. Be right back so don’t go away.” He laughed at his joke as he ran back toward the car. As he reached the campsite, a voice from another camper called out to him.

Officer Mason Travers leads a lonely and double life in the small town of River Belle, Louisiana. As the newly promoted chief of the tiny police department, he cannot allow anyone in town to know he is gay. While conducting a routine speed trap, Mason pulls over hunky Paul Baker. The muscular man instantly sends Mason’s libido into overdrive. He kidnaps Baker and takes him back to his isolated house, keeping him captive in the basement. Mason realizes that he has done something very wrong and cannot keep Baker as his sex slave forever. It’s too late to release Baker, because that would mean losing his job and his future. But Mason knows that he cannot live without Paul, either.

Moving quickly, he threw Paul over his shoulder and stowed him in the trunk of the cruiser with his duffel bag. A few minutes later, Walters returned with the pizza and Mason bid him good night. He drove home, repeatedly glancing in his rear view mirror as if afraid someone would suspect what he was doing.

He backed into his driveway and carried his sleeping prisoner through the house into the basement where a simple bed with metal headboard and footboard sat. He removed the tight white shorts and tied Paul’s ankles and wrists securely with handcuffs.

In the dim light of the basement, Mason marveled over the beautiful form. He ran his hands over Paul’s feet, calves and thighs. He lingered at the baggy balls and delicious looking cock. He rubbed the defined muscles of Paul’s abdomen and chest. He pinched the nipples and caressed the chiseled pec muscles.

Unable to control his urges any longer, he pressed his mouth to Paul’s body, kissing his lips, licking his nipples and moving down to suck his cock. It remained flaccid in his mouth but Mason enjoyed its thickness and length. He took advantage over his captive’s unconscious state to explore his body with his tongue.

Paul began to stir and moan. Mason ceased his physical worship and retreated from the basement. He ran up the stairs to the first floor and then up to the second to the security of his bedroom. If Paul did wake up, Mason wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Shaking nervously from the realization of his actions, he climbed into bed, pulling the covers close around him and fantasizing what it would be like to wake up with Paul next to him, unclothed and submissive. Despite his hardness, Mason managed to fall asleep.

He woke early the next morning, thinking that he imagined everything from last night. He slipped out of bed and ran down the steps into the basement. He crept down the wooden stairs as quietly as he could. Paul was still asleep and tied to the bed.

Mason returned to the first floor and began making breakfast. He called his deputy to say he wasn’t feeling well and may be in a little late today. As he finished preparing the food, he heard thumping from the basement. A few minutes later, Paul began shouting for help. Mason paused, listening to the screams, getting a sense of power and another erotic rush. He walked back down the stairs and stood at the bottom of the steps.

Paul stopped his shouting when he recognized Mason. “Officer Travers?” His mouth froze open. He let his eyes roam over Mason’s naked form. His gaze focused on the large piece of meat dangling between his legs.

The object of his stare was not lost on Mason. “It’s no use shouting, Paul. You’re in the basement of my house and at least a mile away from the next residence.”

“Right now, I want you to eat some breakfast,” Mason said. He turned and walked up the stairs. He felt Paul’s eyes watching his butt as he took one slow step at a time.

He returned to the basement a few minutes later with a plate of food. Paul watched without a word as Mason leaned over him to uncuff his hands so he could sit up and eat.

Paul attacked the food, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. In mere seconds, he had cleaned the entire plate. He handed it back to Mason.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me use the bathroom, would you?” Paul sounded angry instead of scared.

“No problem,” Mason said flatly. Keeping a close eye on his prisoner, he untied Paul’s feet. He motioned to a doorway in the wall near the bed. He stepped away to give Paul the space he needed but more importantly to let him know he was in no immediate danger. The safety margin was for Mason’s benefit as well, should Paul try something stupid.

Still wobbly from the drug, Paul staggered to the small bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later and paused in the doorway.

“So what now?” He folded his arms across his chest. Mason pointed to the bed but Paul shook his head. “No. Not until you tell me what’s going on. Why are you keeping me here?”

