Author Alex Izeri

[authoralexizeri]

Empathy for the Devil - Ch. 11

Chapter 11

“The hell I am!” I replied. “I am not gay!”

“The way you were staring at my ass indicates otherwise,” Sarael said, his hand sliding up the leash and grasping it close to my throat. He leaned toward me, his long hair gliding like silk against my cheek as he whispered in my ear.

“Tell me you’ve never thought about the touch of another man, wondered how his strong hands would feel wrapped around your cock. Tell me you’ve never wanted to feel him inside of you, thick and long and hot, making you shake and shudder with every deep, slick thrust.”

Shallow breath caught in my throat, heat bleeding beneath my skin as his words made me painfully hard. Was he right? Was I one of those people that my father so despised? I couldn’t be, I didn’t want to be, but the reaction in my body was hard to deny.

After a moment, Sarael drew back.

“You are filled with such agonizing conflict,” he said, his eyes gray as he regarded me. “I don’t understand why you are so ashamed. There’s nothing wrong with what you feel.”

I took a slow breath. “That’s not how I was raised.”

He glanced into the village center, where the woman waited. Her somber expression now made a lot more sense. I couldn’t imagine having to kill my own child to keep them from turning into a monster.

“Hang on,” I said. “Why do I have to do this? Why can’t one of them?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, but you’ll let me do it?”

“It not dangerous for you, only them,” he said. “Right now, Armiran is isolated, meditating, praying, but the presence of another shifter could set him off. The warrior form evolved as a means to fight their greatest enemy—each other.”

“Okay, so what about you? What’s your excuse?” I asked. I was desperate to find a way out of this.

“I already told you why I can’t,” he said, his eyes growing dark and hard. “You can’t imagine the storm of emotions inside that young man. Touching him would be like dropping a bomb on my psyche. I might never recover my sense of self.”

“This can’t be happening,” I breathed, turning away from him. I was done with this nightmare. I was ready to wake up. “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I hissed, grabbing handfuls of my gritty hair and pulling until my scalp screamed. That was supposed to work, right? Pain always snapped people out of dreams in the movies. Maybe I needed to pinch myself. Grabbing the thin skin on the inside of my elbow, I squeezed until I cried out, but the nightmare persisted.

Then it hit me.

Maybe I wasn’t dreaming.

The realization was like being dunked in icy water. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. How was this even possible? Portals and monsters and magic and shifters—I felt like I was losing my mind.

It couldn’t be real. But if it was...if it was...I looked around the village. These weren’t figments of my imagination, they were real people. I looked at the woman, stoic as she faced possibly the most difficult choice a mother could ever make, but I could see the pain and fear in her eyes.

I turned to Sarael, but he had drawn away from me, his face pinched, his eyes swirling pink and gray, and I realized how strong my emotions must have been, beating against him like waves crashing against the shore. I tried to rein them in, but it was like clawing at dry sand, exhausting and ineffective.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him. “I can’t help it.”

“It felt like you had your own emotional bomb go off,” he said. “Are you all right?”

I started to nod, then shook my head. “I don’t know. But I’ll do it. Take me to him before I change my mind.”

[authoralexizeri]

Free Ebook!

For the month of July, the first two books in my Mythical Desires series are on sale! Book 1: The Faerie is Free! And Book 2: The Satyr is 50% off!

Mythical Desires Book 1: The Faerie

Down on his luck and desperate for cash, Steven stumbles into the employ of Mr. Ahno—a cunning faerie with an unusual business. The job? Collecting specimens for a secret mythical creature sperm bank. But there's a catch. Torn between pride and profit, Steven faces a dangerous choice—how far is he willing to go for easy money?

Get it FREE!

Mythical Desires Book 2: The Satyr

Steven, a reluctant semen collector for a mythological creature sperm bank, heads out on his second adventure--to collect a specimen from a satyr, but he still has a couple of issues with the job. First, he's not exactly enthusiastic about how the samples are collected, and second, he has no idea what a satyr is. Much to his surprise, Vasilios is a charming man with the horns of a ram and the lower half of a goat.

A goat. Hooves, fur, tail, and big, hairy balls. Steven knows what he needs to do, but is he ready to be intimate with a fugitive from a petting-zoo?

Now 50% off!

[authoralexizeri]

Finished chapter 7 of Hunger and posted it on Outfox, got credited for my supporters (the proper amount this time), so I'll be getting a paycheck this month. Yay! It's not much, but every bit helps these days.

I also finished chapter 8, in which our plucky incubus finds a new body to possess and captures a pair of adventurers to amuse himself with. Also, Lianus, who runs the Dungeons, gets another report that arouses his curiosity.

Now that I'm working on it again, I'm enjoying myself quite a lot, but I think I'll still wrap it up pretty soon. The plot is a little thin, and 'MC wanders a Dungeon, fucking everything he can catch' gets old rather quickly. Plus, I still really want to start on An Insatiable Soul.

