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(Amazon US/UK only) – Buy it here

“This is erotic fiction of the highest calibre. Bey Deckard is a brilliant writer in my opinion. His imagination is incredible and his stories original and intelligently told. I absolutely loved every single one of his previous books, but Exposed has taken Bey Deckard to another level and this is, in my opinion, his best work to date. Fantastic and enthralling and captivating and arousing from the first word to the last.” —Books Laid Bare Boys

“I absolutely loved every moment of this story. It grabbed me from the get-go and I didn’t want to put it down. Sweet and kinky (with an age gap to boot!) is a win-win for me and Bey Deckard balanced it perfectly here.” —Sinfully Gay Romance Book Reviews

“The chemistry between Greg and Emyr is instant and amazing. I was so into them as individuals and as a couple and all that comes with that. The sweet and sexy kink, the hurt/comfort, the Daddy/good boy and just everything. I truly have no idea what I am saying or how to properly review this because it was so much and I gorged hard core on this book.”
“Overall, a great read that I’m happy to add to my favorites of 2017 list.” —Boy Meets Boy Reviews

“Exposed is a wonderful May/December story with a side of Daddy kink that will make your heart melt.” —The Blogger Girls

“I knew this would be an amazing book because I love all of this authors work, what I didn’t expect was to fall in love with these characters so completely! Bey really knows how to draw you into a story like you are living it with the characters!” —Bike Book Reviews

Exposed is actually quite a gentle love story with a lot of hidden extras thrown in – as you would expect from Bey […] I would highly recommend Exposed.” —Love Bytes Reviews

The Wanderer – Part Two

<< Read Part One

The only thing in front of me is a huge field of red and it takes five groggy seconds to realize I’m looking at the insides of my eyelids. It hurts like hell to scrape away the caked dust, and when I finally manage to pry my eyes open, the lids part like I’m tearing open a wound. I can’t hold back, but my throat’s so parched my cry sounds like a death rattle.

Blinking, I try to figure out what I’m seeing beyond my bloodied fingertips, but it doesn’t make a lick of sense. My vision’s murky—like I’m peering through a jar of cloudy piss—but it looks like there’s a whole lot of distance between me and the ground… which doesn’t seem likely since I can feel the dirt under my cheek.

I squint and freeze when I finally recognize what I’m staring at: the cliff wall opposite. I’m lying on the very edge of a yawning chasm, my face an inch from the void. Lifting my head slowly, I can barely make out the blurry, jagged rocks below.

I’d been plodding along for hours, trying to out-walk the dust storm, blind in the stinging yellow cloud, and I must have collapsed. I’m damn lucky I didn’t go over the cliff.

Or am I? It could have meant an end to my purgatory.

Groaning, I turn with some difficulty onto my back. I can never decide whether I’m still alive because I’m too much of a coward to end it, or because I don’t think I deserve such an easy escape.

I’ve got my eyes closed again. I can’t help it. I’m fucking exhausted and my eyeballs feel sticky. Blinking is becoming impossible. Maybe it’s the end after all.


I’m rocking slowly. Voices… overlapping.

“Careful with his head—”

“Watch it—”

“Take it slow, Jessup. Watch your step—”

“Doesn’t he look like—”

No, it can’t be—”

“I think it is, I think it’s the—”

I struggle to sit up, but I can’t open my eyes. They’re glued shut again. A cool hand touches my arm.

“It’s all right, friend. Peace.” The voice is male. Young. Another hand presses my shoulder. I hear a whimper and recognize it as my own. My skin feels like it’s been tenderized. I’m too tired to do anything except lay back down again and let them carry me away.


The sun wakes me up and for a few moments I have no idea where I am. Then, I remember the voices and I frown. Peace. I’m not sure I know what that means anymore.

I’m in some sort of small round tent. The walls are brown canvas and the ground is bare beneath an orange and yellow braided rug, the same kind they sell to tourists on every shitty planet I’ve been to.

I’m lying on a pallet no thicker than a folded blanket, but it’s the softest thing I’ve slept on in weeks. My eyes still sting, the lids raw and gummy, and my mouth is as dry as a desert, but it looks like I’m going to live.

The tent flap opens, and I’m blinded by the light—the figure beyond is nothing but a dark blob until it enters and the canvas falls close behind it. When my vision clears, and I see who my visitor is, I sigh and rub my sore, sandblasted face, squeezing my eyes shut despite the pain. Just my luck… seems I’ve been rescued by a damned cult—the man’s a Disciple of Rime. But, truthfully, as far as cults go, Rimers are probably the best I could have hoped for. For one, I know they didn’t drag my sorry corpse out of the wastelands just so they could eat me—cannibals, they are not.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice gentle.