Corey Shaw has been trained as a paranormal detective, developing abilities such as telepathy and telekinesis. He is summoned to Provincetown during the annual Mates weekend, a huge leather gathering, when the naked body of a young man is found. The victim had been tied up before being strangled. The police say cold-blooded murder but Corey thinks it is more than that. He suspects that a BDSM scene got out of control. He tours the town’s dark dungeons, looking for a murderer preying on young men. He becomes immersed in the local scene and discovers a side of himself he never explored before. In a sea of muscular leather masters and slaves, he realizes hidden urges in an environment where every fantasy can be fulfilled. He must set aside his sadomasochism desires and use his powers to locate someone who takes the BDSM to the extreme before he kills again. Can Corey find him before becoming a victim to the ultimate BDSM fantasy of execution?

“John Doe. Strangled,” Chief Stewart said. The grim look on his hard-lined face told Corey that something had rattled the chief’s staunch reserve. “And he was tortured before being killed.”

Having frequent contact with the chief in the past, Corey had never noticed him being so shaken by a crime.

As they knelt next to the victim, the chief pointed out disturbing aspects of the murder. “Rope burns on the ankles, wrists, knees and across the chest and upper arms where he was tied up. The deep cuts indicate that the bonds were tight.”

He motioned toward the buttocks. The man had a narrow waist and a well-rounded ass, which had been slashed many times. Long gashes crossed the tanned cheeks, drawing blood that had long since dried. “Looks like he was caned or severely whipped while he was tied up,” the chief continued. Similar slashes covered his back and legs but not as severely as the ass.

“What do you mean?” Stewart gave him a quizzical look. He glanced at one of the forensics officers who had knelt down on the opposite side of the body. The agent agreed, and directed their attention to several old wounds concealed and healing among the fresh ones.

Judging by the look on the chief’s face, Corey surmised that he hadn’t experienced anything like this in Provincetown before.

The agent, Carolyn Seger, picked up where Stewart left off. “From the angle of the rope wound around the neck, it appears that the victim was hung until dead. There are very few signs of a struggle, which is strange.”

She pointed to the bruising on the neck. “The visible side of the face appears purple, a gruesome contrast to the white skin of his shaved head.” She frowned while mumbling the latter under her breath. “Look at these.” The agent indicated to marks crisscrossing his back. “It appears he was wearing a leather…” She hesitated, as if searching for the right word.

“Harness,” Corey finished. I have one that’s almost the same as the one he wore. “Do you think it played a role in his death?”

Seger shook her head. “Preliminary indications all point to strangulation by hanging.” She looked at him. When his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, she asked, “What is it?”

He pointed to faint, red markings on the back of the victim’s neck that resembled the ones on his back. “It looks like he wore a leather collar, as well.” He shifted his position to lean forward.

“We noticed that, too, but I don’t think it contributed to his death, either.”

The agent nodded, and donned plastic gloves. With the help of another forensic team member, they rolled the corpse on its back. The hideousness of the crime became more apparent. The entire face, covered in purple blemishes, was contorted into a grimace as he struggled to breathe in his last few seconds of life. His tongue protruded grotesquely from the mouth. Corey’s gaze shifted lower. All the pubic hair was shaved away.

“Look at this.” Seger eyes widened at the new discovery. “There’s scabbing just above the penis, and it seems as though it goes all the way around the scrotum. Something’s irritated his skin because it’s broken out and re-healed, like the marks on his posterior.”

“He wore a cock ring,” Corey simply added. “I have that same trouble if I wear mine too long.” Eager to contribute to the investigation, he’d let out more personal information than the chief or agents wanted to hear. To divert attention from his momentary lack of discretion, he took another tack. “Are you sure this was murder?”

“I’m thinking it could be an extreme BDSM session that went a bit too far.”

When Shane invites him over, Jason does not expect to find Shane covered entirely in chocolate. He is eager to lick it off and enjoy the sexy body underneath, but Shane has a challenge for him. Find all the tattoos hidden by the layer of chocolate before enjoying the spoils. The thought of running his tongue over Shane’s delicious body sends Jason’s libido into overdrive, but he has discover all of the tattoos first. Will he find them before the sugar rush hits? Jason is willing to take that risk.

A big smile widened across Jason’s face as his eyes took in the vision standing before him. All he had imagined about Shane’s body came true as the evidence presented itself.

“Wow!” Jason breathed. “Screw the appetizers and main course. I’ll go straight to dessert. Is there a banana under there or are you just happy to see me?” He dropped to his knees, crawling forward but Shane stepped back, holding his hand out in front of him.

“Down, boy,” he warned with a grin. “No banana but you’ll find out soon enough.”

Jason remained on his knees, sitting back on his heels and looked up at him with a playful pout. “Do I at least get to peel it first?”