[authoralexizeri]

Empathy for the Devil - Ch. 10

Chapter 10

Flanked by the wolves, we followed the woman and the old man through the forest. Sarael kept glancing at me, his frown more than a little concerning.

“What is going on?” I whispered finally.

“You’re not going to like this,” he said, “but it really is the lesser of two evils.” He gestured to the people and the wolves. “Do you know anything about spirit shifters?”

“I could take a guess, but I’d probably be wrong, so just tell me,” I said.

“Spirit shifters are born with two souls—one human, one animal. This is a clan of wolf spirit shifters. Once they reach maturity, they gain the ability to transform into their animal soul’s form at will. It’s an exhausting and painful process, so they only do it when necessary.”

“They sound kind of like werewolves,” I said.

“Oh, you have heard of them. I’m surprised. I didn’t think Earth had any shifters.”

“It doesn’t,” I said. “Werewolves are myths and monsters in movies. They aren’t real.”

“I see. Well, just keep telling yourself that,” Sarael said.

Through the trees, I could just make out the shape of small houses and I could smell the faint aroma of campfire smoke in the air. We were almost there.

“Look, I don’t need an info-dump about werewolves,” I said, my stomach churning. “Just tell me what I’m going to have to do.”

He shook his head. “No. You need to understand why you must do this thing. Like I said, you’re not going to like it, but I hope you’ll see that it is necessary.” He took a breath, held it, and then sighed. “Spirit shifters have three forms—human, animal, and an in-between warrior form that is only taken during times of great danger. It is frightening and represents the worst, most dangerous traits of both human and animal.”

“Werewolf,” I muttered under my breath. If he heard, he ignored me.

“When an adolescent shifter reaches adulthood, typically late teens or early twenties, they shift for the first time. Like I said, it’s painful and frightening—their elders try to prepare them, but being told about something is a far cry from experiencing it. Most first transformations are traumatic, and the trauma forces them into the warrior form. It requires a calm, meditative state to return to human form, and a frightened, hormonal young person wearing the body of a nightmarish monster sometimes has trouble.”

“Let me guess, if they can’t shift back within three days, something awful happens.”

“Hey, you’re not as dumb as you look,” Sarael said, his lips quirking in a crooked smile. “You’re right. After the third moonrise, the transformation becomes permanent, and in almost every case, it eventually drives the shifter insane, sending them on a murderous rampage. So if you refuse to help this young man, his mother will be forced to kill him to prevent him from going crazy and slaughtering the village. Is that what you want to happen?”

“No! Of course not,” I said as we reached the edge of the village. “Just tell me what I need to do to make him calm down. Sing to him? Stroke his fur? Lead him through a few deep-breathing exercises?”

A dozen or so cottages filled a large clearing, stone walls holding up thatched roofs. The two largest ones had stone chimneys, but the rest just had small holes at the peak to let the smoke out. Large wolves sprawled lazily in the sun while other people went about their daily tasks, bringing in wood for the fires, cleaning hides, weaving baskets, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t understand.

“You’re getting close,” Sarael said. “I imagine there will be plenty of stroking and heavy breathing involved.”

I took two more steps before I realized what he was insinuating, and then I stopped dead in my tracks, the leash growing taut between us.

“You mean I have to fuck him?” I asked, my voice carrying through the quiet village. The sleeping wolves raised their heads and every amber eye turned my direction.

“Keep your voice down,” Sarael said, pulling on the lead and dragging me behind one of the cottages. “And no, I’m not suggesting you fuck him. You’re going to let him fuck you.”

[authoralexizeri]

Caught up on some promo posting I needed to do (as you might have noticed), as well as prepping Empathy for the Devil chapters and scheduling them through the first week of August. I also got some work done on Hunger, and should have a new chapter to post on Outfox in the next couple of days.

How did I get so much work done, you might ask. Answer: I found a stopping point for my paranormal gigolo outline, which I have to say has grown into so much more than I ever imagined when I started working on it. The outline has passed 45k words, which is more than twice as long as most of my finished novellas. There's still more I want to write, and I made quick notes of all the dangling plot threads I had left, but I just had to stop. If I work on nothing else, it'll take me ten years to write out what I have planned so far.

I did come up with a working title for the project -- An Insatiable Soul. It sounds erotic, the soul is a key plot element, and the MC is always horny, so much so that the incubus love interest comments on how horny he is. His sexual appetite exhausts a sex demon. So, yeah, I think insatiable is a fitting word.

But he's not just a horndog, he's so damn sweet, and kind, and accepting of people everyone else shuns and discriminates against. He's brave and just, and the romance is going to be equal parts hot and steamy, and sweet and fluffy.

I honestly can't wait to start working on it, but I've been shirking my responsibilities long enough. I'll write a few more chapters of Hunger and find a good place to put it on hiatus. I may come back to it when I need a break, which happens. And then...

