So  one of my favorite readers, Mina, left a comment on The New Canvas yesterday…

Damn. Now I want to *see* this piece!

that got me thinking…could I do that?  See, I’m not slouch in the drawing department.   But if I were to tackle something like that I worry that I wouldn’t have time to write.

So I started musing out loud to Mr. Greyson who immediately said, “I think I could help you with that.  I’ve had a clear image of that tattoo since you started writing the piece.”

Wow.  So he’s going to try his hand at drawing up the tattoo for me.  We need to sit down and discuss it some more to make sure that we agree on what it looks like and all that, but I think I might be able to illustrate the story as well as tell it!

Cool, huh?

I apologize for the lack of posts lately, but life has gotten a bit…full…here at Chateau Greyson.  Late Thursday evening Mr. Greyson pulled a moving van into our driveway with his sister and our four year old niece behind in her car.  They’re moving in with us for a while until she can find a job and get on her feet and so on.  It’s already proving to be a challenge but I’m sure we’ll all adjust.

I’m just grateful for the gift of my Muse Room and plan to spend more time in there! 😉


Flash Serial: The New Canvas ~ Part 4

The writing below is part of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

She prowled her home that week.  Invites to lunch passed on,  she ducked out of an invite to accompany a colleague to a charity ball and screened her parents’ calls.  The night spent under Victor’s hands haunted Alexandra.  Instead she tackled the work she normally avoided until the last minute, prepping lesson plans for the fall sememster and review her notes from the previous.

Alex couldn’t help but wonder if the tattoo would be complete when classes resumed.  The pain of the process had surprised her.  Alex had accompanied enough of her friends to tattoo parlors during college to have an idea of what to expect.  At least, that was what she’d thought.  The manual method Victor employed had left her skin feeling lacerated.  She thought on the upcoming session, speculating on her ability to manage the pain and how the artist would act this time.

Each day that passed gnawed at her.

She couldn’t stop looking at the dragon.  Even as a piece of line art it was exquisite.  Clawed feet clung to her leg, sinuous tail and body twined around it.  But the head. . . that was stunning.  The beast rested it’s head on her belly, below her navel, and the tongue dipped towards the junction of her thighs.  Everytime she looked at it she remembered Victor’s dark, tousled head bent over her, so close she could feel his breath fan against her skin.

Her attraction to him startled Alexandra and left her uncertain, an unfamiliar state to the confident woman.  His lack of reaction to her was even more discomfiting.  She tried to recall when a man had not returned her interest and drew a blank.

Thursday passed in excruciatingly slow fashion.  Every time she looked at the clock it was minutes since the last instead of the hours for which she hoped.  The night saw her tossing and turning, incapable of escaping the thought of his hands on her body.  Even attempts to chase him from her mind by letting her own touch push her body to orgasm failed.

That only cemented him deeper as she came with the image of him spreading her thighs and fucking her.


It all combined to turn her into a walking, ticking, timebomb.  Still, she drove the winding road to his house as the sun surrendered the day, bracing for his cool, distant composure and dark, delicious good looks.  Alex let herself in and made her way down the hall to his studio.  Music played, deep throbbing and base filled.

Victor worked at his bench near the table.  A heat surged between her thighs at the sight.  Clad only in cut off jeans stained with countless hues of ink his skin showed off just as many.  He moved in tempo with the music, hips shifting minutely, head nodding the beat.  She couldn’t wrap her mind around the difference.  The song drew to an an end and she cleared her throat.

He waved a hand without even looking.  “Evening, Alexandra.  On the table, if you please.”  The music began again.

Her jaw clenched and she all but stalked across the studio.  The screens were pulled and to her uneducated eye it looked like he was ready to begin.  Relaxing was not going to be an easy task.

Stripping was harder and easier this time.  Alex had chosen a loose flowing skirt and a halter top that tied below her breasts.  If he’d bothered to turn and look at her she would have risk saying even he might have found her fetching.

Victor turned as she slid her fingers inside her waistband.  “Wait.  On second thought, I’m going to be starting at your ankle.  We can simply gather the fabric over your knees.”

Did she see a touch of relief in his oh so cold eyes?

She laid on the table and gathered her skirt up.  It took all she had not to jump when his hands cupped her calf, turning it this way and that.  “Good, good,” he murmured, his low voice barely audible over the music.  He nodded to himself, pulled a rolling cart with a number of small dishes of ink, and met her eyes.