Jason nodded and licked his lips. His eyes rested on the bulge between Shane’s legs.

“Exactly.” Shane winked and held up his forefinger. “Using only your tongue.”

Jason beamed. “If I start licking you, you’ll pop right out of here.” He reached for his crotch but Shane moved back again to avoid the touch.

“No, I won’t,” he laughed. “If you can find all of my tattoos before you get sick on chocolate, you’ll discover why.”

Jason circled Shane, running a finger very lightly along his exposed neck just above the chocolate. “What’s my first clue?”

A sunny afternoon walk in the snowy woods of Manitoulin Island turns into a near-death experience for Scott. Luckily he is rescued by Aaron, a blind man, who takes him back to his isolated cabin. The fury of the blizzard makes contact with the outside world impossible. Cut off from medical attention, Aaron nurses Scott back to health. During his recovery, Scott realizes that he is attracted to the handsome Aaron. For the first time, he feels that someone can actually ‘see’ him. He has a partner at home, but he cannot resist the strong, mutual desires that have grown between him and Aaron. When he is well enough to return to his old life, will he leave Aaron behind?

Aaron chuckled and leaned his head to one side, allowing Scott to kiss his neck. “You’re up early. Did you sleep well after your nightmare?”

“I slept better than I have in years,” Scott said. He turned Aaron to face him. He tugged at the lapels of Aaron’s robe, exposing his chest. “I decided to help clean up a little bit since you’ve done so much for me.”

“You really didn’t need to,” Aaron said. He started to continue but Scott pulled him into a passionate kiss.

They prepared breakfast and cleaned up together afterwards. Then Aaron took Scott downstairs to his studio. The area was cool and cluttered with sculpting materials and shapes, some finished and others unfinished of beautiful male forms. Aaron lit a heater.

“Maybe you don’t see well, but you have an amazing eye for beauty,” Scott marveled at the detail. “How do you…?” He didn’t know how to ask, but Aaron seemed to anticipate his question.

“I use my fingers to see,” he explained. “Allow me to demonstrate.” He worked his hands inside of Scott’s robe and rubbed his chest. He moved over his shoulders and down his back. He untied the belt in Scott’s robe and slipped it off, dropping it on the floor. Scott shivered a little in the cool air but relished the feel of Aaron’s hands exploring his body. Aaron knelt down and rubbed his hands over Scott’s legs. “I read your body like Braille. I’ll check for broken bones while I’m down here,” he said with a smile.

Henry meets Cole in a spooky cemetery for a quick hook-up during Mardi Gras in New Orleans. During their encounter, Henry finds a beautiful object in a pile of dirt. They take it back to Henry’s hotel room and discover they have picked up an ancient and very valuable crucifix. Suddenly, they are being followed by the ghost of a pirate, wanting his treasure returned. They seek help for their situation only to find out it is Jean Lafitte, the French pirate who operated out of New Orleans in the nineteenth century. Unfortunately there is no where to hide from a ghost, even among the thousands of people in town for the celebrations. What must Henry and Cole do? If they don’t give it back to him, the ghost has a particularly cruel fate awaiting them.

The Morpheus Parade was still in full swing as they maneuvered through the throngs of people screaming and snatching at the cheap plastic beads. The floats, massive, beautiful and illuminated, made better time than Henry and Cole moving along Canal. Every few feet they had to stop but took advantage of the situation to catch some beads or other surprises tossed by the members of the Morpheus Krewe.

Cole yelled something and pointed at the float passing by at that moment. Henry turned to face Cole to understand what he was shouting. He followed the direction of Cole’s outstretched arm to the float. A bundle of beads, still wrapped in a strip of brown paper hit him squarely in the face, knocking him back. He would’ve fallen to the pavement if the crowd hadn’t been so thick.

Cole grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the frenzied mob, grasping at the beads with no regard for Henry. With a sense of urgency, Cole and Henry pushed their way down the street and into the hotel.

In the relative quiet of the lobby, they plopped down in a couple of chairs just vacated by bar patrons headed outside to the crowds. The hotel bar was packed so they felt lucky finding seats.

“I wish I had heard you warning me about those beads,” Henry said rubbing the side of his face.

“I wasn’t warning you about that,” Cole said, concerned. “I never saw them until they hit you.”

“They were all dressed like pirates. The whole theme of Mardi Gras this year is pirates.”

“But none of them were nearly as pretty as that guy was,” Cole smiled at the recollection. “Weird though.”