I get to start writing An Insatiable Soul.

Wish me luck!

[authoralexizeri]

Looking for a spicy monsterotica fantasy adventure that has both smut and plot? And actual worldbuiding? And a likable MC?

Mark your calendars, Book 1 of the Mythical Desires series will be FREE during the month of July through Smashwords' Summer/Winter Ebook Sale, and Book 2 will be 50% off! This is a great time to check out this new series from me. Here's a link, but wait until the sale starts July 1st!

Mythical Desires Book 1: The Faerie

Down on his luck and desperate for cash, Steven stumbles into the employ of Mr. Ahno—a cunning faerie with an unusual business. The job? Col

[authoralexizeri]

Looking for a smutty monsterotica LitRPG fic with a monster MC?

Look no further! The first 4 chapters of Hunger Has New Rules are available to read for FREE on Outfox Stories. Want more? Subscribe to the site for access to ALL the premium chapters, not just mine, or become my Supporter for exclusive access.

Chapter 1: Something Went Wrong

In the dead of night, a young Sorcerer attempts forbidden magic, and Asari the Incubus finds himself trapped in a Dungeon.

[authoralexizeri]

Empathy for the Devil - Ch. 9

Chapter 9

Sarael gathered up all of our wet clothes and stashed them in his bag. He offered me a dry pair of shoes, but they were about a size and a half too small. Reluctantly, I banged the mud out of my sneakers and slipped my icy feet back into them, grimacing as my shoes squeaked and squished around my feet.

“We’ll have a fire when we stop for the night,” he said, closing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder once more. “We can get everything dry then.” He reached over and grabbed the end of my leash. I groaned.

“Is that really necessary? What if I promise not to run away? Can we take this damn thing off?”

“Trust must be earned,” he said, heading off into the trees, away from the stream. “Right now, your promise would mean nothing.”

“What, you can’t just feel if I’m telling the truth?” I asked. Being led around like a dog was getting on my nerves.

“Truth is not an emotion,” he said, skirting a large patch of nettles. He did seem to be picking the easiest path and taking his time, though I didn’t know if that was for my benefit or not. “Besides, it’s important that people know that you belong to me.”

I made a show of looking around the forest. “What people? We’re the only ones out here.”

“Not true,” he said, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “There are at least three individuals pacing us, about thirty feet to each side and behind us. There could be more, but someone’s irritation is making it hard to concentrate.”

I took a deliberate breath, trying to quiet my emotions. How did one quit feeling? I knew of drugs that would suck the emotions out of you, making you feel like a zombie, but I suspected that my local pharmacy didn’t deliver to the Twilight Zone. I tried meditation instead, counting slowly while I focused on my breathing.

“That’s better,” Sarael said after a moment. “I feel two more, moving directly toward us.”

“Shit,” I said, meditation forgotten. “Who are they? What do they want? Should we run?”

“Calm down,” he said. “I’m not sensing any hostility, but we should be cautious. I think they might be Wolf Spirit people.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Off to my left, the underbrush rustled and I pushed my exhausted body to stay closer to Sarael.

“Quiet,” he said. “Don’t speak, and do exactly what I tell you. Got it?”

“Yes, master,” I muttered, earning a dark look over his shoulder.

We walked maybe another twenty paces when Sarael suddenly stopped.

“Good afternoon,” he said politely. Not sure what to expect, I peered around him. Standing directly in front of us was an old man with long gray hair, his back bent by age, leaning on a carved walking stick. Next to him stood a somber woman, probably in her fifties, her long brown hair twisted up into a bun on top of her head. They wore clothes made from animals skins, trimmed with brown or black fur. They looked like normal humans, except both of them stared at us with intense, eerie amber eyes.

They had eyes like wolves.

“This is our land,” the woman said. “You must pay for safe passage if you wish to proceed.”

I heard a rustling behind us and I glanced back, my heart pattering faster, as a large, shaggy gray wolf stepped out of the bushes. I inched closer to Sarael.

“I have crossed these woods before,” he said. “I have a guarantee of safe passage from Rahmir.” He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up for them to see. It was a scrap of hide with something scrawled upon it, but I couldn’t really make it out. It didn’t look like any type of writing I’d ever seen before.

The woman barely glanced at it. “That promises safe passage for one. Your companion must still pay the toll.”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t have anything of value.

“This is my property,” Sarael said, making a show of tugging on my leash. “I will not pay extra for my belongings. Or have the mighty Wolf Spirit People fallen so low as to extort travelers for their baggage?”

A low growl sent a chill racing down my spine and I drew a sharp breath as a second wolf appeared out of the underbrush to our right.

“It is hardly extortion to demand fair compensation,” the old man said, speaking for the first time. He had a strong, rich voice, even though he must have been in his eighties. “Our people do not recognize the ownership of one being over another. He must pay, or he shall not pass.”