I crack my lids open again and peer at him. “Water,” I rasp.

“Of course,” he says and calls over his shoulder to someone standing outside. He looks no more than sixteen, but it’s impossible to tell how old Rimers are. The drugs they take to give them visions make them appear younger. They tend to be on the short side and their skin looks youthful, cheeks rosy and faces unlined. Though I figure the cultist seated in the tent is probably not as young as he looks, he can’t be very old either. Rimers don’t live past thirty—the drugs that show them God and keep them young also kill them over time.

The Rimer takes the small copper cup he’s given and slides his hand under my head to help me drink. I immediately start to cough—ironically, the water is too wet for my mouth and throat. It takes me three tries to swallow one mouthful and then I’m only given the little that’s left in the cup.

“More,” I demand, but the man shakes his head and settles me back on the pallet.

“You’ll get more later. I promise,” he says with a serene smile. “It’s best not to rush it. You were out there a long time.”

Eyes closed, I sigh my frustration. I know he’s right—I’ll be sick if I drink too much.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” he asks after a moment. “You’re—

I stop him with a growl. “I’m no one.”


“I am no one.”

I imagine by his silence that I’ve either shocked or cowed him, but then he lets out a soft chuckle. “All right, friend. As you say. But, you can call me Pytre.”

“Well, Pytre, either come here and suck my dick or leave me the hell alone.”

I’m being crude on purpose—Rimers take their celibacy vows seriously—but it’s not because I have a problem with their religiosity. I don’t care enough to give a shit one way or another. I just said it because I figure it’s a sure-fire way to get him out of the tent. I’m in pain and pain makes me cranky. I’ve also been feeling sorry for myself for so long that good intentions sometimes feel like a personal attack.

I open my eyes, wondering if Pytre has somehow fled without my hearing him, and see he’s just standing there, watching me, his brow wrinkled.

With his head shaved to the skin, his big ear stick out like cup handles, but he has a nice-enough face—regular, inoffensive features with a pair of large, long-lashed hazel eyes that are just pretty enough to bump him past plain. The kind of earnest face I can never say no to, regardless of whether I have to pay for it or not. When he still hasn’t moved, I squeeze my cock through my pants and sneer.

“It’s not going to suck itself.”

I’m talking out of my ass, of course. Even if he was game and I could manage to get it up in my enfeebled state, I should probably hang onto the precious little liquid I have left in my body.

Indifferent to my taunts, Pytre just ducks his chin and says “I’ll be back in a little while with more water. Try to rest,” in a kind voice before leaving me alone.

Unflappable son of a bitch. I turn over carefully on my side to get more comfortable and notice something: I’m curious about Pytre.

I can’t remember the last time I was actually curious about anything.


The next two days I spend sleeping and drinking as much liquid as my body will allow. Pytre visits me twice as often as the others—the way they defer to him makes me believe he’s either in charge or close to it. One thing’s for certain, he’s definitely not the fresh-faced sixteen-year-old his appearance would have you believe.

By day three, I’m allowed a meal I can chew and fuck if it isn’t glorious. It’s only some stew with chunks of protein in it, but I’m in pure heaven. When I’m nearly done, Pytre pokes his head into the tent to see how I’m getting along.

“Hey, tell you what… I’ll suck your cock, if you give me another bowl of this,” I say, my spirits buoyed by the meal.

Surprising me again, Pytre just chuckles and enters, settling himself down cross-legged on the rug to watch me finish my stew.

I’ve had to reassess my impression of him. He’s better looking than I gave him credit for… but maybe I’m so swayed by his generosity that my dick’s giving me rose-tinted glasses.

“Padre, you’ve got a great set of lips on you,” I say, then burp against the back of my hand. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Pytre lets out a laugh. “Not that I recall.”

“Yeah… they’d look great wrapped around my cock.” Shit, I don’t know why I’m talking this way. It’s like it’s become my mission to get a rise out of him.

“Since you’re feeling so ah… lively, you should come outside and take in a little fresh air,” Pytre says with his usual serene smile, but when he turns to push the tent flap open, I notice he’s flushed. Or at least I think so.

Carefully, I get to my feet, feeling a bit wobbly, and ignore the hand he holds out to assist me as I duck through the low opening. Instantly, my eyes begin to water. The sun is stronger and clearer than I’ve ever seen it, though maybe it’s just because I’ve been holed up in a tent for days. Wiping my streaming eyes, I look around in amazement at all the green I’m surrounded by.

“How…” I manage, shaking my head. “But, where are you getting the water?” I’m absolutely stunned. This is supposed to be a barren moon, but the field of vegetation must be three, maybe four acres across. I turn and raise a hand to shade my face. It’s green as far as the eye can see in the other direction.

