10 September 2017
04 July 2017
You can find Fabian Black Fiction at: https://fabianblackromance.yolasite.com/
I've posted another chapter of Hope House The Long Weekend and also a Tarn and Twinks extract. The complete Hope House novel should be out later this year, if not sooner, or later, depending on circumstances.
I've also had to change Cat's MM Discipline Fiction website address. You can find it at:https://catsmmfiction.yolasite.com/
I've added the HH chaps there and, drum roll please, I shall shortly be posting a new discipline story under my pen name Cat - the first in at least a hundred years. There are other various bits and pieces on the Cat site that aren't on the Fabian Black site, some of them are a bit rough around the edges, but still hopefully enjoyable for those who enjoy traditional Top/brat style stories.
02 January 2017
The Hope House stories are currently unavailable to buy in serial form. They were distributed almost exclusively via All Romance Ebooks. As of 31/12/16 the All Romance Ebook store is no more. The site closed. It’s owner, Lori James, has left authors, publishers and customers in the lurch. She is refusing to pay out thousands of dollars in owed commission for the last quarter of 2016. She has also refused to allow authors and publishers to pull their files from the site and did not give customers time to download their purchased ebooks or spend their credits. Who knows what she intends to do with the IP that does not belong to her. She’s a thoroughly dishonest woman. I hope the law brings her to account, but I won’t hold my breath.
I’m sad and disheartened by the loss of yet another outlet for indie authors, and under another ugly cloud of deceit and theft. Lori James isn’t the first to betray the trust placed in her. It makes me wonder about my future as an indie writer. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to find places to sell my work. Not everyone likes buying from Smashwords, which leaves Amazon, not my favourite outlet to be honest. Amazon claims to champion indie authors, but in the end I think it will prove to be the enemy of independent authors such as myself. It wants us to virtually give our work away and seems intent on inventing ways to pay less and less commission. I’m a bit tired of being forced to offer my work for a pittance and also tired of the way Amazon allows customers to read and return ebooks for a full refund, thus leaving authors out of pocket.
The indie self-publishing revolution brought enormous diversity to the book market making available an incredible range of genres, including GLBT fiction among others. Where will all the gay lovers, vampires and shape shifters go now? What will happen to kinkster fiction? I fear that soon we will be in a situation where once again we can only read what the ‘big publishers’ want us to read, and that’s sad.
People like Lori James seemed to offer indie authors and publishers a wonderful platform to get our work out there and selling. The reality is very different. She, and others before her, simply saw an opportunity to fleece the writers who placed trust in them. At the moment it looks like Smashwords owner, Mark Coker, is the only one still flying a flag of honour for independent writers.
I think 2017 will see many independent writers question whether it is worth carrying on writing. I think a lot will decide to give up.
For those interested in the ARe scandal you can read more here:
04 June 2012
Title: Peter and the Wolf
Author: Cat/Fabian Black
Genre: M/M romantic comedy short story - 17- Adult themes
What’s a man to do when his partner seems to prefer housework to sex? William decides it’s time to get in touch with his alpha side when Peter shows more interest in hoovering than in him.
"Peter! For Christ's sake! What are you doing now?" Will shouted, slapping the book he was reading down onto his knees.
A disembodied voice floated up the stairs and into the bedroom. "I'm just watering the plants in the hall, they're looking a bit dry. I won’t be long."
"You said that half an hour ago when you were 'just' locking up and taking out all the plugs. I've read nine chapters of this God-awful Space Wolf novel since then, and I still haven't discovered how wolf-men ended up in space."
"It can't be that awful, not if you've read nine chapters of it," said the disembodied voice reasonably, adding, "anyway, you can’t possibly have read nine chapters, not in half an hour. You must have just skimmed it, you always do that and it's cheating. No wonder you miss important details. It's probably explained how the wolf-men got into space and you've skipped over it. Go back and read it properly."
"Peter, are you actually coming up tonight, because I'm already up and I want to be down, on you, preferably before my vigour goes the way of all things and turns to dust."