“He just stood there. Everybody else was waving and throwing beads but he didn’t move.”

“That is weird,” Henry agreed. “Come on. Let’s go up to my room and look at this thing I found.” They ordered beers from the harried waitress and then they took the elevators up to Henry’s room.

“Wow! Great view from up here,” Cole marveled as they entered the room. He went to the window and stared out at the city below. “Too bad you can’t see Canal Street.”

“Yeah,” Henry said with a touch of sadness. “Those rooms were priced out of my range.”

Henry nodded as he fished the strange object out of his pocket. Both men sucked in breaths. Even caked with dirt, it was stunning. Smaller than Henry’s palm, a golden crucifix, ornate and bejeweled, glittered in the low light. He took into the bathroom and began washing off the grime. Most of the soil fell away at first but it soon became apparent that the precious item had been buried for a long time.

Brook and his partner Stephen travel out to a remote and reportedly haunted location to have some kinky fun. Brook is not as adventurous as Stephen but goes along with the role-playing. Soon both men find themselves the prisoners of a very corporeal threat. Kidnapped by a wild man, Brook and Stephen are used by the brute for his own carnal desires. Brook realizes that the wild man and his crone of a mother have no plans to ever let them go. He must do what he can to rescue them both or continue to be abused by a man whose sexual desires tend to be violent.

Brook looked out the window of the passenger’s door at the dark scenery passing, but could only see his dim reflection staring back at him. His partner, Stephen, had turned off the interstate miles back and headed north into the Oklahoma countryside. Brook had no idea where they were going. The lights near the interstate had long since faded behind them, and now the very few lights from farm houses scattered far apart illuminated nothing.

Despite his growing uneasiness in traveling to such a remote spot, he felt a sense of adventure clinging to his thoughts. Stephen talked him into this and knew just how to push his buttons to get him to go along with this.

“You’re still worried, aren’t you?” Stephen said from the driver’s seat, his excitement evident in his voice. “It’ll be ok! I chose this spot because it’s secluded and I promise no one will be around. We can do whatever we want.” He winked at Brook, who still stared out the window at the darkness as if he hadn’t heard a word.

“With a name like Dead Woman’s Crossing, I’m not surprised nobody goes there,” Brook replied. “How morbid! And why is it a crossing for a dead woman? If she’s dead, she can hardly be in a position to even want to cross.”

“Hardy har har,” Stephen retorted. “It’s based on an old legend from the beginning of the twentieth century. Just a few years after 1900, Weatherford, Oklahoma was just a small settlement. A woman that lived here was divorcing her husband, which in those days was scandalous!” Stephen emphasized the last word in a high-pitched sing-song voice that Brook considered to be downright ‘queenie’. “Anywho, she packed up the baby to go stay with some friends who lived near Geary. She left with two men, whom she didn’t know very well.”

Stephen shrugged. “No one knows, but people think they were going in that direction and offered to take her, since otherwise she would have had to walk all the way. This didn’t become known until after the fact.”

“The men showed up at the friend’s house with the baby but no mother. At this point, no one is alarmed. The story goes that the kid had blood on its clothes, but apparently in those days, bloody baby clothes and missing moms aren’t as scandalous as divorce.”

“What happened?” Brook, against his better judgment, found the story engrossing.

“Again, nobody knows for certain and no one really looked for her until her father showed up, wondering where she was. They never found her until many years later. A farmer and his son found a skeleton underneath a bridge, with the skull sitting several feet from the rest of the body. The reason they think it was her was because the jewelry found on the body was identified as hers.”

“Yes, it is,” Stephen became serious. “It remains an unsolved mystery to this day and no one was ever accused of her murder. Legend has it that nights on a full moon, you can hear the ghost of the woman crying for her baby.”

A hustler living in a run-down apartment gets a visit from a former lover. Todd’s old flame is now a hired gun for the local mob boss. When Nico reappears at his door, Todd has high hopes that he has come back to renew their relationship which ended when Nico became a hit man. But Nico makes it clear that he didn’t return to rekindle the flame that burned so hot when they were lovers. He’s been hired to execute Todd. In horror, Todd realizes there may be no escape for him but he convinces Nico into one last night of the unbridled revelry that they once knew. Nico agrees, but will he allow Todd to escape? Or will he carry out his mob boss’s orders?