“This will hurt,” he said, reaching, at last, to turn the music off.  she licked her lips, suddenly, abruptly, nervous.  “Last week is nothing compared to this.  Tell me if it gets to be too much.”  His gaze was intent, his hand where it rested on her shin warm.

Alex nodded, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.


Continue reading in part 5 of The New Canvas

Flash Serial: The New Canvas ~ Part 3

The writing below is part of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

She squirmed.  She twisted.  Alexandra vexed him with her ceaseless movements until at last he dropped his hand upon her ass, cupped to make the loudest sound.  She yelped and began to twist to look at him.  He pushed her flat with a palm between her shoulder blades.

“You must lie still.  If you move while I’m inking you could destroy the piece.”

Victor could feel the deep breaths she pulled into her lungs and the tension in her body.

“Will you lie still?”

She nodded and he lifted his hand.

Bringing his pen back to her skin he waited for her to twitch.  When she remained still he bowed his head once more.


Never had he been so happy to move on to the difficult work of tattooing a leg.  He spent the night with her scent in his nose, teasing him, making an invite she couldn’t possibly intend.  She moved constantly throughout the drawing process, shifting under his touch, sometimes as if she sought to escape, sometimes moving into him.

His hand fell on her three times when her stirring grew too much for him to work around.  Each time she gasped.  Each time she remained silent.  He fought through exhaustion as inch by inch he imprinted the dragon into her skin, beginning the process of turning her into a piece of art, guiding the creature out of her soul.

Not that she wasn’t art already.

But he’d never tell her that.


False dawn lit the hills on the far side of the lake as Victor stood and stretched, his back popping back into place with a snap loud enough to startle her.  She was on her stomach and when she glanced back at him, eyes dilated and glazed with pain, hair tumbling about her face in a riotous mass, he felt a stirring in his groin.

It didn’t take much to force the arousal back down, but it took him by surprise, nonetheless.

He dragged his eyes from her face and examined the newly birthed tattoo.  Her skin glowed red along the lines, the torture of the needles pushing ink into her flesh clear for any to see.

“Are we done?”  Her voice was husky, rough with exhaustion and pain.

Victor nodded and held out an ink-stained hand. “For tonight, yes,” he said, helping her to her feet.  She swayed and he steadied her.

“Have you a mirror?”  She looked up at him through her lashes and he found himself snared, briefly, in her storm-colored eyes.

“Yes.  Through here.”  Stiffening his resolve he scooped her clothing into an arm and guided her back into the house.  A full length mirror occupied a wall in the hall, and she stared at her own reflection for a long time.

“It’s. . . ,” she drifted off and looked up at him, expression unreadable.

“Next week.  Same time.  From now on we will work in four hour segments.”

He watched her make her way gamely to her car.  He should have offered her the guest room, should have insisted she sleep a few hours before driving.

But she was getting under his skin, and he didn’t like that.  So he watched her drive away and wondered how he would manage to tattoo the dragon’s head without losing control.


Continue reading in part 4 of The New Canvas

Flash Erotica ~ Naked

“I know you,” he said the first time we met.  There was something in his tone that spoke to a deeper knowledge than I was comfortable contemplating.  He kissed me.  My body reacted as if he did indeed know me, and it knew him.  His lips, soft at first, soon parted to let his tongue taste mine.  I turned to liquid, flowing into his arms, around him.  He split me, a rock in the midst of a stream, and sank into my cunt with a sigh that spoke of longing, deep, old, and powerful.

“I know you,” he answered, later, when questioned.  He pinned my hands above my head, powerful fingers holding me fast.   Fatigue stripped resistance from my mind, my nerves singing and stretched after a handful of orgasms.  “You need one more.”  He thrust again, lifting up into me, muscles of his ass flexing beneath my heels.  He filled me, holding himself deep, rocking against my pelvis, and I shook.  Exquisite sparks streaked through me and I clamped my legs around him, grinding him into my clit.  He filled me, hard and thick and pulsing, and watched my face as I came for him.

