Posted in Blog, Uncategorized

Welcome to those that are new

Welcome to my page! If this is your first time here, please chec out my books and teasers. If you’ve been here before, I welcome you to take the next step and join my newsletter by leaving a comment. The next one comes out on the second weekend of August.

Sneak Peek: more of the Vippy Experience, and a glimpse at my next series, Lady Trouble.Welcome to my page! If this is your first time here, please chec out my books and teasers. If you’ve been here before, I welcome you to take the next step and join my newsletter by leaving a comment. The next one comes out on the second weekend of August.

Sneak Peek: more of the Vippy Experience, and a glimpse at my next series, Lady Trouble.

Posted in Blog

Newsletters, Contest, New Book and Interviews

Hey there, all. Technology is a PITA, but I have finally hit upon a way to create a newsletter and maintain a private recipients list. If you’re interested in receiving my newsletter, which will appear every second weekend of the month, please Private Message me or comment or email me at emilycarrington118@gmail.com.

In this months issue:The Vippy Experience: Living as a Visually Impaired person
Contest: Name a Werewolf Pup
All Releases with Changeling Press
Coming Soon
Interview with an editor from Changeling Press
…and more…

Posted in Blog

Newsletters and Contests

Good morning, everyone. After much struggling with vision loss, I have finally hit upon a way to create a newsletter and maintain a private recipients list. If you’re interested in receiving my newsletter, which will appear every second weekend of the month, please Private Message me or comment or email me at emilycarrington118@gmail.com.

In this months issue:The Vippy Experience: Living as a Visually Impaired person
Contest: Name a Werewolf Pup
All Releases with Changeling Press
Coming Soon
…and more…
Good morning, everyone. After much struggling with vision loss, I have finally hit upon a way to create a newsletter and maintain a private recipients list. If you’re interested in receiving my newsletter, which will appear every second weekend of the month, please Private Message me or comment or email me at emilycarrington118@gmail.com.

In this months issue:The Vippy Experience: Living as a Visually Impaired person
Contest: Name a Werewolf Pup
All Releases with Changeling Press
Coming Soon
…and more…

Posted in Blog

A Little Bit of Everything (1)

Every week I will post eeven things in a block; everything can be found on my Facebook page, but there it will be all spread out.

Cover Reveal: Wolf Schooled 3: Outcast Son
Seiji seeks a tutor, and someone to take him out of the hell of his life. Only to discover that his savior encourages him to face hell head on…

Wolf Schooled 3: Outcast Son
Wolf Schooled 3: Outcast Son

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Join my newsletter, which comes out on the second weekend of every month. Subscribe by emailing me emilycarrington118@gmail.com or by leaving a comment. If you have enrolled in the past, you do not need to do so again.
_________________________________________________________________________
Please find an amazing video about a white Orca that shows Nature is endlessly diverse and beautiful. Just click the link below:

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July 2019 Newsletter Sneak Peek: Insubordinate Claus

When my guide dog, Claus, was a puppy, he dove off a dock to “save” another dog. Now that he’s an “old” man of three, he sees water as his enemy, something to be conquered, but not leapt into lightly. Where I live right now, there is a swimming pool. I’m learning how to swim…and Claus is hesitantly putting his front paws in the water. Even when the black Lab we live with gets on the top step and splashes around, Claus can hardly bring himself to put in all four feet.

His favorite part of the pool is running around its edge and chasing his black Lab friend. Oh, and watching me attempt to swim and then licking my face enthusiastically. It’s like he’s saying, “Good job! Keep going!” He’s such an encouraging soul.
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What follows is an excerpt from the first book in my new series, Lady Trouble 1: Technical Difficulties. This is my first m2f novella. I hope you like it!

