Lance went to his nightstand and retrieved a spider gag. He’d accumulated quite a bit of stuff over the years to make things spicy for the four-man orgies. Many of the things he owned and operated he often tried on himself first. This gag was one of them.

“Open your mouth,” Lance said. The green eyes enlarged. So did the mouth. That was all he needed to slip the O-ring metal into place. “Since your place of origin is still questionable at the moment, I need to keep your mouth open in case you bite.”

He grinned, then secured the head harness under the chin and over and around the head. He could barely slip a finger under each strap. “Not too tight?”

The man shook his head and regarded him with steady watchful eyes. With gag in place, the man swallowed. Barely.

Lance hardened at the erotic sight. Never had Lance felt this much of a thrill in anticipation of fucking someone’s mouth.

“So fucking sexy,” Lance murmured. “You taking whatever I dish out, however I dish it, that’s hot.”

Lance unleashed his belt and eased out of his pants. His happy prick bounced out, ready to shoot.

​“See this?” He fisted his erection. Standing by the bed, his prick was at the man’s eye level. “It’s for you.”

The above excerpt is from Vaughn 1, the first episode in the Man X Chronicles series, when negotiations have just been set between captain and captive.

Vaughn 1 is a kinky gay/trans sci-fi romance that occurs far in the future.

If you enjoy stories about gay men, you may also enjoy Skid (Black Storm Pack prequel), a complimentary read at most retail site

“Face me,” Alpha said, frighteningly near.

Skid licked his bottom lip—fuck, he’d forgotten that cracked lip needed nursing. Still he obliged and turned to face the man.

“Sit up,” Alpha ordered.

Skid sprang up, nervous. The wolf pack could have left him there to die in that forest fire, but they hadn’t. They had carried him out of the woodlands and brought him here, wherever the here was. Not knowing whether it was appropriate to make eye contact or not, Skid deferred to staring at the floor near Alpha’s feet.

“What’s your name?” Alpha asked. His shiny black combat boots now appeared quite interesting.

“Um, Skid,” he said. He didn’t have a name, wasn’t born with one, and never took on the name the state had given him. Firefighters had found him at their station one cold morning not long after he was born. They figured that he could have been a few days to a few weeks old at the time of drop-off. No birth certificate, nothing. For the longest time he’d felt ashamed to be the only kid to not know his birthday—his real birthday. Only recently in the past year did he decide that since he didn’t know the actual day of his birth, then he could very well celebrate his birthday for the whole month of December.

“Skid?” Alpha repeated. “Look at me.”

Skid gulped and looked up. The man before him had dark blond curls with light brown tips at the ends, a chiseled jaw, furry brows, amber eyes, a regal nose and lips that were just the right size—not too thick and not too thin. Likewise heavily muscled, a black vest and matching cargo pants barely contained the Alpha’s rippling chest and washboard abs.

One word vied with another when he saw Alpha: FORMIDABLE mixed with FORBIDDEN. Alpha was formidable in that Skid wouldn’t want him as an enemy any day. He was forbidden in the sense that Skid secretly liked having such a fit body, even though he knew he’d never have the bone structure to amass muscle like that.

​Alpha was … handsome. He could have stepped out of the cover of a magazine. Judging by his looks, he couldn’t have been older than thirty and that was being conservative. Skid bet that the man was borderline mid-twenties. Then again, he could be wrong. Did wolf shifters look younger than their years or vice versa?  

“See this?” He fisted his erection. Standing by the bed, his prick was at the man’s eye level. “It’s for you.”

At Lance’s angle, he saw the eyes lid with lust and the tell-tale twitch in the man’s tongue. Blood had also rushed to the man’s cheeks, giving it a ruddy color that sent his own blood rushing south. The assuring thought that this man found him attractive only fueled his fire.

Lance rearranged the pillows and set the man’s head down into a position that would be somewhat comfortable for deep throating later. He got onto the bed and straddled the man, his cock positioned at the enticing entrance. He stayed there, grinning as the man inhaled the scent of his arousal. He was already leaking.

“Suck my balls,” Lance said as he used the headboard for leverage and descended upon the orifice.

The warm wet tongue lapped at the ache in his loins. His dick bobbed in appreciation. Lowering another fraction to ensure a perfect seal, he waited for the man to suck. He hissed and damn near jumped off the bed when the latch tightened around his ball as the man suckled.

​“Yes, that’s it,” he praised hoarsely. “Right there.”