Sarael sighed, his irritation evident. For a second, I was afraid he was going to leave me there with the wolves.

“Fine,” he said, and I couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief. “What payment is required?”

“He is needed to perform the rite of first transformation,” the woman said. I wanted to ask what the hell that was, but I bit my tongue.

“Oh? Who is it?” Sarael asked, sounding surprised.

“Armiran, my son,” the woman replied.

Sarael made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “That is asking quite a lot for safe passage. I had hoped to keep my property unspoiled until I got it home. Perhaps we’ll just return to the road and take the long way around.” He turned and motioned for me to go back the way we came.

“Wait,” the old man said. The wolves, three of them now, blocked our path. “Moonrise will mark Armiran’s third night of transformation.”

I glanced at Sarael, trying to gauge what significance that might have, and he looked back at me, his eyes darkening somewhere between brown and gray.

“All right, he’ll do it,” he said, flashing me a warning look as I opened my mouth to argue. “He’s not from this world; he doesn’t understand what is going on. I need time to explain this to him.”

“Explain quickly,” the woman said, taking the old man’s arm as they turned and headed into the woods. “The village is just ahead.”

[authoralexizeri]

Is there such a thing as cozy erotica?

I realized earlier this year that I've been writing cozy fantasy for most of my life, before it was a thing. I just never had any interest in writing the big epic plots with life or death, save the world stakes. And as I plot out this crazy polyamorous fantasy project, I'm realizing that none of it has the usual romance plot structure, it's just a bunch of non-human guys screwing and falling in love with one amazing human who has no trouble loving them all.

Sure, there's plot, lots of plot--we have sexual predators and missing souls and werewolf epidemics and a vengeful dragon and all kinds of interpersonal shit--but there's no big end of the world struggle and climax (there's lots of climaxes, but not in the plot sense).

So I've come to the conclusion that I'm writing cozy erotica, where all the boys overcome their personal struggles to find love and acceptance with the help of really hot gay sex.

[authoralexizeri]

Empathy for the Devil - Ch. 8

Chapter 8

“You’re disgusting,” I said, my lip curling as I recoiled from him. “You’re perverse!”

His laugh echoed through the forest. “You’re right, but in this instance, I’m just giving you shit. You really don’t know what an empath is, do you?”

I hesitated. “You sense what other people are feeling and you can do magic shit with the air.”

“You’re half right,” he said, crouching and unzipping his bag. I glanced inside, but the interior was dark. I couldn’t see anything. “The ‘magic shit with the air’ comes from being a wizard, not an empath. Unfortunately, I’m both.”

I watched him pull dry pants and a shirt from his bag, my wet T-shirt making me shiver.

“Why is that unfortunate?” I asked, picking up my sodden jeans and shaking a few more leeches out of the legs. Gross. “You seem like a pretty awesome bad-ass. I mean, you know, when you’re not being an asshole.” I’m not sure, but I think he chuckled.

“The unfortunate part is that my magic enhances my empathic abilities. Most empaths can only sense people close to them. Some need to be in physical contact to do it. I can feel the emotions of everyone within a hundred yards and it takes all my energy and concentration just to block them out enough to think straight.”

“Yeah, okay, that would suck,” I said, squeezing a bit more water out of my jeans. I did not want to put them back on, but I didn’t really have a choice. Walking back through the nettles in just my undies would have been much worse. I sighed and shoved one foot into the tight, stiff leg.

“Stop,” Sarael said, standing up and holding out a stack of dry clothes. “Put these on.”

Shocked, I let the jeans slip from my grasp.

“Um, thanks,” I said, taking them from him, the material warm and buttery soft against my chilled hands. I wasn’t sure why he was being nice to me, but I was pretty sure he had an ulterior motive. My suspicious were confirmed when I found a dry pair of undershorts in the pile. He was still trying to get me naked.

Sarael gave me an unfathomable look and went back to his bag. I hesitated, then turned my back on him and stripped off my wet briefs, the air raising goosebumps on my chapped ass. I cast a darting glance over my shoulder, expecting to catch him staring, but he was busy pulling on a clean blue tunic. I quickly slipped into the undershorts and trousers. They were a little tight, but not too uncomfortable.

“That’s not even the worst part of being an empath,” Sarael said after a moment. “Emotions in a crowd are just noise—confusing, distracting, irritating, but just noise. Being near someone is like being screamed at, constantly. Every emotion, every feeling they have beating against me all the time, and I can’t block that out. I can’t stop it from affecting the way that I feel.”

“Oh, shit,” I gasped. “So you got angry at me because I was angry at you? That’s seriously messed up. And I guess I’m sorry. I’ll try to control my feelings better.”

He pulled up his trousers and straightened his tunic. “Thank you, but that’s not an easy thing to do. I don’t expect it of anyone. Still, I appreciate the effort.” He sighed. “That’s still not the worst part, you know.”