Chapter One

The dragon had been brutalized. As Medical Technician Johnson worked over the corpse, she couldn’t miss the signs. The poor dragon-in-human-guise was female. She hadn’t been raped; at least there were no signs of trauma to the uterus, nor fluids. But she’d been ripped apart, flesh from bone. There were tears in the muscle that bespoke deep and terrible injuries.
Sonya Johnson whispered, “I think you were dead when most of these were inflicted.” She’d quickly discovered the cause of death: a crushed skull that had occurred while the dragon was in human form. Now all she wanted was to be done chronicling the post mortem atrocities and see to it that the poor soul had a decent burial.
Sonya smiled just a little. Thinking of any dragon as a “poor soul” was a little like calling a lion a kitty cat. Dragons, like werewolves, she thought with a shudder, were known for taking care of themselves. Both Apex predators of the magical world, for slightly different reasons, they were treated with respect and almost obsessive politeness by other magical beings and the few humans unlucky enough to know about their existence.
“Humans like me.” Her smile was gone as she finished cataloging the last injury. Shaking her head, Sonya covered the body with a sheet and left the autopsy room. She locked the door before heading into her office.
All right, so it wasn’t technically “her” office any more than the autopsy room belonged to her. But she thought of both as her property because she spent more time in them than anyone else. That was thanks to the doctoral-level degree she was seeking from SearchLight Academy in Reptilian Magical Creatures: Treatment and Dissection. Unlike those who studied humans, magical creature experts were expected to have a wider knowledge base. The closest comparison Sonya could make was a general practice physician. And even they weren’t responsible for both the living and the dead.
She had just finished her second year of postgraduate work. It was May. She had a blissful ten weeks off for the summer. Of course, she was still expected to work on her dissertation, so “rest” wasn’t in her vocabulary. But she wouldn’t be attending biweekly meetings with this or that professor to discuss her research. She might even have considered a week away from the City of Tampa, where she worked, and its lesser cousin, the City of St. Petersburg, where she lived. But she hadn’t scheduled any time off because she’d been too fixated on her dissertation to think beyond the next few days.
Someone knocked on the office door. Not closed completely and made of a light pressboard, the door opened a little more.
Sonya caught sight of a skirt in a bold print and a tapered shoe. She called, “Come in.”
A woman stepped in. But then she spoke. “Sorry to disturb you.” And Sonya’s mind went sideways. Not because there was anything particularly wrong with the voice. It was just that she wasn’t used to hearing a slightly male voice coming out of a woman’s body.
Transgender. That’s what they call themselves. And, on the heels of that, I hate it when someone says “they” about my people so I will not start out by thinking of this person as a part of “they.” She’s dressed as a woman. I’ll call her “her.”
“Um,” she said uncomfortably, “you’re not. Please sit down.”
The transgender person… The woman, Sonya scolded herself…didn’t sit. Neither did she shut the door. “Thanks, but…” She looked briefly discomfited. “I’m Agent Brown. Maxine.”
$That surely wasn’t the name you were born with. Oh, shut the fuck up! She doesn’t want you staring, and you will get over yourself.
Sonya realized Maxine was waiting for a response. Her small, delicate and frankly slightly attractive nose was turning slightly red, just like Sonya’s did when she was embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, rising and extending her hand. “I’m Sonya Johnson, one of the medical techs.”
The moment their hands touched, the hair on the back of Sonya’s neck stood up. She pulled back rather quickly. “Um…um…” She looked away from the hand she’d shaken and into eyes that were startling in their beauty. Honey-brown and shadowed by lashes as thick and long as any ever seen in a boys’ band, they took Sonya’s breath away. She forgot for a moment that her neck was prickling and smiled. “How may I help you?”
Maxine, who had taken a step forward to grip Sonya’s hand, retreated at least that far. “Agent Wellington wants to see you when it’s convenient.” She hesitated before adding, “He’s the head of Werewolf Watch.”
Sonya shivered. She couldn’t help herself. She hated werewolves. They were the craziest, most terrifying— $Oh, get ahold of yourself. If you’re being called, you specifically… She met Maxine’s eyes. “You $are looking for me specifically, right? Because Jenny Davis could—”
“I’m sorry. He wants you personally.” She really did look empathetic. “If it helps, it will just be him, you, and me in a large conference room.”
Sonya’s particular skills were needed. She specialized in dragons and basilisks. What could she possibly do for a werewolf? Because Wellington had to be a werewolf. Unlike in the Department of Dragons, with which Sonya worked on a regular basis, Werewolf Watch was stuffed to capacity with its namesakes.
$Shit. That probably means this woman is a werewolf. She looked directly into Maxine’s eyes, needing to know. “You’re a werewolf too?”
Maxine nodded. “Agent Wellington said to tell you he understands your circumstances, whatever those are, and that he wouldn’t call for you unless it was absolutely necessary.”
$Whatever those are. She doesn’t know. Sonya felt a little better. “Can he give me fifteen minutes to…to…” She glanced down at her report. $To finish my work flashed across her mind, but it would take at least two hours to do that.
“I’ll tell him you’ll be up in thirty,” Maxine said gently. Still a little more comforted, Sonya said, “Thank you. I’ll be up soon.”
Maxine left, closing the door behind her.
$Black, like me. But transgender and werewolf. The three modifiers to the name Agent Maxine Brown hit one right after the other. Sonya sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands. If she was going to have a prayer of working with werewolves…
Her mind insisted on calling them monsters.
If she was going to have any hope in Hell of working with those…people…she needed to calm down. So, instead of focusing on her report, she began the deep breathing exercises a SearchLight therapist had taught her shortly after a werewolf nearly ripped her arm off.
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This song is called “Trust Me Baby” a parody of “Call Me Maybe.” I didn’t graduate from this school for guide dog handlers, but I sort of wish I had! Just click below to listen:

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Contest: name a Werewolf Pup
The main characters of Technical Difficulties are expecting their first pup (baby werewolf) and you can help me decide what gender the pup will be and his/her name.
Criteria: You must list name, gender, and language from which it comes or if you made it up
Prize: a free copy of the new book, Practical Difficulties, when it comes out later this year
How to enter: comment on this post or email me at emilycarrington118@gmail.com

Every week I will post eeven things in a block; everything can be found on my Facebook page, but there it will be all spread out.

Cover Reveal: Wolf Schooled 3: Outcast Son
Seiji seeks a tutor, and someone to take him out of the hell of his life. Only to discover that his savior encourages him to face hell head on…
_________________________________________________________________________
Join my newsletter, which comes out on the second weekend of every month. Subscribe by emailing me at emilycarrington118@gmail.com or by leaving a comment. If you have enrolled in the past, you do not need to do so again.
_________________________________________________________________________
Please find here an amazing video about a white orca, proving that Nature is endlessly diverse and beautiful.

_________________________________________________________________________
July 2019 Newsletter Sneak Peek: Insuboridnate Claus

When my guide dog, Claus, was a puppy, he dove off a dock to “save” another dog. Now that he’s an “old” man of three, he sees water as his enemy, something to be conquered, but not leapt into lightly. Where I live right now, there is a swimming pool. I’m learning how to swim…and Claus is hesitantly putting his front paws in the water. Even when the black Lab we live with gets on the top step and splashes around, Claus can hardly bring himself to put in all four feet.

His favorite part of the pool is running around its edge and chasing his black Lab friend. Oh, and watching me attempt to swim and then licking my face enthusiastically. It’s like he’s saying, “Good job! Keep going!” He’s such an encouraging soul.
_________________________________________________________________________
What follows is an excerpt from the first book in my new series, Lady Trouble 1: Technical Difficulties. This is my first m2f novella. I hope you like it!