A cool breeze wafted through the open window, alleviating the stuffiness of my efficiency apartment. It was warmer than usual for this time of year, so it was a treat to have such beautiful weather. I ventured to open the window a little more, ignoring the din of the city, and allowing more air to circulate, since I had no air conditioning. I laid back on my bed and tried to get in a comfortable position to fall asleep.

I walked to the door in my shorts and peered through the peephole. I could see a tall figure in the dim hallway outside but he kept his face lowered, hidden from me and anyone else who might be watching.

I was used to this attempt at anonymity so I was not alarmed as I opened the door. When I recognized him, I sucked in my breath with an audible gasp and my heart leapt in my chest.

“Hey, babe,” he replied with a smile. He remembered the pet name that he had for me.

I hadn’t seen my former lover in six long years, but he looked the same, as if time had not passed for him. We had been inseparable for a year and half before that. Back then, Nico had been voracious, insatiable and uninhibited. He was also generous. I attended school at that time and he had just been hired by Big Johnny, the mob overlord in this part of the city. I knew that Nico was in training to be a hired gun, and those elements of danger and devil-may-care attitude attracted me to him.

Nico set me up in an apartment (much nicer than this one) near school and near him. He came to me every night and we would indulge in carnal pleasures of the flesh until we were exhausted, sweating and panting.

Then he began to distance himself from me. The change was subtle at first, so I didn’t suspect anything was wrong. He pimped me out a few times and I went along with it because I thought it would please him. In retrospect, it was only to keep me from noticing he was absent.

Before long, he stopped coming to see me altogether. I couldn’t find him and he never tried to contact me. I knew he was getting pressure from Big Johnny to leave me. I overheard his part of phone conversations, and Nico talked in his sleep, giving me enough clues to realize what was going on. And pillow talk can loosen even the most secretive of tongues.

Inconsolable for weeks, I often contemplated suicide. I lost the plush apartment, since Nico stopped paying for it, and had to settle for this run-down hell-hole, where I have been for over five years.

In my depression, I almost didn’t graduate, but passed with barely acceptable grades. After that I could not hold steady work because I couldn’t concentrate nor did I have any will power to move on. Finally, I took to the streets hustling. It’s an ugly dangerous job but for it’s all that I could do.

That’s been my life ever since he left, and now he stood at my door. Those six years were swept from my memory in an instant.

Mutt is a sex slave sworn to obey his Master commands, even if that means acting as a dog or having sex with another Master. Mutt’s only purpose is to please his Master.

The naked body of a young man is found as Provincetown prepares for Mates weekend, a popular leather gathering. The police suspect a random murder but Corey thinks it was an extreme BDSM scene that went beyond its limit. He tours the town’s dark dungeons, looking for a murderer preying on young men. He becomes immersed in the local scene and discovers a side of himself he never explored before. In a sea of muscular leather masters and slaves, he realizes hidden urges in an environment where every fantasy can be fulfilled. He must set aside his sadomasochism desires to locate someone who takes the BDSM to the extreme before he kills again. Can Corey find him before becoming a victim to the ultimate BDSM fantasy of execution?

“Safe Word” by Alex Morgan is a good taste of a story. This is a short story that has every reason to be developed into a full-length novel! The main character is complex and intriguing; the environment, ripe with sex and danger, is perfect for murder and mayhem; and the premise is the stuff of great murder mysteries.

My only criticism would be that it was too short. The author sets up some strong erotic scenes but doesn’t explore them to the fullest extent; certain events happen too quickly and leaps of logic occur too easily because of the short length.

With that said, I enjoyed reading this story and look forward to more by this author.

Carol McKenzie explores a man's first experience in Pure Artistry. Cameron Bracy is just out of a relationship...or so he thinks. Needing to ease his stress, he enrolls in a drawing class. However, the tension increases when he becomes acquainted with the gorgeous hunk, Eli Thompson.

Take a walk on the wilder side of things with Alex Morgan in Safe Word. The body of a man is found as Provincetown prepares for Mates Weekend, a popular leather gathering. Corey thinks a BDSM scene went past it's extreme limit. He tours the town's dark dungeons, looking for a murderer preying on young men. Can Corey find him before becoming a victim to the ultimate BDSM fantasy of execution?

With Graphic Intentions, Patricia Oshier Bruening takes you into the tortured memories of two men who meet in a coffee shop, neither thinking the other is gay. Scarred by past events, Scott and Derek find each other when neither is looking for a partner. It takes a confrontation from a loud-mouthed bigot before each realizes the other is interested in more than artwork. Can they discover a way to battle their demons together, rather than alone?