“I know you,” he whispered.  Spread wide, panting, shaking, my hips rocking of their own volition.  His free hand whisked over his cock, his other filled me.  “I know you can take it.  You’re my whore, my slut,” he said, voice harsh with arousal.  I twisted my own nipples and shimmied closer, crying out when in a slick, tight slide his fist settled into my cunt.  He gasped and I wondered what he saw.  Stretched beyond normal my muscles tried to clamp down and the back of his thumb nudged my G spot.  Being so full left me more naked than I ever had before.  “Come,” he bid me and I did, screaming with the exquisite pain of it.  Molten desire splashed on the softness of my belly and he drew his fingers through it, smearing my clit with it, anointing me.

“I know you,” he promised, baring me to his gaze.  His skin seared into mine, nipples tight against his chest, and he bore me to the floor.  His hands knew where to touch, his mouth where to lick, suck, bite.  I tasted him, salty bite of sweat and sweet, musky maleness.  We twined together with the knowledge of years as lovers, the comfort of a decade as partners, the confidence of lifetimes as soulmates.  I cried his name when I came, exploding around him, with him, twin supernovas.

“I know you,” I said, breathing his breath, lips close, staring into his eyes.


dedicated to my lover, partner, soulmate and best friend.  To my husband.  I love you, baby.  Happy Valentine’s Day.

Guess what!

I’m guest blogging on Oh Get A Grip today!  So get on over there, okay?

Flash Serial: The New Canvas ~ Part 2

The writing below is part of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning, here.

The New Canvas:Chapter 2

She sat in her car, staring over the steering wheel.  Am I really going to do this?

The sun was setting in an explosion of colors over the lake.  The address he’d given led her to the exclusive gated community and then to this isolated home on the isthmus.  Alexandra couldn’t fathom how much the place had cost, though it wasn’t one of the newly built monstrosities that peppered the shoreline.

She looked at her watch for the fifth time.  7:53.  If she was going to do it. . .

Swinging her legs from the car she tucked her purse under her arm and took a deep breath.  She wanted to do it.  It had taken a year of coaxing, begging and bribing to get his name. “Victor Svitov.” Alexandra whispered to herself.  She could still feel his piercing blue eyes examining her and butterflies danced in her stomach.

Her footsteps crunched on the gravel path and seemed to boom on the steps.  She felt loud and out of place on the porch with its cool serene colors and relaxing secluded surroundings.  Rapping her knuckles on the door sharply she waited with growing impatience.

Finally, the door swung open.  “Ah, you’re here.”  His voice was just as rich and warm as she remembered, like a perfect, strong cup of coffee.  “Come on in.”

It occurred to Alexandra as she followed him through his house that she was taking a huge risk.  No one knew where she was.  The nerves in her stomach intensified.  “The studio overlooks the lake.  From now on when you come out for a session, just come on in.  I don’t lock the door.”

She smiled thinly at him and he opened a door, motioning her through.  Alex gasped.  His studio jutted out from the house.  It was, for all intents and purposes, a sun room, with glass walls on three sides.  Hinged rice paper screens waited on either side of the doorway against the only solid wall in the studio.  As she stared he began to pull them along tracks recessed into the floor and ceiling, blocking the lower two-thirds of the room from few.  The sunset filtered through the screens, lighting up the art worked upon them.

The space was breathtaking and soothing and her nervousness faded.  She walked along the screens, taking in the variety of images.  “These are gorgeous,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.  He stood with his arms crossed, watching expectantly.  “Oh,” she said, blushing, “sorry.”  He motioned her to towards a waiting bench that reminded her of her masseuse’s.

“Please strip from the waist down.”

Alexandra would have blushed still further had his manner not been so business like.  He turned to his table of waiting implements and Alex swallowed against her nervousness.  You can do this, Alex, she berated herself and quickly loosened the wraparound ties of her skirt.  The fabric puddled to the floor and she stepped out of it and her wedges.  The floor, highly polished bamboo, was cool against the soles of her feet.

“Panties too, please.  Next time do not even wear them.  You won’t be putting them back on after.  They can damage the fresh tattoo.”  Alexandra jerked her head up to glare at him and found only the broad expanse of his shoulders.  “There’s nothing prurient about her request, I assure you.”  He turned to look at her.  “You are a canvas.  Nothing more.”

And she believed him.  His gaze swept her length and his expression remained cool and dettached.  “If you know who I am, then you know I take no sexual interest in her patrons.”  His icey eyes met mine once more and her stomach clenched.  Alex nodded.  “Good.  Now, lie on the table please.”