Chapter One

The dragon had been brutalized. As Medical Technician Johnson worked over the corpse, she couldn’t miss the signs. The poor dragon-in-human-guise was female. She hadn’t been raped; at least there were no signs of trauma to the uterus, nor fluids. But she’d been ripped apart, flesh from bone. There were tears in the muscle that bespoke deep and terrible injuries.
Sonya Johnson whispered, “I think you were dead when most of these were inflicted.” She’d quickly discovered the cause of death: a crushed skull that had occurred while the dragon was in human form. Now all she wanted was to be done chronicling the post mortem atrocities and see to it that the poor soul had a decent burial.
Sonya smiled just a little. Thinking of any dragon as a “poor soul” was a little like calling a lion a kitty cat. Dragons, like werewolves, she thought with a shudder, were known for taking care of themselves. Both Apex predators of the magical world, for slightly different reasons, they were treated with respect and almost obsessive politeness by other magical beings and the few humans unlucky enough to know about their existence.
“Humans like me.” Her smile was gone as she finished cataloging the last injury. Shaking her head, Sonya covered the body with a sheet and left the autopsy room. She locked the door before heading into her office.
All right, so it wasn’t technically “her” office any more than the autopsy room belonged to her. But she thought of both as her property because she spent more time in them than anyone else. That was thanks to the doctoral-level degree she was seeking from SearchLight Academy in Reptilian Magical Creatures: Treatment and Dissection. Unlike those who studied humans, magical creature experts were expected to have a wider knowledge base. The closest comparison Sonya could make was a general practice physician. And even they weren’t responsible for both the living and the dead.
She had just finished her second year of postgraduate work. It was May. She had a blissful ten weeks off for the summer. Of course, she was still expected to work on her dissertation, so “rest” wasn’t in her vocabulary. But she wouldn’t be attending biweekly meetings with this or that professor to discuss her research. She might even have considered a week away from the City of Tampa, where she worked, and its lesser cousin, the City of St. Petersburg, where she lived. But she hadn’t scheduled any time off because she’d been too fixated on her dissertation to think beyond the next few days.
Someone knocked on the office door. Not closed completely and made of a light pressboard, the door opened a little more.
Sonya caught sight of a skirt in a bold print and a tapered shoe. She called, “Come in.”
A woman stepped in. But then she spoke. “Sorry to disturb you.” And Sonya’s mind went sideways. Not because there was anything particularly wrong with the voice. It was just that she wasn’t used to hearing a slightly male voice coming out of a woman’s body.
Transgender. That’s what they call themselves. And, on the heels of that, I hate it when someone says “they” about my people so I will not start out by thinking of this person as a part of “they.” She’s dressed as a woman. I’ll call her “her.”
“Um,” she said uncomfortably, “you’re not. Please sit down.”
The transgender person… The woman, Sonya scolded herself…didn’t sit. Neither did she shut the door. “Thanks, but…” She looked briefly discomfited. “I’m Agent Brown. Maxine.”
$That surely wasn’t the name you were born with. Oh, shut the fuck up! She doesn’t want you staring, and you will get over yourself.
Sonya realized Maxine was waiting for a response. Her small, delicate and frankly slightly attractive nose was turning slightly red, just like Sonya’s did when she was embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, rising and extending her hand. “I’m Sonya Johnson, one of the medical techs.”
The moment their hands touched, the hair on the back of Sonya’s neck stood up. She pulled back rather quickly. “Um…um…” She looked away from the hand she’d shaken and into eyes that were startling in their beauty. Honey-brown and shadowed by lashes as thick and long as any ever seen in a boys’ band, they took Sonya’s breath away. She forgot for a moment that her neck was prickling and smiled. “How may I help you?”
Maxine, who had taken a step forward to grip Sonya’s hand, retreated at least that far. “Agent Wellington wants to see you when it’s convenient.” She hesitated before adding, “He’s the head of Werewolf Watch.”
Sonya shivered. She couldn’t help herself. She hated werewolves. They were the craziest, most terrifying— $Oh, get ahold of yourself. If you’re being called, you specifically… She met Maxine’s eyes. “You $are looking for me specifically, right? Because Jenny Davis could—”
“I’m sorry. He wants you personally.” She really did look empathetic. “If it helps, it will just be him, you, and me in a large conference room.”
Sonya’s particular skills were needed. She specialized in dragons and basilisks. What could she possibly do for a werewolf? Because Wellington had to be a werewolf. Unlike in the Department of Dragons, with which Sonya worked on a regular basis, Werewolf Watch was stuffed to capacity with its namesakes.
$Shit. That probably means this woman is a werewolf. She looked directly into Maxine’s eyes, needing to know. “You’re a werewolf too?”
Maxine nodded. “Agent Wellington said to tell you he understands your circumstances, whatever those are, and that he wouldn’t call for you unless it was absolutely necessary.”
$Whatever those are. She doesn’t know. Sonya felt a little better. “Can he give me fifteen minutes to…to…” She glanced down at her report. $To finish my work flashed across her mind, but it would take at least two hours to do that.
“I’ll tell him you’ll be up in thirty,” Maxine said gently. Still a little more comforted, Sonya said, “Thank you. I’ll be up soon.”
Maxine left, closing the door behind her.
$Black, like me. But transgender and werewolf. The three modifiers to the name Agent Maxine Brown hit one right after the other. Sonya sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands. If she was going to have a prayer of working with werewolves…
Her mind insisted on calling them monsters.
If she was going to have any hope in Hell of working with those…people…she needed to calm down. So, instead of focusing on her report, she began the deep breathing exercises a SearchLight therapist had taught her shortly after a werewolf nearly ripped her arm off.
_________________________________________________________________________
This song is called “trust Me, Baby,” a parody of “Call Me Maybe.” I didn’t graduate from this school for guide dog handlers, but I sort of wish I had!
_________________________________________________________________________
Contest: name a Werewolf Pup
The main characters of Technical Difficulties are expecting their first pup (baby werewolf) and you can help me decide what gender the pup will be and his/her name.
Criteria: You must list name, gender, and language from which it comes or if you made it up
Prize: a free copy of the new book, Practical Difficulties, when it comes out later this year
How to enter: comment on this post or email me at emilycarrington118@gmail.com

Posted in Blog

Don’t Let Go

Title: Don’t Let Go
Series Title: Darkest Desires #1
Author: Lynn Burke

Blurb: Troy Jenner’s ex called his desire to be dominated sick. Divorced, shamed, and stripped bare of his assets, Troy is gifted a three day pass to Monique’s, Baltimore’s elite sex club. He hopes to discover the depths of his desires, not fall for the Domme with a turbulent past in her eyes.

Barista by day, Mistress by night, Jaycie Atkins is the Domme assigned to fulfill submissives’ fantasies of pain with pleasure. To conquer her childhood trauma, she learned to be powerful and prudent. Always giving, never receiving. Always in control—until Troy’s grateful groans after every whip of her flogger threaten to slip past her Domme defenses. The warmth in his eyes tempting her to trust him like no other.

Will Troy’s patience and persistence in breaking down her walls pay off, or will he be forced to accept the fact Mistress will never let go and give him the collar and second chance at love he longs for?

