WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? Sable is carrying on and giving you a sexy excerpt

The other day while I was driving around looking at wild flowers, Mojo jumped up suddenly and I, out of nowhere, said – POP! Goes the Weasel! Those words just emerged from the dim recesses of my childhood and I got the déjà vu moment of remembering when I would sit on the floor with the toy in my hand, turning the crank while that little ditty sang and then the clown bursting out of the box. So, I started singing it again, but this time the words hit me – – what did they mean? You judge.

All around the cobblers bench, The Monkey chased the Weasel, The Monkey stopped to pull up his sock – POP! Goes the Weasel! Okay, what happened? Let’s get a visual here. Two little animals chasing one another around a bench, one stoops over and POP! I have to tell you my dirty side came out to play here. I kept visualizing a BDSM spanking scene or even something a bit more risqué… Anyway, I did wonder at the choice for that little number to be a children’s song.

How many of you grew up singing nursery rhymes? I did. I knew them all. I memorized them. I repeated them. I sang them. And I didn’t know what the heck they meant – do you?

For example, my mother always sang this to me – Rock a bye baby, in the tree top, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock. She would sing this to me and rock me, patting me, comforting me and my eyes would get heavy and I would slip off to dream land. Not too many years ago, I was singing this as I rocked a friend’s baby and I finally noticed what I was saying – words of great comfort – LISTEN!

…When the wind blows, the cradle will rock, when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall – AND DOWN WILL COME BABY – CRADLE AND ALL!! The song is about a baby falling out of an effing tree! How did I miss this? Who sings to a baby about him hurtling to the ground from ten or fifteen feet in the air, bouncing on the dirt…STRANGE!

And so I began researching why anyone would write a song with such hurtful language and disguise it as a children’s song. And here’s what I found. Many think the song was written to satirize the Native American habit of hanging their babies in trees and the hope that they would fall and some even surmised it was the author’s way of expounding on the rise and fall of the House of Stuart in merry old England – over my head for sure. But what it wasn’t talking about, for sure, was a mother rocking her baby to sleep.

There were others – let me enlighten you.

RING AROUND THE ROSIES, A POCKET FULL OF POSES, A TISSUE, A TISSUE, WE ALL FALL DOWN and in some versions the word ASHES, ASHES are inserted instead of A TISSUE. Harmless, right? In my childish mind when I would sing this, my little head was full of flowers. I never questioned what I was saying. Imagine my surprise when I learned that this was a ditty composed about the BLACK PLAGUE. The ring was the skin blemish people got when the fever came, the pocket full of posies was the herbs people carried in hopes it would protect them from the disease, the tissue was for the sneezes and falling down was DYING! Ashes of course was burning the bodies. And children sang this? CRAZY!

Another for your entertainment – LONDON BRIDGE IS FALLING DOWN, FALLING DOWN, FALLING DOWN, LONDON BRIDGE IS FALLING DOWN – MY FAIR LADY. There were other verses about what building materials to use, etc. We used to hold hands, form an arch and then capture one of the kids in our arms. Harmless, right? Imagine my shock and horror to find out that the song was written to protest the internment of children in ancient structures, whose sacrifice was supposed to ensure that the structure would be sound and safe. That’s a horror story! And yet I found that it was indeed practiced, in England and other parts of the world, children would be bricked up alive and allowed to starve to death or suffocate so the structure would be safe and not fall. They were to be spiritual watchmen. Barbaric! Insane! And worse, little children on the playground sing and play, never knowing what they’re saying.

Another. JACK AND JILL WENT UP THE HILL TO FETCH A PAIL OF WATER, JACK FELL DOWN AND BROKE HIS CROWN AND JILL CAME TUMBLING AFTER. Now, on the surface its disturbing enough, two kids go up a hill and fall, hurting themselves. But many think it was a political statement about King Louis and Marie Antoinette literally losing their heads during the French Revolution.

The more I read, the more I learned was that people had something to say and they weren’t allowed to say it, so they veiled it in some innocuous children’s rhyme to keep from getting in trouble.

I do that, to a certain extent. All of you who have read my books know things about me that I would never say out loud in a regular setting. You know all of my sexual fantasies – every one of them. Where did you think those sex scenes came from? You also know how I feel about judgmental people and religious hypocrisy. You also know my stance on immigration and how I feel about the injustice that Native Americans have faced. In other words, we write what’s inside. In our modern day in time we have to be concerned with political correctness and open microphone disasters, but we don’t have to be concerned about imprisonment or being beheaded.