“We sacrifice a virgin to Rime on the first of every month and he grants us rain.”

Startled, I look over at the cultist but he’s just staring out over the field looking completely at peace with himself. After a moment, Pytre glances over at me, and his youthful face cracks into a mischievous smile.

“We have a trade deal with the Argonaus Station for wastewater,” he says.

“You made a joke.”

“I’m known to do that on occasion.” His expression turns serious. “Come, you should lie down. I don’t want you to tire yourself out.”

Instead of a quip about how I’d like to tire myself out, I accept his arm for support.

Maybe it’s the millions of green leaves waving in the wind around us or maybe Pytre’s unrelenting friendliness is getting to me, I don’t know… but something’s changed.

[to be continued…]


Sale! Buy Max today for .99 (Amazon US/UK only)

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Buy the kindle version (and add the audiobook at the whispersynced discount)

Friday the 13th Flash Sale: Better the Devil You Know for .99 (US/UK only)

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(please heed the warnings)

Weekend sale! Get Caged for .99 at Amazon (US/UK)

Get it today for .99! (and while you’re there… you can add the audio for a fraction of the full price)

Beauty and His Beast – Now in Audiobook

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Look! A double sale: Caged and Exposed for .99 (US/UK only)

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Crappy Winter Weather Sale – Beauty and His Beast

Cold weather got you down? Snuggle up with Marrex and Juniper! :D

On sale for .99 from January 5-7 at Amazon (US and UK only)

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On reworking an old fairy tale

I’ve been in a terrible mood this last year… writing has been largely like pulling teeth. The WIP I’ve been working on (Charlie) had me neck deep in research to the point where I wasn’t writing at all for days. So, I decided to stitch together an ode to my favourite odd couple, Beauty and the Beast, to cheer myself up.

My mom read a lot to me as a kid. All kinds of books… but I tended to gravitate towards this one illustrated copy of Beauty and the Beast (Deborah Apy) based on the 1756 version by Madame Le Prince de Beaumont that I mentioned in my last post.

I still have the book… it’s a little tattered and torn and the pages have darkened a bit, and the illustrations have gone murkier than they were before, but it’s what I consider one of my few cherished possessions. I loved the fact that the castle was immense and empty. I loved the idea of the mysterious hidden garden. It made me laugh how terribly angsty and melodramatic the Beast was… and it creeped me out to no end that he would stand there staring at Beauty while she slept: “…the Beast walked to the side of Beauty’s bed and looked at her longingly. He stood this way, for many hours, blood dripping from his hands.”

One of the most amusing parts was that in all the illustrations, the Beast was always done up in what looked like fancy bathrobes.

©1980 and 1983 by Michael Hague

The story was weird and I loved it. But, it wasn’t without its faults… for one, Beauty was a complete airhead. It made me wonder, more and more as I got older, what the Beast saw in her. I also didn’t like the nightly marriage proposals.

Oh… and I hated these two:

©1980 and 1983 by Michael Hague

Adele and Jeanette, Beauty’s sisters, two utterly despicable creatures. I never got why they were so horrible to Beauty… but then, that’s the nature of a lot of fairy tales—you have little backstory and characterizations tend to be exaggerated.

I could have gone dark with my version (and I may yet one day) but I wanted the first out of my fairy tale collection (because yes… there are more) to be a nice break from the seriousness of other things I’m writing, a break from the atrocities happening in the world, and something to put a smile on my face. And it worked. I love this silly story. :)

It’s a mix of the Apy/Beaumont version and the Disney one. I actually considered putting in a Gaston type character, but it felt superfluous. Instead, I went with a small cast, stuck close to the original Beauty and the Beast plot but added the much needed comic relief that the Disney version brought with the talking furniture sidekicks crossed with those from The Black Hole: A Spaceship Adventure for Robots. Then I filled it with sci fi and fantasy movie references and made the sisters a wee bit less evil. Oh and Juniper Bo might not be the bookworm that Belle is in the Disney version, but he’s definitely not the birdbrain that is Apy’s Beauty… and Marrex is a touch less melodramatic than Apy’s Beast. ;)

©1980 and 1983 by Michael Hague

Anyway, Beauty and His Beast available now at Amazon for kindle and in Paperback, and it’s in Kindle Unlimited for the time being. Michael Ferraiuolo will be doing the audiobook narration and that should be available in the new year.

If you’re interested in the version with Hague’s illustrations, you can find it at AbeBooks or at Amazon.

Hopefully my next book will be along shortly… Will it be Charlie? Or will it be something else I’ve been writing called The Blacksmith’s Apprentice?


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