Author's notes:

I treasure the opportunity to write these rambling Author's notes because they're spontaneous and non-linear. They are the closest I have within this story structure to address you, the reader.

They give me a sense of justification for these posts. I know Sian is a guilty pleasure to read for it is a guilty pleasure to write. No one in my family has read this, and I'm sure few if any of you have shared this your family.

I've shared it with but a few friends and don't mind at all should you point friends at it (in fact, I cherish knowing that I've more readers.)

This story is indeed a guilty pleasure. These Author's notes give me leave to think that I am somehow contributing to the reader's forebrain as well as hind.

The last reason is because I love to talk about fiction. I love to talk about movies because there's a good chance the other party has seen the same one(s). With books, that's very less often the case.

Here, I talk about fiction in the abstract. If I talk about a specific scene or specific movie, it's almost always to illustrate a more abstract point. Why this works, why that doesn't. Sadly, usually more the latter than the former. When something works in a story, we either acknowledge it while taking it for granted, or it breezes right past our consciousness.

So, I guess this means I just like to complain about fiction. Which I do. ;)

(Those of you just joining here, start with Sian 1)



Loud as the ranch pickup was on the outside, it was surprisingly muted inside. Ceili and Lavender whispered to one another. Callan could easier Hear them if so he chose, but he opted not to, instead focusing his attentions of Ressa and Locke.

"So where are we heading?"

"My place, old friend. I am tired of waiting for Marcarius to sail back into his slip. It may happen, but not for a while." He patted Ressa. "And she has some resources that are not available to you or I."

"Me, my friend."

"Eh?"

"What I think Callan means, Milord, is you should have used 'me' instead of 'I.'"

"Oh? And why do you think that, precious?"

"If you say the sentence without the 'Callan and,' would you say that I have some resources not available to I?"

"Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"I thought it was cute." She gave a honeyed chuckle.

===

"So, what are we looking at, Ressa?"

"Yachtwatcher.com."

"All right. What is it?"

Locke smiled and ran interference for his Other. "It's somewhat like trainspotting in the old country. Did you ever do that?"

Callan looked at the dawning sky. "That was Tidey's baliwick. I was busy elsewhere."

Locke gave his throat a uneasy clearing. "Ah, yes. Gordon. How was he?"

"Too busy trainspotting, I think." At that, both men laughed, though neither's was hearty or heart-felt.

Ceili gave Ressa a querying look, and received a shrug before the younger woman resumed clicking on the web page.

"There she is."

"Hm?" said three voices in unison.

"The Kestrel Reign. 72 feet, Admiralty Marine, USA. Completed 2000. There she is."

"Wow, that's a monster of a yacht, love." Ceili laid her hand on Ressa's shoulder as she leaned in to look.

"Not even close. See that MegaYacht link? She doesn't even qualify. Megas start at 100 feet and go from there."

"That's very good, Ressa. Does this have plans?"

"No, but if we're lucky... Yes! Motor and Power Yacht magazine has an article about her. You want plans? You got plans."

"Very good indeed, little one." He leaned over her other shoulder, his words soft in her ears.

"Thank you, Milord." She turned to kiss him, and Ceili took a silent step back.

Callan reached around and offered the older woman a hand. He nodded when she looked at him, and tamped down a shiver when she took it. A reassuring squeeze he imparted, then they both knew it was time to let go. He cleared his throat. "Good, that will be useful when she comes back in to dock. Any idea when that will be?"

"Don't know, don't care, hun." Her hands flew between the keyboard and mouse, a staccato of clicks in their wake. "Not when I can find where she is right now."

"You can do that?"

"Not legally. Is that going to be a problem with anyone? Thought not."

===

"Little one?"

"Yes? Hm, that still doesn't sound right." She tightened the robe. "What should I call you?"

"Will just Sir do?" His voice was flat, his demeanor quiet.

"You sure?"

He nodded, his eyes out the window.

"Sir? Sir?" She waited until his attention was back in the cabin, but not on her. "The moon is that way."

"Oh?"

"You know, that way? Moon? This way is a whole lot of ... what's out there, anyhow?"

"Regret, I think." He cinched the Egyptian cotton belt around his matching robe.

"Oh-kay. I guess you're not here."

He shook his head. "You're right. I should..." He gave a wolfish smile. "...Enjoy you while I can."

"We have years, Sir. Years and years. Right?"

"I see. You know very much what it means to be a thrall. Yes, we'll have years together. Years and years." His smile flickered, then blazed again through force of will.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, pet. Nothing."

"Don't try that Jedi mind trick on me. Something's bugging you all of a sudden. What gives?"

"Little one, why do you think that?" His voice dropped low, deliberate.

Sian's eyes flashed. "Look, I can be your mindless little puppet, like all your other thralls, or I can be the me you had the past two hours. Which will it be?"

"What do you mean, pet?"

She smiled. "I can sense you when you push, Sir. You can push me, you can make me sing, make me dance, make me cum. You can do that, and I know you did that. But, you do that, and you will never have me like you just did, Marcarius."

He reared back. His eyes hardened, burned. "You little bitch. You have no idea..."

"What, that you can kill me? Kill me with an orgasm? I'd rather die screaming like that than spend 'years and years' trapped in my body, with you pulling and pushing me this way and that."

Marcarius' flame snuffed out. "Is that what he told you? That I do that?"

Her rage abated, became merely seething. "That you use and use, and when I can't give you any more, you kill me by taking that last climax, the one I can't give. That's what you did to your last thrall, right?"

His hand grew as white as the belt it clenched. "That's what he said? Oh, by the Earth and the Sky, that little, miserable fewmet."

Sian's anger dissipated. "What do you mean?"

He took three deep breaths, then looked at her. He opened his mouth, but decided before the first word fell to breath in and out again. Twice more. Thrice. "It doesn't matter, little one. It won't matter."

"What do you mean? Don't you care what they say about you?"

"Precious, when you've lived as long as we have, someone is going to get the story wrong. It doesn't matter. It won't matter."

"What do you mean, 'won't'?"

He looked out into the moonless waters again. "Have you ever done something for the right reasons and have it turn out utterly wrong?"