"And the Barry Manilow Prize for romantic lyric of the year goes to William Jones for his lovely song: wanna go down on you before my vigour is through."
Despite his irritation Will smiled, calling, "come up to bed, smart arse."
"I'm nearly done now. I’m just cleaning the stained glass panel in the front door and then there’s the Yucca in the living room to water."
Yucca! Will sighed and picked up the garish novel again, resuming where he’d left off, with the hero trying to prevent his inner wolf letting loose a long howl at an inopportune moment. It failed to hold his interest. He closed the book, reading the heading on the front cover, which stated: 'In The Grim Darkness Of The Far Future There Is Only War!' He had to admit that it did indeed sound rather grim, but as long as there was sex, as well as war, it might not be too bad.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he heard the unmistakeable drone of the hoover coming from downstairs. Whereas in his case, In The Grim Darkness Of The Here And Now There Was Only Housework... and no sex!
Resisting a primeval urge to gallop downstairs and drag his partner back up them by the scruff of his neck, he flopped back on his pillows, covering his face with the book.
"I really wish we hadn't chosen a dark blue carpet for the hall, it shows all the bits. I thought I was never going to get it clean." Peter made an appearance in the bedroom at long last and lifted the book from Will’s face, smiling. "I'm all yours now. As they say, all good things come to he who waits."
"Too late." Will opened his eyes. "Joey Stefano and some of his mates called by while you were carpet cleaning and we had a gangbang, it was filthy! They sucked me dry."
Peter dropped the book back over Will's face in disgust, "you are a shit sometimes, Will. You've got no patience, all you think about is yourself. I hope poor departed Joey satisfied you, because you're not having me as a living dessert."
"What was I supposed to do?" Will threw the book on the bed and sat up. "You seemed keener on doing housework than having sex. It's not very flattering to come a poor second and third to a Yucca plant and a vacuum cleaner you know. You can't blame me for masturbating."
"I like things to be neat before I come up to bed, it helps me relax."
Turning on his side Will watched Peter undress. He was slightly underweight, he was short-sighted and at the age of twenty-eight had recently been persuaded to wear braces to straighten his crooked front teeth.
He wasn't exactly the stuff hot porn stars were made off. However, he had a certain sweetness of expression. It had captivated Will from the moment they'd met through a mutual friend. They had lived together for almost a year now and mostly it had been good, although there had been some annoying habits that had taken a bit of getting used to.
Things like the nighttime rituals Peter insisted on performing before bed. There was the locking up ritual, which entailed checking that all the downstairs windows were closed and locked, even though they rarely got opened, then checking that the front and back doors were locked, bolted and chained.
Then there was the plug habit. He pulled out all the plugs on electrical appliances, the kettle, the television, etc and so on, and then he went round again just to make sure he'd done it. It didn't matter if Will told him he had. He always had to re-check for himself. Will got used to it, choosing to view it as a quaint aspect of his partner's personality. Lately it had begun to irritate again, not least because Peter's rituals were expanding to cover things like tidying around the sitting room, washing up every object he could lay hands on, watering the plants, and now bloody hoovering.
It seemed that Peter would go to any lengths to avoid coming to bed with him, and it was time for it to stop.
He cleared his throat. "Are we having a crisis, Peter, do we need to re-evaluate our relationship?"
Peter's stomach clenched. So, it was here. This was the moment he had known would come. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and gazed at his partner. Will wasn't exactly God's gift to gay men. He was slightly overweight and hairy enough to be mistaken for the missing link. However, he had attractive blue eyes and a kind charm, which had enchanted Peter from the moment they met. He had been thrilled when Will had asked him out on a date.
He spoke stiffly, "what exactly does re-evaluate mean? Is it a pseudo way of saying our relationship is over and you want my blessing to go and seek out some easy little slut who will open his legs for you on demand? Well fine, go ahead and I hope you get crabs, you bastard!" He strode tearfully towards the bedroom door,
"I'll sleep in the spare room."
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26 June 2011
Simon almost vacated his skin, dropping the journal he was reading, as the sound of a throat being cleared came from somewhere to the left of him. He slyly slid his right hand down the side of the couch, then turned towards the throat clearer, who was leaning against the doorframe with arms folded in an enquiring manner.