“How could it get any worse?”

“Physical contact is like touching lightning,” he said. “I feel the other person’s emotions magnified tenfold, not just influencing my own feelings, but completely eclipsing them. I lose my own sense of self. It’s a very unsettling feeling.”

“So...when I touched your hand under the water...”

“I was swallowed by a storm of fear, disgust, worry—”

“Everything I was feeling,” I said, staring down at the ground as I absently picked dirt out of my hair and tried to absorb everything he had just told me. I got the impression he was telling me something important, but the point of the conversation eluded me. He went from making disgusting jokes about fucking my dead body to explaining what an empath was—

“Hang on, does that mean you couldn’t fuck me even if you wanted to?” I asked. It sure sounded like it. If he tried to touch me, he’d be overwhelmed by my emotions, and if I was being sexually assaulted, that would be anger, hatred, and fear—not exactly the best frame of mind for maintaining an erection.

“It means that even with the most receptive partner, for me, sex is...disorienting. Almost unbearable. So if you’re worried about my intentions, I hope that helps put you at ease. I may look, or make jokes, but I won’t touch you. I can′t.”

I watched him gather up his wet clothes and roll them into small bundles before stuffing them into his bag. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be denied the simplest form of human comfort—basic physical contact. He must feel so alone—

“Don’t,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t want your pity.”

“Right. Sorry,” I said. I had no idea how to stop myself from feeling, to keep from broadcasting every little emotion to him, but I needed to figure it out. And soon.

[animentality]

[authoralexizeri]

Empathy for the Devil - Ch. 7

Chapter 7

With cold, muddy water up to our chins, broken tree roots jabbing me in the back, and God only knew what crawling around inside my clothes, I glanced over at Sarael as the minotaur and her search party drew closer. His eyes were dark, but in the shadows under the stream bank, I couldn’t tell what color. He moved and I tensed as he drew his dagger, the blade flashing beneath the water. I didn’t think, I just reached over and stopped his hand with my own.

“Wait, please,” I whispered.

He pulled away from my touch, but remained where he was.

On the far side of the stream, one of the men stumbled into a deep hole, making the others laugh. They were almost upon us. I could hear the rocks clacking dully together under the water as they kicked and knocked them aside.

“Fuck!” one of them shouted, splashing toward the shore. “There’s fucking leeches in there!” The others jeered at him, but most began heading for the bank.

My stomach churned and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to stay still.

“There not here,” the lady minotaur said, sounding disgusted. “Maybe the fools went into Wolf lands after all. Let’s get out of here. Which one of you is going to check me for leeches?” I heard no shortage of volunteers as they retreated back the way they had come and climbed out of the stream.

As soon as they left my sight, I reached out, grabbing roots to pull myself out that leech-infested hole, but Sarael put his arm across my chest, pinning me back against the earth.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

“But...leeches,” I hissed back. I could feel them, cold, squirmy, slimy, inside my clothes, on my skin.

“Relax, they don’t drink that much,” Sarael said, keeping his voice low as he peered out through the ferns. “All right, I think they’re gone, but we’re going to move slow and quiet until I’m sure. No screaming, no splashing, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me out of here,” I said. We eased out from under the overhang, Sarael looking all around, then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“I don’t feel them,” he said at last, reaching back for his bag. “We’re in the clear.”

“Thank God,” I said, lifting the bottom of my shirt and clawing at my skin. I peeled off several bloated, rubbery leeches, leaving bright smears of blood on my skin.

“Calm down, boy,” Sarael said, giving my leash a tug as he continued heading upstream, where the bank must have given way in the past, leaving a sunken slope to climb out on. Once on dry land, he tossed his bag down and, after a brief hesitation, let go of the leash. I considered making a run for it, but my cold muscles screamed from overuse. He’d have caught me in just a few steps. It wasn’t worth it. Besides, I had bigger problems.

I shucked my jacket and kicked off my shoes, thick mud spilling out of them as I stripped off my jeans and T-shirt. Shivering in just my dirty socks and dark blue briefs, I ran my shaking hands over my skin, knocking the nasty creatures into the dirt.

“Here, hold still,” Sarael said, stepping closer to me. I froze as he picked three last leeches off the middle of my back. “All right, my turn.” He peeled off his clothes, tossing them over a nearby bush, only he didn’t stop where I had. I turned and discovered a very naked man standing with his back to me, his rich, dark skin damp and gleaming. He had a very nice, tight ass, I noticed before tearing my gaze away. What the hell was wrong with me? I wasn’t gay.

Taking a bracing breath, I plucked the leeches from his back, then began to gather up my clothes and wring the water out of them.

“You know, it’s perfectly all right to hate someone and still want to fuck them,” Sarael said, his tone conversational, as if he were commenting on the weather. “You needn’t feel ashamed about it.”

