Fancy Man and the Three Princes



Novella (27,000 words)
Ebook Edition (Available in epub, mobi & pdf.)
Publication date: August 16, 2012
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Cover for Leather Wishes
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When Mason’s best friend Robbie is dumped by his boyfriend a week before his birthday, it’s up the “Fancy Man” to try and repair the bartender’s broken heart with a natal day fantasy. He comes up with the idea of offering Robbie three “princes” each with a special gift—and sexual expertise. Even as these princes woo Robbie “on-stage” however, backstage has its problems. The submissives playing the princes need Mason to master them, and his own slave, Charles, is acting strangely. While Mason has always been master and director during the fantasy, he’s not so certain about his role after the fantasy ends. This time, the reality as much as the fantasy will determine not only Robbie’s future happiness, but that of Charles and Mason. (M/M+)

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I gazed over my cards and downed my second shot of whiskey. The Southern Gent across from me, I figured, had a pair. I had three ladies.

“Raise ya,” I tossed in a coin.

The Southern gent pushed up his Stetson and eyed me suspiciously. Not a bad bit of acting for a veterinarian. Especially given how nervous Charles had been.

Once the creative light had flicked on in my head, I’d sent Charles up to Jordon for a roll of quarters, a bottle of whiskey, and a deck of cards. Then I’d laid out the rules to Nigel, which were fairly simple: One, it was his fantasy, but I’d be directing. Two, once the scene was underway, it was underway until either he stopped it with a safeword, or I said we were finished.

End of rules.

Nigel, interested and apparently so enthralled by Charles’ accent that he was willing to take a risk, had readily agreed.

With Charles following in my Scion, I’d gone with Nigel in his car. Actually, I’d driven as the Brit was still learning how to navigate the city and the right hand side of the road. I’d stopped us at the playhouse where I sometimes work and borrowed cowboy hats and fake guns with holsters from the costume department.

Off again, we’d arrived at Nigel’s rather nice townhouse.

Sending Nigel to the bedroom, I’d gotten to work with Charles moving a round dining table. Nigel’s place was still half in boxes with overseas labels, but I’d found and dug out a trio of cordial glasses.

“This,” I’d informed Charles getting some rope out of my handy-dandy traveling kit and tying it to the rod-iron staircase rails, “is going to be our hitching post.” I had a hat on my shaved crown and tin sheriff’s badge pinned to my teeshirt.

“Mason,” Charles rubbed his hands down his jeans, “I wanted to be part of this, and I’m not trying to back out, but I really don’t know—”

I put a Stetson on his head and tilted back his chin. His words stopped as his eyes met mine. He looked cute, adorable even in that hat.

I stroked my fingers from chin on down his throat. He shivered and swallowed, but his hungry eyes never left me. “Three things I want you to do,” I told him. “First, follow my lead. Second, remember that this is Nigel’s fantasy. Think about what he likes, what you feel will please him. Not me. Can you do that? You do like Nigel, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah. He’s a great guy—”

“Good,” I cut him off. Letting Charles think too much would make him anxious. “Then we should all have a nice time.”

His eyes flickered over to the ropes, then to the riding crop that waited on a telephone table along with a bottle of lube. His cheeks flushed. Pain, real pain, doesn’t turn Charles on. But he loves to be bound and helpless. And stinging slaps or whips to his ass can bring him almost to orgasm. I knew that handsome, white cock of his was already stiff and wetting his button-down jeans.

I touched him on his cheek, regaining his eyes. In them I saw a mix of lust and fear that made me tingle with anticipation. Leaning in and knocking back the Stetson, I kissed him. He pushed forward, crushing his lips to mine, asking for more even as I broke it off and backed away.

“Remember to cheat.”

“Cheat?” he echoed, his breath coming short.

“That’s the third thing I want you to do.” I snatched the deck of cards off the table and handed it to him. “You’ve got three minutes.” I said stepping up to Nigel’s bedroom.


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