OS: Welcome to Julie!
Good morning, and thanks to Morgan and Open Skye Book Reviews for having me on their blog! I have a new book coming out with Dreamspinner this month. No Way Out is my first foray into the world of BDSM.
For an author, inspiration is essential. It’s kind of hard to write without it. On the other hand, the nice thing is that there are many ways to become inspired, and some of them are even accidental. Sometimes it’s an overheard part, part of a conversation, or a phrase that just catches your attention. An image on television, or on the Internet. A photo in an album or someone’s T-shirt that has a funny saying or picture. Whatever it is, it kickstarts something in your brain that starts to ask what if? What if that happened, what would things be like? What kind of person would say something like that? So many ideas, so little time.
I got the inspiration for No Way Out while driving through my neighborhood one day, going home. Just casually glancing around as I drove, I noticed a tableau, just in passing—a young person kneeling beside a car, washing it, while an older person stood behind them, perhaps supervising. Nothing odd or suspicious there. Something quickly seen and then I was past it.
But that scene stuck in my head for some reason. I believe the person washing the car was a young girl, I’m not sure. But in my head it became a young man. And the stern figure standing behind him was no father figure, but a dominant lover. And I suddenly realized this was an idea for something in the realm of BDSM.
I’d never written in that genre before, but I decided to go with it, see where it led. The young man became Shylor, who was a sub, and the man twice his age was Randy, a Dom. I knew from the beginning their relationship was not natural in some way, that Shy was trapped. Shy would need to be rescued from his predicament, and so Wyatt came into being, his would-be knight in shining armor. Another young man who was house-sitting just across the street.
I had a lot of fun writing this story and learning about BDSM. I had friends I turned to who made sure I stayed on the right path, and looked over everything I wrote. I set the story in St. Louis, where I live, although the club I created was entirely of my making. I’ve never been to such a club and wouldn’t even know how to go about doing that.
So, from a brief glimpse of some people in my neighborhood, a novel was born. Sometimes you just don’t know where inspiration will come from, but don’t hesitate to seize it and run with it!
Have you ever wondered about what might have been the inspiration for your favorite books? Have you ever been inspired to do something unexpected? I’d love to hear about it!
Thanks again for having me here!
Wyatt Findley is an up-and-coming artist, attending a prestigious art institute in St. Louis. His mentor, Lukas Callahan, has snagged a sweet house-sitting job for him in a gorgeous home in a well-to-do part of town. Wyatt notices two men who live just across the street. They make an odd couple, since there must be a good twenty years difference between them. And yet there is something about the younger man that calls to Wyatt
Shylor Lind has been living with Randy Grant for fifteen years, ever since Grant hired Shy’s mother as his live-in housekeeper. But five years ago, their relationship changed when Shy’s mother sold him to Grant and took the money and ran. Since then, Randy has been training Shy in how to be his submissive, dominating him in every way. There is nothing Shy can do about the situation, and he has nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
And then Wyatt enters his life… and nothing will ever be the same, as Wyatt engages in a battle for Shy’s very soul.
The author is donating 10% of the royalties from this book to No Kid Hungry. Visit nokidhungry.org for more information about this organization.
THE SILVER rims gleamed. The afternoon sun bounced off the highly polished surface, directly into Shylor’s eyes. He never flinched, never showed his discomfort in any way. The muscles in his arms ached, and his shoulders threatened to spasm if they didn’t receive a little relief from the relentless effort he’d been expending all morning.
But Shylor refused to give up. Failure was not an option with him. Failure came with its own consequences, and not of the pleasant variety. Was there a pleasant variety anymore? If so, that was so long ago he’d forgotten how good it might have felt. At the moment, all he could focus on was the potential for pain. The possibility of being reprimanded. And damned if he was going to let that happen. Especially over something as trivial as how he washed Randy’s expensive set of wheels.
He wasn’t aware he’d stopped moving until a cold voice from behind prompted him. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.” Icy fingers traveled down Shylor’s spine—or what passed for one. He would have been hard put to find that anymore. Zoologically speaking, he could probably be classified as an invertebrate, something belonging to the order of cowards. Was there a special species known as weaklings? If so, he must rank somewhere pretty high among them, he figured.