“That’s not—I mean, I don’t want to fuck you. I’m not queer.” I pulled my cold shirt back over my head, fumbling with the leash as it got wrapped around one arm.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked.

“Quite sure.”

“No, I mean the shirt,” he said with a chuckle. “Shouldn’t we finish checking you for leeches? They especially love warm, dark places with tender skin.” His gaze dropped to my groin.

“I can manage,” I said, turning my back on him and reaching down the front of my briefs. No leeches, thankfully.

“I’ve always found the shy ones the most fun to break in,” Sarael said, and I could hear the wicked smirk in his voice. “You know I’ll get to see everything eventually.”

I remembered what the guard had said, about teaching me what I was for. Is that why he bought me?

“Am I supposed to be your sex slave?” I asked, heat bleeding beneath my chilled skin as the thought sent a thrill of arousal racing through my veins. I stomped it down, hating myself for allowing such thoughts, and glanced over my shoulder at him. “Is that it? Because if that’s what you bought me for, forget it. I’d rather die than let you fuck me.”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you want. Doesn’t matter to me. Necrophilia really isn’t as bad as most people think, not if the body is fresh enough. I even know a necromancer who can pop a willing little demon into your corpse. Now those guys are into some kinky stuff.”

[authoralexizeri]

Well, I'm still at it. My outline is now over 26k words and I still have more story to tell. It's crazy, I haven't written a single actual word about these characters, but I am head-over-heels in love with them. They all fit into the damaged and need hugs trope, but each one has a distinct personality and quirks (and kinks).

Am I crazy? Can I pull of this epic, erotic polyamorous queer paranormal fantasy adventure? I don't know, but I'm damn well going to try.

In other news, I haven't worked on Hunger at all and I'm very late adding a new chapter. Outfox has been pretty dead the past week, though, so I don't know if anyone has even missed it. I may bang out this next chapter, and depending on the response, I may shelve that project.

I also haven't heard back from Outfox support about the apparent overpayment for my last chapter. I don't know if I should send another, or just be patient, but I don't think there are that many users on that site, so they can't be that busy. I'm betting my first email found its way into the spam folder. Yeah, I should definitely email them again. Ugh.

[authoralexizeri]

Empathy for the Devil - Ch. 6

Chapter 6

I glanced over my shoulder at the city wall in the distance. I couldn’t see anyone and I deliberately slowed my stride, resisting as he tried to pull me along.

“Bullshit,” I said. “There’s no one after us.”

“I swear to the gods,” he said, turning on his heel, “you will learn to obey me.” He flung out his hand and yeah, I flinched, but I stood my ground. Then I realized that he wasn’t doing a spell on me, he was pointing. I turned, watching as the city gates slowly swung inward, and half a dozen riders came spilling out astride large, powerful animals that looked a bit like horses and a lot like dinosaurs. Even from this distance, I could see one of the riders had gleaming horns like a bull.

I turned back to Sarael.

“So? They aren’t mad at me. They’ll just take me back. And something tells me I’d be better off belonging to just about anyone but you.”

His irises darkened to the color of blood. “And do you really think someone they call Devil is going to let you go without a fight?” He raised his hands, both of them glowing with that iridescent light. “Have you ever seen someone run headlong into a brick wall? I can make the air between us and them as solid as stone. Their skulls will crack open like ripe fruit.”

“Wait, you’re going to kill them?” I asked, looking back at the riders racing toward us, kicking up a plume of orange dust. I don’t know why that bothered me. This was just a dream, they weren’t real, but...what if they were? The lady minotaur had been nice enough. You know, for a slave trader. I didn’t want to see them die, not even in my nightmare. I grabbed his arm. “Don’t, please. I’ll go with you. C’mon, let’s go.”

“It’s a long way to the trees,” he warned. “You’ll have to run.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“Very well.” He sounded disappointed. Had he wanted to kill them? He made a sweeping gesture with one arm and a powerful gust of wind came from out of nowhere, scouring the dust up from the road and flinging at at the oncoming riders. Their mounts roared and bellowed in fright, one of them bucking and tossing its rider over a fence into a cow pasture.

Sarael wrapped the end of my lead around his hand and made a throwing gesture with the other, up the road in the direction of the forest.

“Run, now!” he shouted as the wind reversed course, howling past us. Eyes squinted against the flying dust, I ran harder than I had ever run before, my legs pumping like pistons. The wind buffeted my back, tugging at my clothes and pushing me along. I doubt I would have made it otherwise. I was gasping and choking, my legs numb and flailing, when we finally reached the treeline. Exhausted, I stumbled and sprawled on my face in the dirt.

Sarael pulled on the leash. “Get up—move! They’re right behind us,” he snapped.

“I thought—I thought we’d be safe in the forest,” I panted, my muscles screaming as I scrambled to get up.