 “Good morning, Alpha,” Zip and Ripper both chirped. Alpha nodded at them and then to the door, effectively dismissing them.

​Alone now with Alpha, Skid wondered belatedly if he could pretend that he was still sleepy and roll over to the other side to avoid further confrontation.

No such luck. Alpha approached him. With each intent step toward his cot, Skid stiffened.

“Face me,” Alpha said, frighteningly near.

Skid licked his bottom lip—fuck, he’d forgotten that cracked lip needed nursing. Still he obliged and turned to face the man.

“Sit up,” Alpha ordered.

Skid sprang up, nervous. The wolf pack could have left him there to die in that forest fire, but they hadn’t. They had carried him out of the woodlands and brought him here, wherever the here was. Not knowing whether it was appropriate to make eye contact or not, Skid deferred to staring at the floor near Alpha’s feet.

“What’s your name?” Alpha asked. His shiny black combat boots now appeared quite interesting.

“Um, Skid,” he said. He didn’t have a name, wasn’t born with one, and never took on the name the state had given him. Firefighters had found him at their station one cold morning not long after he was born. They figured that he could have been a few days to a few weeks old at the time of drop-off. No birth certificate, nothing. For the longest time he’d felt ashamed to be the only kid to not know his birthday—his real birthday. Only recently in the past year did he decide that since he didn’t know the actual day of his birth, then he could very well celebrate his birthday for the whole month of December.

“Skid?” Alpha repeated. “Look at me.”

Skid gulped and looked up. The man before him had dark blond curls with light brown tips at the ends, a chiseled jaw, furry brows, amber eyes, a regal nose and lips that were just the right size—not too thick and not too thin. Likewise heavily muscled, a black vest and matching cargo pants barely contained the Alpha’s rippling chest and washboard abs.

One word vied with another when he saw Alpha: FORMIDABLE mixed with FORBIDDEN. Alpha was formidable in that Skid wouldn’t want him as an enemy any day. He was forbidden in the sense that Skid secretly liked having such a fit body, even though he knew he’d never have the bone structure to amass muscle like that.

Alpha was … handsome. He could have stepped out of the cover of a magazine. Judging by his looks, he couldn’t have been older than thirty and that was being conservative. Skid bet that the man was borderline mid-twenties. Then again, he could be wrong. Did wolf shifters look younger than their years or vice versa?

“What’s your real name, your legal one?”

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“You’re my mate. Skid. That’s the only reason why I know exactly when you had turned eighteen. You’re legal, an adult, in wolf years. The mating instinct matures then. That’s when mates can truly find and sense each other.”

“M-mates?” Why did he feel so dumbfounded asking all these questions? He’d parroted like a stupefied puppet. Skid gulped in an attempt to regain ahold of himself and create a sense of order. Shaking his head, he insisted, “No, I’m not your mate. I’m part of your pack.”

Alpha stepped closer and this time Skid felt enough backbone to stand his ground. He didn’t budge. Alpha nodded to the area. “You recognize this place?”

“Yeah. It’s where you found me. Years ago.”

“That’s why I’m going to take you here. Claim you.”

Skid’s mouth dropped open. His skin prickled with new awareness. Although his mind stuttered, his dick certainly hardened (again) at the mere thought of mating.

With Alpha, no less.

Fuck. He was so screwed. In fact, the nearer Alpha drew the harder Skid got.

Impossible.

No, this was fucked. He was eighteen, damn it. He could leave. Alpha should have given him an opportunity to choose his own fate.

​Skid stuck out his chin, willing his anger to reign supreme over his increasing irrational desire. “I’m eighteen. You said that you’d let me go when I come of age.”

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“Why did you invite me for dinner?” Britta asked when they entered the dining room. The drive from Manhattan to Southwest Mass was far more pleasant than she had expected. Moreover, the scenic byways soothed her end-of-the-workweek shot nerves. However, the real treat was entering the door to this humble modernized cottage. This was definitely a great place for a weekend stay, away from the crowded, busy, and kinetic energies in the city.

“Please,” Reg said, motioning to a dining chair, “take a seat.”

Britta obliged as Reg took the opposite chair. In walked a topless man with jet black hair, dressed in black bowtie, carrying a tray of appetizing starters for their enjoyment. He placed a basket of fresh-baked bread and a bowl of olive oil on the table, then bowed and proceeded to exit.

A glint of light snagged her gaze. She realized with a start that the man had a metallic cock cage, previously hidden by the serving tray. From the mere profile view, his shapely bottom was bare--sans pants!--and sported a tattoo too small for Britta to decipher.