Fiery First Chapter:

Don’t Let Go
Darkest Desires 1
By Lynn Burke

Chapter One
I knelt in the middle of the dungeon-like room as I’d seen on the countless BDSM websites I’d been studying the past month, exactly like they’d shown us new subs at the introduction class the evening before. Butt naked, dick already at half-mast because I finally had the chance to explore the darkness inside of me that had killed my ten-year marriage.
As CEO of a prominent software company, I took pride in my self-control and stoic nature. Being a bastard had gotten me up the rung to where I sat comfortably behind a glass desk with windows overlooking Baltimore’s skyline. It had also earned me a nasty divorce a year earlier when my ex-wife took over half of what we owned, leaving me with a broken heart and near-empty bank accounts. At least a constant work load since then had gotten me closer to where I’d been before she’d attempted to wipe me out.
I studied my hands resting on my bare thighs. Springy hair tickled my palms. While the hair on my body remained a dark blond, the previous two years of hell had shot gray through the thick strands on my head and the scruff I couldn’t keep from lining my jaw.
Forty-three and already fucking gray. Wouldn’t help my chance at dating — if I ever got the balls to put myself out there again. I’d been celibate for over a year. Dead inside, unable to give two shits about anything but work, unable to get it up, too. I also didn’t have the energy to get involved, let alone think of dating.
Familiar exhaustion tugged on my eyelids, and I let them close while waiting for the Domme the club’s owner had booked me with for the night — Mistress Jaycie. A woman I’d never met, a woman I was going to let control me in whatever way she wanted.
Time to give over. Time to explore my lust for pain and hopefully float into that mysterious subspace I’d been reading about.
My dick twitched at the thought of pure, empty-headed euphoria.
Would the Domme I’d been paired with have a heavy hand? Would she be beautiful? Did I even care? I just wanted — craved — submission, the type that would erase the shit in my mind for a while and maybe get my rocks off.
My ex had been vanilla, same as I’d always been, and when I got the urge to introduce something new in the bedroom, she’d looked at me with disgust. Hell, I’d only suggested handcuffs and ropes, hoping she’d agree so we could eventually move on to what I really wanted.
No such fucking luck.
I breathed deep and exhaled my thoughts along with the lungful of used-up air. The silence coating the dim, private scening room at Monique’s club in downtown Baltimore soothed me. Even if it turned out the BDSM lifestyle wasn’t for me, I’d at least have gotten to experience a semi-hard dick again.
A click sounded as the door opened, and I kept my head and gaze lowered as I’d been instructed in the class. Awareness crept over my skin like an electrical charge as heels clicked on hardwood. My heartbeat accelerated. The subtle scent of oranges hit my nose as black leather stiletto boots came into my line of sight.
Hot as fuck. I bit back my groan as my cock thickened. I swallowed against sudden nervousness, something I hadn’t experienced since my teenage years.
“Hmm…” she murmured. The boots rounded to my left, disappearing in my periphery. “On your feet, slave.” Her low, husky voice prickled my skin, bringing my dick to full attention.
I rose with as much grace as I could, hands at my sides, erection sticking up close to my navel.
A soft inhale tickled my ears as I straightened completely.
I knew what she saw — what she probably didn’t expect for a man teetering on the brink of the downslope from his prime. Daily yoga, running, and weight training kept my body looking the same as it had at twenty-five.
Something trailed down my backbone and across the top of my ass cheeks, lacking the warmth of skin. Crop? Cane? The urge to know made me want to shift my stance, but I held still.
She rounded to the right and stopped in front of me.
From my height, most of her body came into view even though I kept my head lowered. The black leather of her boots hugged defined calves, stopping just above her knees. A good twelve inches of smooth, pale skin gave way to a tight leather skirt — also black — over flared hips, ending at her tiny waist. She held a crop in her right hand.
My dick actually jumped, bumping my abs.
I glanced up through my lashes, filling my eyes with the corset-cinched tits threatening to spill over the top. The milky-white globes set my mouth to watering.
“You will call me Mistress.”
Christ, that voice… I bit back another groan. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Look at me.”
I lazed my gaze over her lush breasts, up her neck, to her lifted chin. Lips perfectly bowed on top and bottom with a slight under bite. Pert nose and high cheekbones, long blonde stick-straight hair in a high pony tail… but her eyes.
Wide and blue, they held no warmth, no hint of flirting or desire. Cold and distant, closed off just like her stiff posture, but that didn’t stop the rush of awareness from sweeping through me again. My body didn’t give a shit that I had a good twenty or so years on her. For the first time since I’d met my ex, I felt inexplicably drawn to a woman.
I smiled, hoping to crack her façade with my charm and dimples. “I’m Troy.”
Her gaze narrowed, glints of ice shooting from her eyes, and she moved closer until mere inches separated her breasts from my chest. “Your name is slave.”
My smile faded, but my dick remained ready and at attention. “Yes, Mistress.”
“I’ve read your file.” Her cold gaze slid over my face. “No hard limits?”
“I didn’t check any because I don’t know what they might be, Mistress.”
“You enjoy pain.”
She hadn’t voiced a question, but I felt the need to let her know where I stood. “The thought of pain, but this is my first time in a submissive role, so…” I let my voice trail off with a shrug.
Taking a step back, she glanced downward. “We’ll see.” Her attention returned to my face without a hint of what she thought of my stiff dick. “You will not touch me without my verbal permission.”
Well, that sucks — “Your safeword?”
All business. I could handle that. “Red, Mistress. Green is good, yellow means I need time to process.”
She turned and strode toward a table that had all sorts of fun-looking stuff laid out. I’d taken a good peek at the toys before kneeling in the center of the room fifteen or so minutes earlier. Her hips moved with a tantalizing sway, and my gaze glued to a peek of ass cheeks beneath her short skirt.
“You took the introduction class yesterday?” she asked, her back still toward me as she set aside her crop.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“So you’re well hydrated and aware of what subdrop may entail?”
“I am, and yes, I listened closely, Mistress.”
She picked something up, and turned. Nipple clamps with a thin, silver chain connecting them.
Mine pebbled at the thought of the metal teeth digging into my tender flesh.
Mistress moved to stand in front of me and quickly — without her fingers touching my skin — closed the first over my right nipple.
Pain zinged through my pec, and I clenched my jaw along with my fists resting against my hips.
“Color?”
“Green,” I replied without hesitation.
The other bit into my flesh. I swallowed the need to groan as my dick jerked.
“You like that.”
Not a question, but I couldn’t help but answer while glancing up at her. “Yes, Mistress.”