“Yes, in the forest, not lying in the road. Follow me. Hurry!”

“This dream fucking sucks,” I groaned under my breath as we bullied our way into the underbrush, stringy vines covered in thorns catching at my pant legs and wrapping around my feet. As if it wasn’t difficult enough to walk already. A few yards in, the brambles thinned in favor of ferns and—oh, boy—stinging nettles. “Ouch. Fuck. Ouch!” My bare hands were covered with red, burning welts by the time we reached the bank of a stream.

“I can still feel them,” Sarael said, glancing over his shoulder. “C’mon, I have an idea.”

Slipping in the mud, we climbed down the embankment and splashed into the water. Damn, it was cold! Thankfully, it was only knee deep as we waded into the middle of the stream. Sarael raised his glowing hand and gestured to the far bank, a focused blast of air blowing aside fallen leaves and gouging furrows in the soft earth.

“Wow, nice false trail,” I said, grudgingly impressed. He didn’t respond, just adjusted his grip on the leash and began slogging through the rolling water, heading upstream. I followed as fast as I could, but my reserves were completely gone and the rounded stones that covered the stream bed kept rolling and sliding under my feet. Not only that, but the stream had pockets of deep water, and I plunged in over my waist more than once. At least the cold water made my nettle stings hurt less. We had only made it half a dozen yards at the most when an angry shout rang out much too close for comfort.

“Over here!” a male voice called. “I found their trail!”

“Damn it,” Sarael hissed, his free hand reaching for his dagger as his head swiveled back and forth. The stream bank was higher here, reaching above our heads, and nearly vertical, bristling with exposed tree roots and clumps of thick ferns.

He pointed. “There.” Up ahead, the bank was undercut beneath the roots of a gnarled old willow tree, with dangling ferns trailing the tips of their fronds in the water.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. The overhang was barely a foot above the water and if it wasn’t deep enough, we’d look pretty silly sitting in the mud with ferns in our hair. He didn’t answer, he just forged ahead, dragging me behind him. Fortunately, the stream bed dipped and I gasped as the water swirled around my crotch, reminding me of a scene from a movie where some boys go swimming in a pond and one of them ends up with leeches on his junk.

I swallowed hard as he unshouldered his duffel bag and shoved it under the water. “There aren’t leeches in this stream, are there?”

“Shut up and get down here,” Sarael whispered, hauling me down onto my knees, the frigid water up to my neck as we squeezed in under the muddy tree roots. I shivered as something slimy ran down under the collar of my jacket. Mud oozed into my sneakers. At least, I hoped it was mud.

I jumped as something touched my hand. “There something under here.”

“Quiet,” he breathed. “Don’t move.”

Loud, thumping footsteps and splashing downstream gave away the arrival of our pursuers. I held my breath, waiting for them to run off into the forest on the false trail Sarael had laid.

“Hold it,” a commanding female voice said. It took me a moment to realize it was the lady minotaur. I’d only heard her snort and moo before. “They wouldn’t go that way—that is Wolf territory. You and you, check downstream, the rest of you come with me.”

I peered out through the dangling ferns, my heart climbing into my throat as they slogged through the water toward our hiding spot.

[authoralexizeri]

Inspiration still has its claws deep in me on this one, and it won't let go. I've written a bit more on Hunger, but every word is like pulling teeth. I can't focus on what I should be writing because I keep thinking about this crazy outline.

My nameless WIP outline stands at just shy of 19k words. In a week. Less than a week. It's crazy. And the story is still so good, all smut and drama and meaty fantasy plot goodness. Honestly, I want to drop Hunger like a maggoty potato and dive headfirst into my new obsession, but I do have some restraint. A little, tiny bit.

I think I'll write a couple more chapters of Hunger and wrap it up, or at least reach a decent end point. Not an end end, but an end for now.

Speaking of Hunger Has New Rules, the second chapter has dropped out of premium, so it's free to read if you're interested. This one is a M/M chapter, if that floats your boat. Ch. 2 - Corruption in the Dark

[authoralexizeri]

Empathy for the Devil - Ch. 5

Chapter 5

It took every ounce of willpower I could muster not to take another swing at Sarael. I focused on my breathing, trying to calm my pounding heart and release the anger seething inside of me. After a minute I felt him step away.

“You learn fast, boy,” he said, and I could hear the smug smile in his voice.

“Don’t call me boy,” I said, my voice low. “My name is Ian.”

“I am the master here, boy,” Sarael said, giving the leash a tug, as if I could forget I wore it. “If you want the privilege of being called by name, you need to earn it.”

“And how do I do that, Devil?” I sneered. I was really starting to hate this man, and if his red eyes were any indication, the feeling was mutual.

“You can start by calling me Master.”

“Never.”

“Get on your knees,” he said through his teeth.