Holy shit.

She didn’t swing that way, but even she couldn’t tear her eyes away form the sight and had to admire the build on the man. Seemingly unbothered by the gawking, their waiter turned and her mouth parted in an inaudible gasp. He for sure had something up his ass. Literally. Her eyes widened and snapped back at Reg, whose lips quirked softly in amusement.

​“I understand you have some questions about the lifestyle.”

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Skid gulped again. No, he had to leave. It was time. Mating with Alpha would mess up the whole social order. One of them had to have sense. When Skid had joined Black Storm Pack, he’d known all along it was temporary and that he’d get to leave when he turned eighteen. He’d already made plans to leave on New Year’s Eve and start the New Year with a bang.


“I can’t.” Skid shook his head and turned away from Alpha. “I’m going.”

He shifted without hesitation and began to sprint away. Anywhere but here.

A ferocious growl pierced his soul. Alpha pounced upon his back, pinned his chest and chin to the ground and knocked the air right out of him. The heavier, bulkier, broader wolf had Skid down for the count. A gravitational pull possessed him, as if his fur wanted to melt into Alpha. Being this close to Alpha sparked a dramatic increase in temperature. Skid inhaled sharply. Suddenly, as if by a greater force, both of them had turned human again.

“You can’t expect me to simply watch you walk away,” Alpha huffed. His heartbeat thudded against Skid’s upper back. Heart to heart, Alpha’s need pressed into the cleft of Skid’s ass and damn near made his mouth water. Alpha’s hands tread downward along his ribs in slow possession. He growled quietly against Skid’s neck. “Just once. Just tonight. That’s all I ask. Then you tell me if you can walk away from this.”

At the mention of this, Alpha entered him with two fingers. The stark pain quickly morphed into pleasure—in part thanks to the wolf blood pumping overtime. As Alpha stretched and stroked, pushing in slowly yet fervently, reverently yet greedily; Skid gave in to the invasion, eagerly puckering to suck up even more.

“More,” Skid whispered hoarsely. An involuntary shiver of excitement raced through his body. His limbs ached for contact, for possession, for whole and complete union.

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“That’s it, bitch,” the rough voice growled with strong hands tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. “Harder.”

Vaughn’s mouth watered as cock pushed past his full lips and musk from the dark blonde pubic curls teased his senses. Each thrust jammed into the back of his throat. The tangy taste of pre-cum whet his appetite for more. He ached to be stuffed, fucked by this man. The length and girth of this cock in his mouth had him struggling for breath. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, relishing the hiss from the man.

This cock is mine.

Vaughn swallowed, the working of his throat earned him another slew of satisfying curses. He strove to undo this man from the bottom up. He bobbed his head some more, putting extra zeal into his cheeks’ contact with the sweet fat cock.

“Aw, fuck,” the voice swore, taking his pleasure as desired. Demanding fingers gripped the base of Vaughn’s skull. Vaughn moaned in response, the vibration sending another wave of praises his way. “That’s the way I like it.”

​Vaughn liked it, too—the sheer power of being commanded to worship cock. Yet, that cock was totally his—inescapable—when he had it in his mouth. The sheer thrill of the power exchange made his breath hitch. His lungs began to burst with the need for air as the thrusts kept coming.

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Funny, Sad, Uplifting -- Get Your Seat Belts On!

I have to admit that when I read the book description, I wasn't eager to read the story at all because of the death and dying concept. I know me when I read books--I get smitten by the characters and then of course I want everything to go well for them. So of course I don't want them to suffer.

However, Stanley is one of my favorite authors and I'm so glad I read this book because not only do the characters go through the rough parts but they get to the other side. No, not the death side, but the other side of the rough where it's smooth. So, yes, of course, Stanley delivered a story where both characters live to tell the rest of their romantic tale.

Onto the story, starring the long-time lovers Louis and Jesse. They both work at a Voodoo shop in NOLA. Louis has grown up with this tradition all his life and had turned his back on it long ago. When Jesse's cancer comes back full force post-remission, they both arrive at a crossroads. Jesse has a choice to fight for his life or die. Louis has a choice to either do something that he no longer believes in or slay his past demons.

Told in first person, I immersed into the story easily and was on the brink of tears a couple of times. As with other stories of Stanley's, this one was also a one-sit read. Can't help it. Captures me every time. So if you're up for a humorous yet sad yet uplifting story, this one's for you. Highly Recommended.