Steely gaze, unmoved, unfazed. Fucking ice queen. “Let’s see how much you actually do enjoy pain, shall we? Eyes down, slave.” I obeyed without hesitation.
“Crawl to the cross.”
I slid back down to my knees at her command, breathing deep as my face passed less than a foot from the leather hiding her pussy. No hint of musk, nothing but oranges swarmed my nose. I’d never been so thirsty for a glass of juice in my life.
The heavily-padded cross sat to my right, and like a dog, I crawled on all fours. I should have been embarrassed, felt degraded considering my social position outside of the room, but I longed to please my mistress. Make her smile. Bring light to her cold eyes. I decided halfway to my destination that would be my mission every chance I got to scene with her.
“Stand up. Face the cross. Arms up and legs spread.”
I did as told, and her warm breath slid over my skin while she buckled my wrists and ankles to the cross with only the slightest brush of her fingertips. She reached around me, the leather covering her breasts caressing my back. The tug on the nipple clamp chain shot biting pain through me clear to my dick and I hissed, closing my eyes.
“Color, slave?”
“Green, Mistress.”
Her body heat disappeared, sending a shiver through me. She moved across the room on clicking heels, and I remembered her round ass with its sensual sway. Pre-cum formed on the head of my dick, and I bit down on my lower lip, fighting the urge to hump the damn cross as she drew near once more.
“Are your restraints too tight?” she asked without a hint of concern lacing the words.
“No, Mistress.”
The same cool touch from before slid down my spine… the crop. Over my ass, down my thighs, back up through my ass crack. I never expected to be turned on by that touch, but I found myself wanting the crop to return to my ass hole as Mistress slid it up my side.
Thoughts and images crashed into my mind, desires I’d kept suppressed for so long because of her.
Mistress stepped back, and a sharp crack registered in my ears before the sting snapped my right ass cheek.
Damn, she has an arm on her…
“Color?” she murmured, her husky voice twitching my cock.
“Green.”
She let loose again, and a shudder rippled down through me, bringing a smile to my lips.
Oh, yeah. This…
My brain fuzzed around the edges, and I relaxed in the restraints as she hit me, wanting more. Needing it as bad as my leaking cock needed to be jerked off.
Mistress used the crop down my thighs, across my ass, and every time she asked me a color, I fought to keep from groaning my answer of “green” and begging for more of the bee-like sting. Blood roared in my ears as fire raced across my thighs. Adrenaline pumped through my system, but I floated on the sensual pain, imagining every smack a caress of her hand, marking my soul, filling me with… something unnamable.
My skin burned.
“Please,” I heard myself moan, past the point of caring about anything but blowing my load.
Another crack to the inside of my thigh, and I humped the cross, needing fucking release. Silence settled, and I swam in the buzzing of my brain.
“Please, Mistress.” I ground my hips again even though there was no softness — only hard — to press against. “Touch me.” I imagined the soothing hands on the red marks that surely covered my backside. I hoped for caresses and oil massaged into my skin to ease the ache.
The bindings fell off my ankles and wrists, and I slumped onto the floor, panting for oxygen through dry lips.
“Face me.” Still fucking cold. Not even out of breath from the exertion of beating my ass.
I turned on my knees and fisted my hands to keep from grabbing my throbbing, leaking cock as a tremor ripped through me.
“You have permission to touch yourself.”
Thank Christ. I wrapped my hand around my pre-cum-slickened dick and stroked down to the base and back up. “Can I come?” I whispered, my eyes glued to her sexy-as-fuck stilettos in a wide stance two feet away.
“Yes.” She leaned down and tugged the clamps off my nipples.
Fire raced through my tender nubs, and my hips thrust into my hand, my climax slamming into me and drawing a deep groan from my lips. I stared at the ropes of cum jetting from my cock, every stroke of my hand bringing another to shoot across the distance to coat her boots. I’d never experienced such a powerful, consuming climax. My breath caught, and I bit on my lower lip until I tasted blood.
One last groan, and I slumped on my free hand, closing my eyes and sucking wind. My thighs and ass burned. My nipples throbbed. Every muscle in my body trembled.
I fucking loved it.
Heels clacked, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t remember my name. Where I was.
“Sit up,” Mistress said while placing a bottle of water on the floor beside me.
I did as told and stared as Mistress used a warm, wet towel to wipe me clean. Twice, her fingers brushed against my semi, sending a twinge through my cock. She’d already wiped off her boots — something I had hoped to do for her.
“Hand?”
I held up my right hand, and she wiped the cum from my fingers, keeping our flesh from touching. Longing to caress the hand that had given me what I’d craved rolled over me.
“Can I touch you?” I heard myself ask through the ringing in my ears.
“How are you feeling?” she asked rather than answer, her voice softened as she once more stood over me.
“Shaky. Euphoric.” I tilted my head back on a heavy sigh.
The ice had melted in her gaze, giving her a fresh-faced youthful look with pinktinged cheeks and eyes like the summer sky. No upturned lips, but a step in the right direction.
“You’re beautiful,” I said with a smile.
Her expression shut down as the fifty-foot wall rose up over her face.
So much for that D/s bond I’d wondered over, with all the gentle caressing and snuggling afterward. While I had wanted to wipe my cum from her boots and kiss her feet, the aloofness in her eyes spoke volumes about her expectations.
I’d gotten off for the first time in Christ knows how long, so I wasn’t about to complain. I’d also found I enjoyed pain a hell of a lot more than I’d expected. Sure as shit wasn’t going to complain about that either since I’d found a place to explore my darker cravings.
Mistress moved back across the room and wiped down her toys, the silence tense between us.
I grabbed the bottle of water and chugged, my gaze glued to her legs and ass as my breathing returned to normal.
“A long, hot soak in a bath might be in order later tonight,” she said, her back still toward me, her voice void of emotion. “There’s no broken skin, but the welts might sting for a couple of days. Make sure you drink lots of water. Omega-3’s like they suggested in class will help as well.”
All business… again, I didn’t give a shit. My emotions still floated on a massive high even though my body wanted to curl up and sleep.
“I hope you enjoyed your session this evening, Mr. Jenner.”
I considered the burn still biting at my ass, and half-smiled as my dick twitched at the thought of another round. “Yes, Mistress.”
She finally turned around. Her guarded eyes held a hint of wariness. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Never better.”
Lips pursed, she nodded and left without another word.
I had every intention of writing out a check for ten grand before leaving, making myself the newest submissive client at Monique’s sex club. Sure, I’d been let down in the whole aftercare aspect, but hell… I had set my eyes on the woman who needed her walls toppled to the ground. The mistress I wanted to get inside of — in more ways than one.