Not yet, anyway. Let’s keep it that way. FREEDOM OF SPEECH! Ha! Oh well, I’ll get down off my soapbox now.

I’ve always had the tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and I started early. My mother wanted me to be such a priss. She would dress me in frilly skirts and socks with flowers on them and I would end up rolling in the dirt with the dog. She would take me to church and hope I’d be good, but I wasn’t. I was smart, too smart. I could memorize things – everything from poetry to the books of the Bible. But she would want to show me off, instead of saying my ABC’s, I would repeat an ugly poem my favorite uncle taught me about an old cow who ate too much corn and sh…well, you get the picture.

Once she arranged for me to sing a special in church – my first of many, but I was supposed to sing Jesus Loves Me but I broke out with Tiny Bubbles instead. In a Southern Baptist church this didn’t go over to well – Tiny Bubbles In the Wine, Make Me Happy, Make Me Feel Fine.

I also had a friend who taught me poems – – When I was a wee wee tot, my mother used to put me on a wee wee pot and I had to wee wee whether I wanted to wee wee or not. AND this one. I wish I was a tumble bug and in some nasty place, I’d eat my little belly full and rub some on my face OR THIS EVER POPULAR ONE – – Beans, Beans, the wonderful fruit, the more you eat, the more you toot, the more you toot, the better you feel – so let’s eat beans for every meal!

Is it any wonder I became a writer? I’m a ham! An attention hog! And I love to shock you and make you laugh and entertain you – – now, how about a sex scene to round out the post? Ha! Can you tell I’ve been writing non-stop and I’ve lost my mind?

A sex scene from ROGUE one of THE SONS OF DUSTY WALKER

“It’s amazing.” She looked out the window. “The tops of the clouds look like cotton candy.”

“You’ve flown before.” He knew she had taken a jet back and forth to Texas several times.

“Yea, but I was always squished in between two people or on the aisle seat. This is entirely different.” She sounded almost giddy as she stared out into the wild blue yonder.

“Okay, if that’s how you want to spend your time.” Rogue sighed. “Oh, well.”

Almost immediately, Kit swiveled in her seat, her long hair swinging over her shoulder. “What else did you have in mind?”

He gave her a seductive grin. “I told the attendant we didn’t want to be disturbed. And there’s a couch behind us that looks really comfortable.” The dreamy sensual look that came over Kit’s face stroked his ego almost as well as her delicate hands had stroked his cock the last time they were together.

Unbuckling her safety belt, she rose to her feet and started undressing. “Doing it on an airplane is definitely on my list.”

Rogue rose and began taking off his belt, then unbuttoning his shirt. He was mesmerized by the sight of Kit disrobing. She had lost most of her shyness with him, but it still turned him inside out when she would glance back over her shoulder and look at him through those long lashes, her pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips. “What else is on your list?”

Kit slipped out of her skirt and pulled her blouse over her head, leaving her in nothing but panties and a bra – a new purchase especially designed to drive one Rogue Walker around the bend. “All kinds of places and positions.”

Rogue’s eyes practically bugged at the sight of the tiny cream colored scraps of lace lovingly cupping her ass and tits. “Damn, baby.” Coming up behind her he gently pulled on a lock of her hair, winding it around his finger. He found he loved touching her, needing the connection. “You’ll have to let me read it.”

Kit couldn’t help but laugh. “When I was writing it down, I made myself think of a child making a Christmas wish-list.” Slipping off her heels, she faced him and once more she was almost knocked off balance by how incredibly sexy this man was.

“Rest easy, in my book you get extra points for being on the naughty list.”

For a big man, he was graceful. Kit stared while he tugged off his jeans. “You know, if we had music, you could dance. Magic Mike has nothing on you.” To her surprise, he spun around and finished with a hip thrust that made her clit throb. “Be still my heart.” She teased him by placing her hand on her chest, then opening her front-clasp bra. There was no doubt about it, she loved to be with him. Kit couldn’t imagine him not being a part of her life. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that she was going to be get hurt, there wasn’t really any way around it. Was it worth it?

Hell, yeah.

“You do know how to fire me up,” he growled as he took her arm, tugged her close and melded his lips to hers.