“Hello, Ez, you scared me, creeping up on me like that.”
“What the hell are you doing down here at this hour, Simon?”
“I woke up and I couldn’t get back off. I didn’t want to disturb you,” he gave a charming smile, “so I thought I’d come down and read for a while. He pointed at the book he’d dropped on the floor. This diary thing is interesting, where did you find it?”
“I didn’t, you did when you were stomping about in the attic. It came down with the ceiling,” Ezra un-leaned himself and walked over to the couch. Heaving Simon to his feet, he lifted up the couch cushion where he’d been sitting and gathered something up.
Simon was dead. He knew he was dead, but he still made the attempt to dodge the funeral. Gazing into Ezra’s brown eyes he gave one of his angel smiles and a shrug. “They’ve probably been there for ages and ages. I’ll try to stop doing it. I know it’s a bad habit, stuffing rubbish under the cushions.” He began to edge towards the door. “I’m feeling sleepy again now, think I’ll...EZ!” He let out a howl of protest as his partner pounced. “I’m tired. I want to go back to bed, can’t we talk about this in the morning?”
“It is morning, three in the morning to be precise.” Holding a clutch of chocolate bar wrappers in one hand and Simon in the other, Ezra transported them all into the kitchen. He dropped the yellow wrappers into the pedal bin, counting them as he did so. “Six!” He gave Simon a fierce stare and repeated the number. “Six!” Keeping a tight hold of his hand he dragged him over to the kitchen drawer where he’d hidden six bars of Cadbury’s chocolate Flake. All were gone.
Simon’s stomach fluttered nervously as he noted the look on Ezra’s face. It was the look of a killer. “It wasn’t my fault,” he tried desperately to free his hand and find an excuse that would save him. “Honest, Ez, they threw themselves into my mouth. They made me eat them, it was chocolate suicide.”
Ezra obviously didn’t believe a word of it. Pulling out a kitchen chair he sat down, tugged down Simon’s shorts, turned him over his knee and at lightening speed delivered six blistering smacks to his bare backside, deepening the pale pink that lingered from earlier to a fresh bright red. He then returned him to his feet and pulled up his shorts.
“I only meant to snaffle one,” Simon squirmed, slipping both hands down the back of his shorts to rub his burning bottom. “I just got carried away. There was no need to kill me. I was going to replace them.”
“Oh that’s most kind of you I’m sure.” Ezra glared at him crossly, “but it’s hardly the point. It’s a wonder you haven’t been sick.” He stabbed a finger at his greedy little lover, “apart from the issue of avarice, I will not have you taking things in such a sneaky thief, unnecessary way! There’ll be no chocolate for you of any description for a fortnight.”
“That’s not fair,” Simon scowled, “stopping my chocolate isn’t fair not when you’ve just killed me. You can’t torture AND kill me!”
Ezra’s craving for a shouting fix overtook him. “I’LL BE THE JUDGE OF WHAT’S FAIR. NOW BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND GET BACK TO BED!”
Simon glared at him, “you’ll have a stroke or a heart attack yelling like that and you’ll wake the neighbours up.”
“I’ll have a stroke or heart attack living with you. As for the neighbours, they’ve woken me up often enough with their bloody lawn mowing and car washing activities on Sunday mornings. Now get moving up those stairs.” He elaborated the point with another firm slap to Simon’s bottom. “You’d better be minty fresh and in bed at least feigning sleep by the time I come up or that little rump of yours will really know what an act of murder feels like.”
Simon fled. Ezra saying things like that at two thousand decibels was not to be taken too seriously; it meant there was room for wheedlement. Ezra saying things like that in a normal voice was to be taken very seriously. It meant do or die and he’d died enough for one day!