He never turned, never acknowledged the rebuke. He knew it wasn’t expected of him. He also knew what he would see, should he do so. Randy Grant. Six foot, silver hair that matched his expensive luxury sedan. Eyes of a changeable gray that reflected his mood and his pleasure. Sometimes they were tranquil seas that seemed almost an icy blue, and at those times Shylor could almost… but not quite… believe that Randy cared about him.
It was the other times, when the gray turned into dark and turbulent clouds, that Shylor knew he was in for a world of pain, and at those times there was nothing he could do to ameliorate the situation. All he could do was grit his teeth and bear it, wait for the storm to pass.
Randy Grant was forty years old, twice Shylor’s age. To the business world, he presented the image of a successful entrepreneur as the founder and driving force behind one of the city’s most creative marketing agencies: Granting Your Wishes. They called him the Silver Fox, because of his prematurely gray hair, but on Randy it looked good. He had a smile that charmed the pants off everyone he met—figuratively and literally. And he had a body to die for. Well, he should—he worked very hard at maintaining it. Having the money for an expensive personal gym couldn’t hurt anyone, and neither did having a personal trainer who supervised his exercise regime and a dietician who made sure he ate very well and very healthy. Shylor wasn’t fooled, though. Randy controlled every move. He knew exactly what he was doing every step of the way, and he reveled in his control.
Inside the bedroom and out.
Shylor’s labors were exacerbated in no small way by the presence of a foreign object nestled inside of him. He felt it whenever he moved, pressed against his channel, a constant reminder of Randy’s dominance. Purple and ridged, the butt plug was designed to remind Shylor just who he belonged to, and what purpose he served in the scheme of things, even as it prepared him to be plowed later, at Randy’s whim.
He supposed it could have been worse. At least Randy hadn’t demanded he wear the one with the wolf tail. That one was a specialty item, particularly popular with fetishists and furries. Randy was among the latter. He’d had costumes specially made for both of them, and had devised elaborate scenarios for their use. Cosplay at its kinkiest.
Shylor had never met anyone like Randy. He had mesmerized him from the beginning, drawn Shy into his world, and into his bed. And now he was locked there, for all eternity.
After the things he’d done, who else could possibly want Shylor? Randy had made him untouchable as far as other men were concerned. Shy no longer had a choice in the matter. If he ever had. Randy had been the first, and if he had his way, he would be Shy’s last.
If Randy was pleased with the way Shylor washed his car, then later he would reap a reward. Namely, by being fucked with some modicum of consideration for his own pleasure. But if not, then it would be the kowtow-to-Randy show all the way, with no regard to Shylor’s well-being or safety.
Although Shylor had a safeword, there were times when it was simply disregarded. And sometimes he forgot to use it, thinking why bother? There was no safety—there was only Randy and what he wanted. Nothing else mattered.
The sound of an engine drew his faltering attention to the street. Without thinking, Shy turned his head. They lived on a high-end cul-de-sac, and passing traffic was rare. Was he dreaming, or was that really a police car? Shy’s heart beat faster. For just a moment, he felt his liberation was at hand. Perhaps someone had noticed… someone had made a call… someone cared….
He searched for a sign that the officer behind the wheel was seeking him, Shylor. The policeman never turned his head. All he could see of him was his profile. How strong he looked… how protective. Was he going to stop, pull into the driveway?
But no, the car reached the end of the street and traversed the circular turnaround. Heading back in the other direction, it quickly disappeared from view.
Only then did Shy realize what he’d done. He stiffened, bracing himself for the inevitable. He didn’t know what form his punishment would take—retribution came in many forms, and Shy was familiar with them all.
His heart pounded, his breath coming in short gasps in anticipation.
Just do it. Get it over with. Please….
He felt Randy move closer, waited for the pain.
An unexpected shadow fell across the sedan, coming from the wrong direction. From the street, not behind him.
Shy looked up in confusion.
“Is something wrong?”
Julie Lynn Hayes lives in St. Louis with her daughter Sarah, who is a grad student at the University of Illinois. She first began to write over fifty years ago, and doesn’t see that stopping anytime soon. She likes to write in different genres, to stretch herself in order to see what is possible. When someone tells her something can’t be done, she feels compelled to do it. Much of her writing is in the m/m romance category.
When she isn’t writing, or working at her day job with a third party elevator inspection company, she enjoys crafts, such as cross stitch and crochet, and watching her favorite programs. Her favorite chef is Geoffrey Zakarian, and her favorite historical character is Aaron Burr—she is obsessed with all things Hamilton! Never say never is her motto!