The man kissed like a dream. Kit gave herself over to him, not wanting to think. She only wanted to feel. Rogue slid his hands down her arms and clasped her wrists. He was taking charge. Elation sparked in her veins causing her blood to flow hot. Since she couldn’t move her hands, she rubbed her tits back and forth across his chest, the nipples catching in the manly curls.

“God, what you do to me,” he murmured, picking her up and lying her back on the couch. Before she could bat an eye, he ran a hungry hand up her leg and parted her thighs.

The plane hit a bit of turbulence and her breath hitched, but it wasn’t because of the dip and sway of the jet riding the air currents. That’s not what excited her. It was the man kneeling at her feet. With a hot hooded gaze, he bent his head to her pussy, licking and nibbling, flattening his tongue and passing it across the hard nub of her clit.

Slapping the leather of the couch, she moaned at the instantaneous bolt of pleasure. “Rogue, please…” She didn’t know what she was begging for, but it certainly wasn’t for him to stop.

Rogue didn’t stop. Using his hands, he opened her wider and feasted on her like she was a banquet to a starving man. Kit whimpered loudly. There was nothing delicate about the way he ate at her. He did it with relish. No hesitation, no half-hearted effort. He knew exactly what he was doing and precisely how to please her.

She rose up, needing to see, needing the connection. Placing a hand on his head, massaging the scalp, she wordlessly let him know what this meant to her. At her touch, he looked up – never stopping, just holding her gaze. Shivers of excitement encompassed her. He was almost more than she could handle.

“Do what you did yesterday. Play with your tits for me.” Rogue whispered as he planted a kiss above her mound.

Last time it had been dark, she hadn’t been sure he was watching or could see that well. Now, he was here – right here. She blushed. Her breasts were so sensitive and when she masturbated, they were where she began and where she ended. Trembling, she did as he asked. With lazy circular motions, she circled her breasts – rubbing, caressing. Then, she cupped them, kneading and shaping, molding them between her fingers. He watched, his tongue busy on her clit.

“More,” he demanded. “Touch your nipples.”

His voice was like an aphrodisiac. As if hypnotized, she took her nipples between her fingers and began to rub – tweaking them, pulling them, squeezing, milking. The more she stimulated her nipples, the harder her clit began to throb.

Rogue was enthralled. The sight of her pleasuring her own tits made him crazy. He latched back on to the little bundle of nerves and sucked hard.

Kit squirmed, she couldn’t be still. What he was doing to her was too much. The more she petted and played with her nipples, the more voraciously he sucked. “Rogue,” she whispered his name. She was on fire. She needed…him. “Rogue, please!”

“Don’t stop, I’m not through,” he instructed, his voice hoarse. “Pull those sweet nipples, beg me to suck them.”

Beg? Her whole body was begging. She was heated, blushing. Her breasts were aching and her pussy was creamy wet. Kit tried to tell him, she wanted to tell him. “God, Rogue, I need you,” she sobbed. As if she were caught up in an out of body experience, Kit seemed to rise above herself. All she could do was compare this wanton sexual creature to the one who had stood cringing as Rogue had judged her unworthy. How could she reconcile the two?

Rogue moved closer, his mouth closing tightly over her clit, his hands pushing hers out of the way. He gripped her nipples between his own fingers – tweaking, twisting, pulling, milking – while at the same time he sucked hard on her clit. So hard that she dissolved, she melted, pleasure flooded her loins. A need that had wound into a tight erotic knot suddenly unfurled and she splintered apart into the oblivion of a mind-blowing orgasm.

Before she could even think of coming down from the peak, Rogue stood, fisted his own cock and grasped her hips, thrusting home. Kit was lost in a haze of ecstasy. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “Rogue!”

This woman would be the death of him. Rogue understood this. Never had he been so desperate to mate, so desperate to merge. He bellowed her name, “Kit, baby,” even as he pumped inside of her, fucking her so hard that the couch was almost torn from the bolts holding it to the floor of the plane.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

“Never,” he hissed, pulling out and flipping her onto her belly, wrapping an arm around her body. Seeming to know what he wanted, she held herself up on hands and knees as he gave her support. With a possessive snarl, he pounded back inside of her, splitting her open like a ripe peach, thrusting deep.

Kit melted, she tilted her ass up and laid her head down on her forearms. “Fuck me, Rogue. Fuck me hard!”

