Neale Sourna's Hobble Additional Excerpts

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Neale Sourna’s HOBBLE [An Adult Fiction]

        Mama warned me to stay away from crazy girls. Peculiarly, she'd done that more than once.


        "Hoppy" was right — she was "confusing" me. Terribly. Probably detrimentally.

        Day, this child-woman, whom I'd seen come to tears over the decision of which fruit preserve to put on her peanut butter and potato bread sandwich, knew exactly what she wanted, when it came to me, despite having been treated harshly, in ways I can't and don't want to imagine.

        Her violent affections for me frightened me. Mine … mine for her frightened me even more. Most times I was swept up in her like driftwood in a Gulf/Caribbean hurricane battering the Yucatan shore; caught in a force of nature, that was wild, emotional, and beyond deadly.

        There was something truly addicting about that for me, and I don't have an addictive personality. At least I'd never thought so. Not until her.


"Hobble is a story of lust and obsessive sex ... I was so moved ... I went back to my (Franklin) dictionary .. .hobble means to limp along ... to impede ... to tie-up, shackle or leash ... all of [which] were used in this steamy story, of sex, incest and betrayal!"


        I ran much earlier than usual the next morning, then breezed past Day expectantly waiting for me on the sofa. I relocked myself in and called the hotel, which still held my room. No, no arrival yet, sir. Thank you. Click. I went to the kitchen, when I knew both Day and Mrs. G were elsewhere, and was heading back to shelter, when I spotted the pretty blonde woman outside speaking cheerily to Day.

        I couldn't hear either of them; but, I could tell by their respective demeanors that the blonde liked Day, and that Day hated the blonde's presence. I went out in time to have my hostess glare at me, before she guardedly crept down the stairs, while holding tight of the rail, to sit on the last step, strip her feet bare, and bury them up past the scars in the warm sand.

        "Gee, Stephie, still have your winning way with people, do yah?" If you think Day's a bitch, when she doesn't get her way, you've never spent time with my twin sister, who couldn't keep her eyes to herself.

        "Your Day has a good eye. Identified me right away and I look nothing like that ancient locket photo. And we certainly don't look alike, shaggy. Tell me you didn't toss the expensive travel razor I gave you, while you've been purging your very enviable life." I hugged her from behind, as she put an arm back around me, a standard stance for us.

        "You like her."

        "Snake Boy, she's gorgeous, and a more petulant bitch than I am."

        "Yes and … maybe. Stop staring at her. You're always trying to steal away the other women in my life." We'd let each other go, as Steph peeked in the house before gazing again at the back of Day's windtossed curls, then dipped her eyes to thoroughly view again the rest of Day, who intently ignored us both.

        "You always have great taste, Benn. This one's even managing to look delicious with no makeup and absolutely nothing on under that frumpy potato sack of a dress. Even so, she must be incredible in the sack to have both my Bennet's swelled heads on backward, so swiftly. She does look like a definite gotta - have - her - latex - free - lay, though. Am I right or am I right?"

        My Stephie is not subtle or able to speak below a stage whisper.

        "Not here. Checked in yet?"

        "No. Came straight here in the cab."


        "Like I instruct my cardiology students everyday, how else am I to give you viable advice, little brother, without examining, up close and personal, the voluptuous subject in question?"

        Stephanie's three minutes older than I am, which makes her at least three minutes more know - it - all. I visibly clammed up, so she knew, if the conversation were to go any further, she'd have to play on my terms. Passive aggressiveness works on bossy older siblings. I let her in, so she could see I wasn't being strung up and tortured; not physically anyway. She ducked into Day's room, behind my back. When I caught up to her, she was going through the woman's things.

        "Well, she most certainly knows the way to get down on her knees and suck the bucks out of a sugar daddy." The mental visual of that sentence was just too annoyingly close to….

        "Steph, not everyone loves a dollar, as much as you and Dad. Hey. Get out of there!"

        "No, really, guano brain, your woman has no panties! I don't see one pair. Or a bra." I'd never seen a pair, on or off Day, never thought about it—. "And, oh, please, Benn, you do pretty damned well yourself getting a dollar. Or would that now be an English pound?"

        If I had thought about Day's panties, I'd have assumed she didn't wear them at home or—.

        Stephie was laughing at me, which cured my preoccupation. I tossed my rental keys to her to go out and put her bags and herself in the car. I stopped beside Day, who was still feigning indifference, as I stooped down, to speak eye to eye.

        "I'm putting Stephanie in my room at the hotel, I'll be there a while. I need to talk to her."

        "About me ... about … all of us?"

        "Yeah." Of course. What else?

        "She doesn't like me."

        "Stephie likes you just fine."

        "Not like that. Not sexually." Uncannily quick instincts, this girl. "She doesn't like that I have you. Period." The truth of that statement made me wince, on so many levels.

        "I won't be gone forever, just a few hours." She grabbed my wrist.

        "Don't leave me here. Alone. With Hopkins." She did a very good job, Oscar® caliber, but I could feel, I knew, she wasn't afraid of him. She wanted to manipulate me. I pried her fingers from me.

        "No histrionics, Day. Just … continue doing whatever it is you … need to do with ... 'Hoppy.' That's ... your business. I need to be with my sister for a while—."

        The bitch hit me; a full-knuckled backhand across the face, hard as she could. It didn't get the response she wanted, so she leaned back from me. She didn't exactly shrink in fear from me; but, she definitely got back; proof that that little bitch was very tough. I've seen men, larger and stronger than myself, run from me, when I'm abruptly like this. I spat out bloodied saliva onto the sand at her feet, realizing she'd planned to make me red or white hot angry; unfortunately for her, my rage was a cold, colorless one.