I lifted my chin, my jaw set as I stared him down. He could knock me on my ass, but I would never kneel before him. He raised his hand and I tensed as that eerie glow blossomed around his fingers. I took a gasping breath, bracing myself to be choked again, but that wasn’t his only trick, it seemed. I felt pressure on my shoulders and the top of my head, a weight building until my legs shook and I staggered. I glared at Sarael, my jaw clenched until my teeth hurt. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead and upper lip, and I could see his hand trembling, but I was fading fast.

I shouted in frustration as my legs buckled, pain exploding in my kneecaps as they hit the rough cobblestones. The heaviness bore me down, but he pulled on the leash, the thick leather collar digging into my neck, forcing my head up.

“Good pet,” he said, the light fading as he reached out and stroked my cheek. “Better get used to this.”

I recoiled. Was this guy gay? It sure sounded like it. I remembered what the guard had said, about teaching me what I was for. Did he expect to fuck me? Was that why he bought me? I pictured him unzipping his trousers and pulling out his cock, stroking it to hardness before shoving it down my throat...I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry and my jeans too restrictive as my own cock hardened.

“Oh, really?” Sarael said, sounding surprised. I glanced up at him and his eyes had shifted from red to purple. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt someone go from angry to aroused that quickly. Maybe you were a good investment after all.”

“Wh-what do you mean, never felt?” I asked. The weight had eased off my shoulders, but I wasn’t sure I could get up. My legs felt numb with exhaustion.

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve probably never met an empath before,” he said. His head snapped around and he stared at the city wall for a moment. “We’ll discuss it later. We’ve wasted too much time as it is. Come on, before they catch me.”

He pulled on the leash and I lurched to my feet, stumbling as I tried to keep up with his quick stride. The road changed from cobblestones to rough mud bricks, and finally to dry, rutted dirt. It was harder to pick my feet up over the uneven surface and I kept tripping

“Are you lame or something?” Sarael asked after I stumbled for the umpteenth time.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, panting from exertion. Thankfully, I could still breathe like normal. “I’ve been exhausted ever since I woke up.” Or was that ever since I fell asleep? The longer this nightmare continued, the harder it was to convince myself that it was just a dream, but the alternative was even more difficult to swallow.

“Damn it,” he said, glancing back at me, his eyes once more back to pale green. That had to be their normal color, when he wasn’t flashing like a chameleon. “Your planet, Earth—it’s a mid-sized world, isn’t it? With an iron core?”

“I guess,” I said. “I’m not a geologist.”

“Well, Asyth—this planet—is considered a super-terrestrial world. Not as large as a gas or ice giant, but definitely bigger than yours.”

“So?” I asked as I tripped again. I enjoyed sci-fi as much as the next guy, but I wasn’t in the mood for a Star Wars astronomy lesson.

Sarael sighed. “So I didn’t realize you were an uneducated peasant.”

“Did you just call me stupid?” I asked. “I went to college, just so you know. I have a degree in business finance.”

“I have no idea what that is,” he replied. “Regardless, my point is, the size of a planet and the density of its core effect the gravity of that world. Bigger planets have more gravity, which you’re not used to, so it’s much harder for you to move. The reverse would be true if I were to visit your world—I would appear to have unusual strength.”

“Fascinating,” I muttered. “I don’t suppose you can...you know, do something about it?” I waved my hand like a magician performing a trick.

“I’ve wasted enough magic on you already,” he said, giving the leash a sharp tug as I stumbled again. “Pick up your feet and move like your life depends on it. They’re coming.”

[authoralexizeri]

Holy shit, I just wrote 10k words of an outline. No idea how long the actual story would be, because I'm not finished, but I'm guessing, based on my other outlines, that it'd equate to between 100k and 250k of story. It's ragged and unorganized and completely self-indulgent, but I love it.

The story is about a man who takes a job as a gigolo for a paranormal fantasy escort service/brothel and ends up getting all the broken, damaged, self-conscious, tragic clients, and then helping them heal their inner demons with acceptance and lots of hot gay sex. A faerie with control issues whose love language is trust? A necromancer with a compassionate soul and a body like a mummified corpse who can't bear to be looked at? A vampire who craves touch but dies inside every time someone recoils from his cold flesh? All of the above and so much more.

Got a little work done on Hunger, but not much. Gonna put in an hour or so and try to get a good chunk of the chapter written. I've got just a couple of days until I'm supposed to post on Outfox Stories. Then again, I never made them any promises, so if it's late, it's late.

Speaking of Outfox, no word back on my email to support. I reported it in a timely fashion, if they don't get back to me, then I guess the extra money is mine. I just it hope it doesn't happen for every chapter. That would add up quickly, and I'd hate to have to pay it back when they finally find the clerical error. What a hassle.

If you haven't checked out my spicy gay fantasy adventure story Empathy for the Devil, I'm posting it here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Check it out, it's free. (No spicy chapters yet, that doesn't happen until Ch. 12, I think.)