She pulled her bikini cut panties down and bent to pick them and her skirt up, placing them on a nearby chair.  He unfolded a sheet and shook it out over the cushioned table surface.  The chill of the vinyl still shocked her through it as she sat.

Victor picked up one of the screens from the far wall, one she hadn’t realized wasn’t attached.  He set it close to her head and Alexandra looked up, gasping as she took in the image upon it.  A woman’s form outlined in faint, sketchy lines stood before her.  Her form.  But what took her breath away was the beginnings of the tattoo she realized he meant to put upon her flesh.  She shivered and somehow managed not to jump when he laid his hand on her back.

“Are you ready?”  Without waiting for an answer his hands guided her onto her back and pushed her shirt up under her breasts.  A point pressed against her flesh and she realized he was drawing the tattoo on her.  “Tonight will be our longest session.  We will not stop until I have lined in the whole tattoo.  If you need a break, tell me.  Otherwise, I will not stop.  It will hurt.  I suggest you let the endorphins take you into a meditative state. . .”

His voice continued on and she stopped listening as his lining pen swooped in lines across her belly.  His arm lay over her mound, onto her thigh, hand pressing and pulling her skin.  Alex looked down to find his dark haired head bent close to her and felt his breath fan against her flesh.  Her body broke out in a hot wave of goosebumps.  Nothing prurient.  I can’t say that I’m going to be able to lie here and not think of you, Victor Svitov, in prurient ways.  The dimple of his pen dipped towards her mound and she held her breath.

Can he smell me, I wondered, does he know I’m reacting to his hands on my skin?  She shivered without realizing it and his movements paused.  “Sorry,” Alex whispered, and he grunted once before returning to his work.  Her mind drifted and she let it.

It was going to be a long night.

Continue reading in part 3 of The New Canvas.

Flash Erotica ~Hush

“Shhh,” he breathed against the soft skin of my neck,  halting my pacing, pulling me back against his chest.  “Stop,” he said, the growl of command turning his voice into a rumble when I inhaled to continue.  My diatribe had begun an hour earlier, before I even shed my coat, frustration and anger and upset taking hold.  I paced the living room, ten steps in either direction, my emotions jerking my hands like a marionette’s strings.

I inhaled, filling my lungs with him when his hands slipped around my waist, under my blouse.  I exhaled as he cupped the curves of my breasts.  My lips parted to speak, to apologize for bringing work home.

“Hush,” he said.

He turned me and covered my mouth with his, silencing further attempts to speak.  His lips coaxed the tension from me, feeding on each little moan teased from my throat.  Stress sheeted from me like water, pooled around my ankles with my clothes as he disrobed me.  “You are beautiful,” he whispered, eyes the blue of a flame’s heart flushing my skin.

Melting, I took him into me.  Wrapped my arms around his strong shoulders, spread and closed my legs about his trim hips.  My tongue strove to form words again and he stilled my lips with a finger.  “Shush,” he whispered, his lips forming an “O” as he slid inside. “You’re thinking too much today, baby.”

I gave up on words.  I rocked against him until he seated so deep inside me tears blurred my eyes.  His balls pressed against my ass, stomach to my belly, chest to my breasts.  Each curl of his hips stroked me from the inside, turning me out, baring me.  The last of my angst leached away, carried in the fluid of my own desire.  I bit my lip, fighting the urge to speak.  His hands held me down, pinned me in place, and somehow his perfect cock found a new place to nudge and tease.

“Come for me,” he said, still moving in that slow steady rhythm, “come for me like you did last weekend, all hushed and quiet and desperate to scream.”  I arched, writhed, and bucked under him, my gasps for air loud in the silent room.  “Come for me like we could be caught, like someone’s in the next room, within earshot of hearing you moan like the wanton slut you are for me.”

Dishes clattered in the kitchen, his hand clamped over my mouth and I exploded, my vision streaking, body quaking.  I clamped around him viciously, legs and arms and muscles pulled him deep and he grunted as he spent himself, flooding me with his heat.

We gasped for breath as my muscles continued to ripple, as he continued to twitch.  His eyes glowed with intensity and he grinned, toothy and feral.

“Guess I won’t yell at the cats, this time.”