Ezra went back into the sitting room in order to check that the fire was safe, muttering as he did so. Simon’s nocturnal pilfering in order to satisfy an extraordinarily childish greed annoyed him, not least because it was unnecessary. He would not deny him any of the things he liked but Simon just couldn’t seem to help himself, or at least he couldn’t seem to stop helping himself, and always furtively, hiding the evidence in the strangest places. Ezra had once found the wrappings from multiple bars of chocolate stuffed into the lavatory cistern, which explained why it was overflowing. He took chocolate biscuits, entire packets of them, chocolate ice cream, litre tubs of it, as well as the chocolate bars he adored, often gorging himself until he was sick. They’d talked about it and agreed that it was unacceptable behaviour. Ezra punished, Simon promised, but still the habit resurfaced from time to time.
Ezra shook his head, six full size bars, why the heck would he want to eat that much chocolate at any time, let alone at three in the morning. It was an obsession beyond his understanding. A sudden surge of guilt washed over him as he thought about Monday again. Perhaps he’d been too harsh. Perhaps it was a response to anxiety? He sighed, it was done now, he couldn’t un-spank Simon, and when all was said and done it was a disgraceful thing to do, regardless of the reasons.
Bending down he picked up the leather bound journal that Simon had dropped when he’d been caught out and put it on the coffee table. Straightening up, he swayed as an ice cold wave of nausea swept over him. Gripping the arm of the couch, he lowered himself down, his heart racing. Taking slow deliberate breaths he calmed himself. As the desire to be sick receded, it was replaced with something worse, the most abject feeling of despair and unhappiness that he’d ever experienced. He wanted to put his head in his hands and weep. Monday was obviously getting to him even more than he’d realised. Taking another determined deep breath he collected his wits and stood up, almost flat-lining as he saw an apparition standing in the doorway.
“Simon,” he growled, when his heart once again lurched into activity. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t I just told you to go to,” his voice changed tone, “what’s wrong, baby?” He hurried across to him. “You’re as white as a sheet. Are you feeling sick? It’s all that bloody chocolate. I swear, Simon, I’ll spank you until you can’t sit down if you do it again. How many more times do we have to go through this?”
“It’s not the chocolate,” Simon, trembling, moulded himself to Ezra. “I’m scared, I know it’s stupid, but I’m really scared.”
Ezra pulled him into a tight embrace, “everything will be fine, I promise.”
Simon twigged at once that they were on different paths. He shook his head impatiently, “not Monday. I’m not scared about Monday,” he wisely kept internalised the end of that train of thought. He wasn’t scared about Monday because as far as he was concerned it didn’t exist. “Ez, there’s someone upstairs in the attic. I heard them moving around.”
“Was that with or without the accompaniment of music,” asked Ezra, speaking over the top of Simon’s head. He kept his arms around him, but there was grim warning in his voice. “It’s late or rather it’s early and I’ve had enough of your games for one day. We’re going to bed, we’re going to sleep, is that very clear?”
“Don’t be angry, Ez, I promise I’m not trying to wind you up. I did hear something. I did!” He found himself suddenly held at arms length being observed by very cold brown eyes. How could a colour like brown look so chilly?
Simon gave a combined cry of fright and pain as a tremendous bang suddenly echoed through the house, fright because the sound came from above them and pain because Ezra’s hands painfully squeezed his upper arms.
“What the hell was that?” Ezra headed for the door only to be halted as Simon grabbed the back of his bathrobe.
“Don’t, don’t go up there. It might be burglars. They might be armed. They’ll hurt you.” Simon’s face was stark white, the pupils of his eyes dilated.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, don’t panic,” Ezra soothed him. “I very much doubt that burglars would enter via the attic. You probably disturbed something when you were skulking about up there earlier. Stay here while I go and check it out.”
“No,” Simon mulishly shook his head. “I won’t stay here. I’m scared, but I’m not a coward. I’m not letting you go alone...it’ll look bad in the newspapers if you get murdered.”
Ezra kissed his cheek, “all right, my chick,” he gripped his hand reassuringly. “Let’s go and have a peep.”
Simon gave a small smile. “I bet you didn’t mean to make that pun.”
“What pun?” Ezra confirmed Simon’s suspicion.