Rogue covered her, molding himself to her body, one hand reaching up to palm her breasts. His touch spiked her need once more. She was at his mercy, an instrument for his playing. Looking back over her shoulder, she sought his eyes, needing to know what he was thinking.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” he whispered as he ground into her pussy, undulating his hips in luscious figure eights. “You’re addictive. I want to fuck you all the time. I can’t get you out of my head. Being inside of you is all I can think of.”

Kit didn’t know if it was the relentless pounding of her pussy, the filling, the stretching, the possessing. Or if it was his words, the idea that she held Rogue Walker in the palm of her hand that made her explode. She shook and trembled. Rogue wrapped her in his arms and kept her safe, even as he ravished her body. Kit didn’t know where she ended and he began. She didn’t want to know – she didn’t want this to end. Clawing the couch, she pushed back against him – over and over – impaling herself on his cock, opening herself wider for him to plunge in and fill her to the brim.

Rogue was blind with pleasure. His cock sank into her again and again, deep into her lush hot pussy. As his whole body shook with pure unadulterated bliss, he felt Kit begin to quake. Beneath him, she was convulsing in a climax so hard he was afraid she’d shatter into a million pieces. And he followed her, right over the edge.

Long moments passed as he held her, kissing her smooth, silky back. “So good, you’re so good, so beautiful.” As he praised her, held her, letting her calm down and her breathing ease, Rogue realized they hadn’t needed a plane to fly.

Here’s the cover and the poster – watch for our releases in May, 2015.

posterdw rogue2

 

 

About sablehunter

Sable Hunter writes erotic romance. She writes what she likes to read and enjoys putting her fantasies on paper. Her stories are emotional reads where the heroine is faced with challenges, like one of her favorite songs – she’s holding out for a hero – and boy, can she deliver a hero. Her aim is to write a story that will make you laugh, cry and sweat. If she can wring those emotions out of a reader, then she has done her job. She grew up in south Louisiana along the mysterious bayous where the Spanish moss hangs thickly over the dark waters. The culture of Louisiana has shaped her outlook on life and made its way into her novels where the supernatural is entirely normal. Presently, Sable lives in Texas and spends most of her time in wild and wonderful Austin. She is passionate about animals and has been known to charm creatures from a one ton bull to a family of racoons. For fun, Sable has been known to haunt cemeteries and battlefields armed with night-vision cameras and digital recorders hunting proof that love survives beyond the grave.She writes for Secret Cravings Publishing as well as publishes much of her own work. Join her in her world of magic, alpha heroes, sexy cowboys and hot, steamy, to-die-for sex. Step into the shoes of her heroines and escape to places where dreams can come true and orgasms only come in multiples.
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6 Responses to WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? Sable is carrying on and giving you a sexy excerpt

  1. Clare O'Beara says:

    A TISSUE as you say above would be written atichoo or achoo, meaning a sneeze. People didn’t have tissues during the Great Death. But yes, that was a plague song. Goosey goosey gander is to do with Cromwell’s forces invading and seizing property during the English Civil War and turbulence that followed. Little Jack Horner is a reference to a wealthy man of the day getting a favour of good lands granted to him – he stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum.
    And pop goes the weasel, is a reference to pawnbroker dealings – pop – as that’s the way the money goes. Too little money to buy the tuppenny rice means getting some from Pop, also referred to as Uncle, but the money has to go back to him next time you have money, so it goes around. The weasel might have been a stuffed weasel or a live ferret, or a fur garment.
    Sure enough it could be dangerous to speak out against authority, so this is how the people satirised the nobility and remarked upon living conditions.

  2. carol L says:

    It’s amazing what we thought were adorable nursery rhymes were actually horrific tales. 🙂 But I’ll take Rogue anyway I can. lol. That’s one hot man.
    Carol L
    Lucky4750 (at) aol (dot) com

  3. Ann says:

    UMMMM hurry up with Rogue!

  4. Shirley Long says:

    Lord have mercy, that was one HOT excerpt. And we have to wait till May? Can’t have him any sooner, huh? Well, ok. I know he will be worth waiting for.
    Amazing what you can learn about nursery rhymes. And yes, we all sang them and then sang them to our kids and in my case, grandkids and great granddaughter. Guess I better go back to singing country music instead. 🙂

  5. Cindy Hamilton says:

    On My!! What an exerpt!!! HOT!!

  6. alisab8 says:

    Can’t wait for Rogue. He seems to fit his name perfectly.

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