Purchase links:
Changeling Press: https://www.changelingpress.com/don-t-let-go-darkest-desires-1-b-2751
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Dont-Let-Darkest-Desires-Book-ebook/dp/B07FN99TMP
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dont-Let-Darkest-Desires-Book-ebook/dp/B07FN99TMP
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dont-let-go-lynn-burke/1129107928
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/don-t-let-go-34
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dont-let-go/id1413868467

Posted in Blog

Kate Steele’s Latest Book: Gimme Shelter

This book is about two extremely hot guys. Oo-la-la! Here’s her first chapter, just to give you a sample:

Gimme Shelter
Chapter One

Check out the hottest guys in the hottest romance I’ve seen this month!

Gimme SHelter
Chapter One

Proximity sensors blared and red warning lights flashed madly, disrupting the everyday routine on the bridge of the starship Brizo. Captain Zen Ahbramez looked up from the comm screen he’d been perusing. “Report, Mengs.”
Already in action, his Gulrian navigator’s long, agile fingers flew over the command keys at his station. “There’s a slow moving ship crossing our projected course. Unless we change speed or course we’re going to collide.”
Familiar tension readied Zen’s mind and body for action. He took a deep breath of recycled air. The customary hints of metal and machinery registered against his sensitive palate, a barely there but recognizable taste. “Distance?” he asked, redirecting his gaze to the forward view screen.
“Half a parsec, more or less.”
“As usual, Mengs, your pinpoint accuracy is underwhelming.”
The intricately carved wood beads in Mengs’ short braids clacked as his chair swiveled. He fixed his orange-eyed gaze on the captain. “Yeah well, you get the good stuff when it counts. You know me, I don’t like to show off, and it’s not like you have to make an instant decision.”
Chuckles accompanied the navigator’s observation. Zen rolled his eyes and returned the grins directed at him by two of the other three crew members present on the bridge.
“Serk,” Zen said, his gaze turning toward his second in command, “Run a scan on that ship.”
“Already in progress.” As usual, the Adarian had anticipated Zen’s order. His fingers — retractable claws currently hidden — were finessing the control keys for every bit of information as his almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes remained glued to the monitor that scrolled info at its operator’s command. “It seems we have a… Captain, that ship is a Dukati shuttle craft.”
With the ship’s identity revealed, the jovial mood on the bridge vanished and every person present went from relaxed to battle ready. The Dukati were a warrior race known for their random and ruthless raids against anyone not strong enough to defend themselves. Zen was hit by a sting of anticipation laced with hostility. He was more than willing to engage in conflict should the Dukati choose to initiate it, but caution warred with aggression to keep his hatred for them in check. For the sake of his crew it would be better to avoid trouble.
“Shields up. Scanners at max. Harren, report any subspace chatter,” Zen ordered his communications specialist. “Serk, any other ships in the area and how many on the shuttle?”
“No other ships currently in range of our scanners. One life sign on the shuttle and they don’t appear to be doing too well.”
“Explain.”
“Life signs are weak. The life-support system is failing.”
“Give me a thorough scan on the shuttle right down to the last nut and bolt. On the passenger too. If there’s so much as a hair out of place I want to know about it. As fast as you can, Serk.”
“On it, Captain.”
“Mengs, take us out of warp. Clay, I want everyone armed. We’re on red alert, people.”
“Aye, Captain.” Clay Delgato, in charge of ship’s security, turned to a panel near his station and keyed in the code which opened it. A whisper of sound accompanied the slide of the door as it revealed sleek black scorch pistols and the sturdy, woven belts that would carry them. He went quickly from crew member to crew member passing one set each to Zen and the others.
Serk, who was still engaged with his scans, held his arms out, giving Clay, his mate, room to fasten the belt at his waist. Green eyes met brown and a quick smile was exchanged before Serk made his report. “Captain, the scanners are finding no anomalies. The shuttle and its passenger appear to be clean and from what the biosensors are telling me, the passenger is not Dukati.”
“That’s fortunate. A Dukati I’d just as soon launch out an airlock no matter what shape he’s in. All right gentlemen, it seems we have a rescue to enact. Mengs, I want a tractor beam on that ship. Haul it into the hangar bay. Clay, you’re with me. Harren, tell Doc and Jacks to meet us in the hangar bay. Serk, you have the bridge and keep an eye on the long range scanners. I don’t want any unexpected guests crashing our party.”
Various voices called out, “Aye, Captain,” as Zen prepared to leave the bridge.
With Clay at his side he strode to a set of double doors that slid open to reveal a small chamber. As soon as the men entered the brightly lit cubicle, the doors slid shut behind them and they were scanned by the internal sensors of the bioporter.
“Hangar bay,” Zen called out.
“Hangar bay,” repeated a digitally synthesized yet lyrical voice.
Absolute darkness engulfed them and for a split second Zen wrestled with the surge of adrenaline that sometimes spilled through his veins and made his heart beat faster when being transported. The sensation of being struck blind was disconcerting until tiny whirling streams of light twinkled, blazed, then gradually faded. With only the tiniest sensation of having been moved, Zen’s vision returned unimpeded. He and Clay stepped out of the bioport chamber and into the safety zone sealed behind a set of thick, metal-framed glass doors.
The hangar bay held two six-passenger shuttles neatly parked in their designated places beside four hover cycles. Other than a small work area for the ship’s engineer, the rest was open space. Caution lights flashed as the hangar bay doors slowly opened.
A rainbow swirl of colors indicated the presence of the atmospheric membrane which prevented everything in the hangar bay from being sucked out into space. As the Dukati shuttlecraft moved forward, the membrane yielded to the pressure, but rather than break, it melded itself to the small ship and clung to its every contour. The ship eased through and was brought to a halt, settling in its new berth near one of the Brizo’s shuttlecraft.
When the hangar bay doors were again secure, the safety zone doors automatically opened and Zen and Clay headed toward the shuttle. A chime informed them of an incoming transport. Both men paused and looked back as the bioport’s interior doors slid open. A tall man and a slim woman stepped out. Without a word, Clay handed each of them a holstered scorch pistol.
“Dukati shuttlecraft. Latest design too. We salvaging this baby?” Meral Jackson, ship’s engineer, asked as she belted on her weapon. Her hazel eyes twinkled with good-natured avarice. “I’d love to get my hands on her.”