Simon shook his head, “doesn’t matter.” He followed Ezra upstairs, standing on the landing watching as he climbed on a chair and flashed the torch up through the loft opening. He thought of their earlier conversation, about why they loved each other and smiled. Right now he loved Ez because he was reassuring him and had called him his chick. He liked being Ezra’s chick, amongst other things. He and Ezra were many things to each other.
Ezra flashed the torch up into both the official and unofficial attic opening. All was still, no sound, no movement. A fresh sprinkling of dust and plaster on the landing carpet seemed to verify the idea that something had been disturbed earlier and had finally toppled over. He stepped down from the chair. “Shame you left the loft ladder up there and came down by the unconventional route otherwise I could have had a better look. I’ll look tomorrow. I’m not hauling ladders out of the garage at this hour.” He waved the torch in Simon’s direction, “let’s get to bed and grab some sleep while we can. Have you brushed your teeth yet?”
“Let me smell your breath, see if it’s chocolaty!”
Simon sighed and moved towards the bathroom. Honestly some people were obsessed with dental hygiene. He brushed his teeth thoroughly with Ezra looming over him like the threat of rain.
Simon awoke first next morning. He’d dreamed. He tried to recapture the dream, but it was gone leaving only little blurs of sound and movement in his mind. He stretched and then turned on his side towards Ezra. Early sunshine streamed into the room, highlighting the chestnut depths in the brown hair. He studied his face admiring the strong jaw line shadowed with fine stubble, the straight prominent nose, the dark eyelashes and brows. He gently kissed and then nibbled the lobes of his ears, whispering, “are you awake, Ezra?”
“No.” Ezra lay still, eyes closed, one arm flung back over his head.
Simon kissed his mouth, teasing the tip of his tongue between his lips, “you awake yet, Ez?”
Simon moved down to Ezra’s chest, kissing and tonguing his nipples, teasing them into small peaks. “You awake now?”
Stifling a giggle Simon turned attention to Ezra’s naval, kissing and licking before moving down.
Ezra arched his back as Simon’s tongue and mouth began to work magic on his cock. He gave a husky moan. “Now I’m awake!” Seizing hold of Simon he turned him onto his back, straddling him, seeking his mouth and kissing him hard before pulling his t-shirt up and off.
Sex was good, hard and fast paced. Afterwards, supporting himself on his forearms, Ezra rested for a moment and then kissed Simon’s flushed face, “that was quite some wake up call.”
Simon grinned and reached to cuddle him.
Ezra gave a sharp cry of shock as the cuddle became a stranglehold and Simon’s nails dug painfully into his back.
Copyright Cat/Fabian Black 2011
WELCOME TO BOTH OLD AND NEW READERS
My stories focus on M/M relationships, the main slant of which is on consensual discipline between loving male partners. It’s quite difficult to define this kind of fiction. It doesn't quite fit into the category of straightforward M/M erotic romance and nor can it be regarded as BDSM fiction in a classic sense.
Domestic Discipline Romance might be a fair description with still more sub categories under that umbrella with keywords such as: original character slash, domestic discipline, discipline partnership fiction, romantic fic, hurt/comfort fiction etc.
To be honest I don’t really think it’s necessary or even advisable to attempt to classify and define it too closely, because to do so is to risk confining both writers and readers by binding them with rules and regulations about what’s right and what’s wrong in a story that features any kind of power exchange.
I don’t personally think there’s a right or wrong way to write this kind of fiction, it all depends on personal taste, need and interpretation of interest, one size definitely doesn’t fit all and that’s how it should be, we’re all individuals and variety is a good thing.
Some of my stories are written from a tongue in cheek perspective and have elements of madcap humour and parody while others take a more serious look at the role consensual discipline might play in adult relationships.
all material copyright Cat/Fabian Black unless otherwise stated.
Please note: I'm British so my stories are written using U.K. English and grammar. Please check the default setting on your reader devices.
None of the stories on these pages are public domain works. They are the intellectual property of the indie writer known variously as Cat, Fabian Black, Tarn Swan, Ester Phillips. They are not to be copied, passed on or reproduced in any way without the prior written consent of the owner and copyright owner