“Why does something so innocuous sound so lewd coming out of your mouth?” Doc’s thin lips were pinched in a grimace as one eyebrow rose.
Jackson grinned. “Can I help it if I admire a shapely hull?”
“Shouldn’t you concentrate on getting the hatch open? Serk’s last report gives the passenger approximately seventeen minutes before the oxygen runs out.”
“Seventeen minutes? Piece of cake. I’ll have it open in less than two.”
Doc’s snort of disbelief brought a speculative gleam to Jackson’s eyes. “Wanna bet?”
“Bet what?”
“Five greens at the next poker game.”
“A hundred and twenty-five credits?”
“You in or out?”
Doc aimed a squinty-eyed scowl at Jackson. “In.”
“Time me.” Jackson turned her attention to the shuttle and dug into her tool pouch, which was perpetually attached to her by a cross-body strap.
Directing a look of sympathy toward the ship’s main medical practitioner, Zen shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been suckered, Doc.”
“We’ll see.”
As Zen watched, Jackson found whatever she’d been looking for and set to work. Muscles flexed under the smooth tanned skin of her bare arms as she punched a series of keys on the flat, rectangular unit she held in her hand. A slight turn of her head brought her profile into relief and set a few glimmers of light chasing through the strands of her blonde pixie-cut.
Having learned at her father’s knee from the time she was old enough to pick up a sonic wrench, Jackson knew her way around a multitude of ship types and systems. Zen had little doubt the shuttlecraft door would give her any trouble.
From the small unit she held in her hand, a continual series of chirps issued as a cycle of colored light beams played over the closed shuttle hatch. As the seconds passed, one by one each beam turned green.
“Twenty seconds,” Doc warned.
“No worries. It’s… done!” Jackson’s announcement was triumphant as the hatch slowly lifted. Stepping back, she made way as the steps began to lower.
“Damn,” Doc cursed softly. “Don’t you have anything better to do than practice breaking and entering?”
“For your information, nothing broke and no, I don’t. As ship’s engineer I see to it the Brizo performs like a Xanasian courtesan being paid double. Smooth and compliant.”
“You’d know.”
“A girl’s gotta have her fun.” Jackson’s unabashed wink brought a quick grin to Zen’s lips and snort of amusement from Clay.
All four of them quickly sobered as the now fully opened hatch ceased all movement. Zen motioned Jackson and Doc back. Weapons drawn, he and Clay approached the yawning hatch. Touching the small, round and flat metal disc attached to his collar, Zen voiced a soft question. “Serk, any change in the scans?”
“None, Captain. All readings remain within normal parameters. The passenger hasn’t moved. Nothing on long range scanners.”
The shuttle’s inner lights were dim, the interior shadowed, with no sign of the passenger. About to take a step forward, a quick negative motion from Clay stopped Zen in his tracks. Zen gave way and allowed his security officer to precede him. Clay went aft where the last scan placed the shuttle’s passenger. As soon as Clay stepped within the murky interior of the shuttle, Zen lost sight of him.
His own foray into the ship was accomplished without incident and he turned to the fore and the ship’s controls. Each space along the way was examined, between and under seats in case something had remained undetected. Every unoccupied space was clear and the shuttle quiet as a tomb.
Reaching the ship’s control’s Zen gave them a quick once over. Except for the blinking lights indicating the failing life support system, everything else seemed in order.
“Captain?”
Zen touched his communications disc. “You find our guest?”
“Yeah. Can you bring up the lights? We need Doc in here on the double and he’s gonna need ‘em.”
“Right away.”
Zen called Doc and Jackson in and adjusted the lighting while waiting for Jackson to join him at the controls. “Do a thorough exam on all systems, Jacks,” Zen ordered when she appeared. “Make sure this thing can’t be traced. Something doesn’t seem right here. Why would the life support fail? This shuttle’s so new the paint’s barely dried.”
“I’m on it, Zen.” Jackson seated herself at the controls and began running ship diagnostics.
Leaving Jackson to her work, Zen made his way back to Clay and Doc. The closer he came, the more pungent the scent. The coppery tang assaulting his heightened sense of smell weighed heavy on the still air. Doc was squatting near a body, his med scanner beeping and flashing in a way Zen could tell bode ill. Side-stepping Clay, Zen was able to take in the full picture. He drew in a sharp breath. What once had been a vision was now covered in blood and lay still as death on the deck.
The shuttle’s passenger was male. In contrast to the obsidian darkness of his softly curling hair, his skin was bone white. Sweat dampened bangs adhered to forehead and stuck there. His full lips were slightly parted and his finely chiseled, androgynous features were slack. His almost too-delicate-to-be-male appearance was emphasized by his current condition.
He wore a pair of near-diaphanous pants that hugged his body from the waist down like a second skin. Other than a pair of wide, embossed silver bracelets that encircled his wrists, his upper body was nude. The man lay on his stomach, his back clearly visible, the damage done to it horrendous. Thin strips of skin had been peeled away leaving raw open wounds that had bled profusely before clotting. Rusty spatters of blood had soaked into his pants, as well as the matted curls that touched the back of his neck.
Shock, fury and the raw reminder of a familial tragedy pummeled Zen in equal measure at the sight of such torture being visited on someone who appeared to be little more than a helpless captive. His hatred of the Dukati — something that was branded into his very soul — twisted within him.
“Son of a Bactrian bitch.” Zen cursed not only the savage act so blatantly displayed on the young man’s back, but also at the reminder of what that selfsame act had cost him. “They used a fucking flayer on him. Doc?”
“He’s hanging on, but we need to get him to the med bay now. Not that I think he’d wake up, but just in case I’ve attached a nerve blocker, so let’s hurry. I can’t leave it in place very long without causing nerve damage, but it’s that or nothing.” Doc indicated the flat, square metal chip now sealed to a patch of uninjured skin on the man’s shoulder. “I can’t administer any drugs until I get this mess cleaned up and have a better idea of what I’m dealing with. It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, be damn careful how you handle him. If you can avoid it, don’t touch his back.”
“We need a stretcher,” Clay said.
“No time. Grab a blanket from the supply locker. We’ll slide him on it and carry him to the bioporter,” Zen answered. He touched his communications disc. “Serk, send Kyle to med bay and have him transport down here on the double with a gurney, then resume course and get us the hell out of here. The Dukati may come looking for their missing shuttle.”
“Right away, Captain.”
When Clay returned with the blanket, Zen helped him lay it out and as carefully as possible the two of them maneuvered the injured man onto it. With each of them grabbing two corners of their makeshift stretcher, they shuffled out of the shuttle in time to hear the bioporter’s alert chime sound. The door slid open.
Zen noted with approval Kyle’s prompt arrival and the way he hurried to meet them. Kyle helped Doc settle their patient on the gurney and took charge of wheeling him back into the bioporter.
“You two wait here,” Doc ordered as he followed Kyle and the gurney into the bioport chamber. “I’m taking him up lift mode. The last thing he needs right now is to have his innards scrambled.”
Taking a last glance at the injured young man’s pale, still face, Zen stepped back. “All right, Doc. Go.”
* * *
An hour later Zen was seated at the conference table in an area just off the bridge that served as everything from meeting room to casino when the weekly poker game was in session. He listened attentively as Jackson filled him in on the shuttle situation.
“It had the expected tracking beacon that could be activated by any Dukati vessel looking for it,” Jacks said, “but there was also a backup designed to kick in and send out an immediate signal if the regular beacon was tampered with. Both are now disabled. We don’t have to worry about the Dukati on our tail with absolute proof we’ve got their shuttle. Not to mention that poor kid in the med bay. How’s he doin’?”
“Doc’s got him stabilized,” Zen answered. “He’s still working on him.”
“You okay?”
Zen’s eyes met Jack’s and noted the concern in hers. “I’m fine. Why do you –”
“You know perfectly well why I’m asking. Don’t be an ass, Zen.”
“I may be the captain of this ship, but I have just as much right to be an ass as anyone else on board.” Zen tried a smile, but gave it up under the pressure of Jack’s unwavering stare. He sobered and sighed. “It stirred the bad memories, but like I said, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Now what else did you find? I can see there’s something you’re just dying to tell me. Spill it.”
“It’s the reason the life support failed. There was a clever little bug inserted into the ship’s system. It initiated the failure and began to erase itself at the same rate the life support degraded. Once the life support died, all traces of the bug would disappear. Damn clever piece of programming. Anyone finding the shuttle after total life support failure would never be able to figure out what went wrong.”
“They’d put it down to some sort of pilot error.”
“Exactly.”
“So someone tortures our passenger not quite enough to have him die outright, throws him in a rigged shuttle and sets him loose where life support failure would finish the job. Why would they do that?”
“Maybe they didn’t dare kill him outright. They wanted to make it look like he escaped, but needed to make sure he didn’t survive. If I had to guess, I’d say he was under someone’s protection and that person got careless. You know it’s said the Dukati sometimes make pets of some of their captives.”
Zen nodded. Those stories had already given him hope and nightmares in equal measure. The very idea that his little brother and sister might yet be alive, but under those conditions, rattled him to the core. A thousand times it came to mind that they’d be better off dead. Yet Zen couldn’t bring himself to wish it, and each time he wondered if it was selfishness for wanting them to be alive or cowardice for being afraid to let them go.
He pushed those thoughts away. “Rumor has it only high level Dukati are allowed the privilege of claiming pets. Whoever did this wanted to be able to say he didn’t die by their hand, but rather by the shuttle’s malfunctioning life support. Of course we won’t know for certain until we can talk to our unexpected passenger, holies heal him.”
“Actually, that’s my job, and getting answers out of him won’t be happening for a while,” Doc said as he entered the room and took a seat. “I have an update on my patient.”
Zen acknowledged Doc with a nod then returned his attention to Jackson. “We need to dispose of that shuttle in a way it can’t be traced to us. Any ideas?”
Jack’s smile was beatific. “I know a guy who’ll make her disappear like she never existed. No questions asked, and the parts’ll be scattered to half a dozen systems before we hit Ilsan for our cargo drop.”
“The drop off won’t take us off course?”
“Nope. He runs a mobile shop, if you get my drift.”
“Make it happen. I’ll leave the financial negotiations up to you. Equal shares for everyone, including our passenger.”
“Yes!” Jacks bounced up out of her chair and practically skipped out of the room.
“You’ve made her day. There were stacks of credits dancing in her eyes.”
Zen chuckled. “What have you got for me?”
“He’s stable. His physiology is similar enough to ours that he can accept transfusions with no problem. I’m pushing fluids and antibiotics. He’s developed a fever, but that’s not unexpected. The injuries to his back… they’ll heal. Sluget gel will alleviate most of the scarring, but not all if it. Some of the wounds were pretty deep. Whoever did this is a vicious son of a bitch.”
“Agreed. Anything else?”
Doc’s expression confirmed what Zen had already assumed. “Previous scarring on his back and buttocks. Not recent and very thin stripes. Not from a flayer. Some sort of switch if I had to guess. There’s been sexual abuse. Again, some older scarring. I’ve taken steps to minimize all damage, recent and old, as much as possible. His body will be fine. No lack of feeling or hindrance of function. As to his emotional and mental state, I can’t speak. He hasn’t woken at all.”
Zen nodded. “All right, Doc. Keep me informed.”
With Doc’s departure Zen was left with his thoughts. He found them bouncing between his missing siblings and the young man now recovering in med bay.

Posted in Blog

Some (Whale) food for thought.

Dear Readers and Fans:

In honor of our orcha and whale friends, please check out the following:

Killer Whale Attack ( Documentary ) *
Who would win in a battle between the orca, the largest of the dolphin family, and a Great White shark. And, more importantly, why would that animal win?

*I’ve posted only the title on my website because it’s illegal to have a link to a video without the express permission of that video’s creator. I don’t have that permission. Yet.

Peace,
Emily

Posted in Blog

Orca Week Post 1

Dear Readers and Fans:

It is Orca week. Thus, I will be posting blurbs regarding videos, books and other media related to these awesome whales! Enjoy!

Post 1: GoPro: Orca Rescue in 4K *

This is a video about orcas that includes exciting, little-known facts, like the idea that orcas are first formed with legs that they absorb back into their bodies. It also includes an amazing orca rescue. Starring: Dr. Ingrid N. Visser.

* The reason I’m giving only the title is because it’s illegal to post a link without permission and I haven’t been able to reach Dr. Visser.

More cool posts to come!

Love,

Emily