        "Try and stop me today, try and get me back here before I want to come back, and I won't come back ... to you. Ever. Am I bluffing, now?" Day was plainly anxious, as I waited, blank in my anger, until she sadly, almost imperceptibly, shook her head "no".

        I left.


        She pouted deeply, staring at me, as if nauseated, as if I'd betrayed her. She had a mute point; I was quite apparently on "Hoppy's" side, whatever that exactly entailed, following his maxim of "his house, his rules", full against her in this critical thing. She sat back into the lamp's bright light, yet her expression retreated into sheer darkness, as she emotionally sharply withdrew from me, which I didn't like but didn't mind, because there was absolutely no way she could stay angry with me for very long.

        Which proved to be a slight miscalculation on my part. The next three withdrawal-like nights and days — without her connecting with me in any substantive way, as she refused my presence, my very existence — those hours, minutes, seconds would feel interminably long.

        I once again let her have her way, knowing that whenever she wanted me again or felt I was about to be lost to her, she'd seduce me, entrap me in her fully addicting, mind and body enslaving way. Having Day in charge of me is not the worse thing I've ever had happen to me in my life. Neither is having her suddenly appear, in her thinnest robe, with a sheer stocking dangling from her hand. Didn't realize she had any. I was on my third sleepless night in a row, sitting on the sofa with my pained head in my hands, when she dropped the nylon in my lap.

        She knelt on the sofa beside me and slipped her naked fingers through my hair, along my touch-deprived scalp and temples, gently massaging them and down my piercingly aching spine, as my head nestled against her soft, fragrant bosom. Even if she hadn't touched me, just her mere presence, her barest, slimmest attention to me would've eased my entire universe.

        Day sat down beside me and without preamble put her knowledgeable, stocking covered palm to my lonely crotch, and took me. It wouldn't take long-make up or torture, it wouldn't take long. Her instructing me to tell her when I was cumming was nearly ludicrous, she already … she knows me ... knows my body too well not to…. I could barely form the words anyway, before she slipped her warm mouth around me to catch the hot, plentiful spill, then straddled me and soul kissed me, sharing the taste of my own spunk.

        I'd eat my own shit off her tongue.

        She also gave me that leading look, which I could and never will be able to describe but always felt … can still feel, like a warm, delicious breeze over naked skin. Following her to the kitchen, she both ignored me, yet enticed me, while simply pouring out apple juice and drinking it. Then, she leaned, elbows on the center counter … just … leaned … presenting. I pulled up the tail of her thin robe and took her slowly and thoroughly, with tongue and finger and cock, savoring every bit of her, every new moment with her, caching to long-term memory every sensation she drew from me.

        I heard Mrs. G drive up to start her workday, as Day came hard and took me over that heady, dizzying cliffdiving edge with her. Then, she huskily whispered, "I'm not done with you yet," before leaving me to pick up her dressing gown and shake off my pants that were suddenly choking my ankles too much for a quick escape. I swiped up our spills with the robe and ducked into my room with her, before Mrs. G had the misfortune of catching my naked ass.

        I closed and locked my door, and tried to slow down … the lack of sleep, the distress of the last few days, the sudden onslaught to my sexual senses of this beautiful woman. I almost never call her "beautiful"; she doesn't like that. Day suspects deceit in those who flatter her too much; even with the truth. Moreover, it's obvious from my eyes that I love the look of her.

        I decided a while back that she was the most dangerous kind of beauty, in that she radiates it from within besides having the perfect surface; the two types of beauty together is the deadly part. More deadly for her than me, perhaps, because of having gotten her into things and involved with people she has not wholly wished to be involved with.

        I was still standing aside, watching Day a long while, as she lay on my … her … our mattress, the thick futon on the floor, a pillow under her pelvis as she lay on her stomach, feet scissoring over her round, brown tush. Despite her being pissed with me these last few days, I'd noticed her ankles had been stronger of late, her limping less pronounced. My interrelationship skills-nay. My medical skills-yay.

        Her knuckles were propping up her chin, as she gazed at me, gazing up and down me. Her gaze is like an intimate physical touch of the hand or more like someone blowing their soft breath across the most vulnerable parts of you-I have mentioned that before, haven't I? She was indulging me now, as I postponed going to her, because she knew she had my … full attention or at least enough of it that I wouldn't be wondering off anywhere. Day excels at getting a lover's full attention….


        I had a somewhat nasty, self-centered thought — as beautiful as she is, she is most beautiful when her face is suffused with enjoyment … preferably, the enjoyment of her climaxing all around me, with me doing likewise deep, tight, and cozy inside her.


        Half Native American medical professional BENNET GILLESPIE'S off track life dangerously spirals, as his compulsive sexual and love entanglement with DAY, a knife-happy African American innocent, and her overbearing, elderly British guardian / stepfather threatens to cost Benn more than his life.
        Is Benn falling in love or is he just "having the hottest sex" he's ever had with the seductive cripple with the childlike, homicidal mind?
        Will Benn take her away, before her stepfather, who's keeping his stepdaughter as his sex slave, sends her back to lockdown, far from Benn?
        Or before the girl takes matters into her own hands, and kills, again?


[Fiction / Adult Fiction / Adult Erotica / Explicit / Erotica for Women / Dark Sensual Romance / Erotica / Spiritual Sex / Dark Romantic Erotica / Dark Romantica™ / Paranormal / Psychological Erotica / Spiritual Erotica / Multiracial / Interracial / Literary Fiction]


 Benn: "Sex with Day is fun, exciting, and risky. It's not just her and me. She has another lover, too, her stepfather, who hates me, but needs me, because beautiful Day needs me; and does what I say. I can go anywhere, have anyone, but still this childlike woman holds me here."

Day: "I need Benn, and I love Benn. I'll tell the world and show the world I want him, and that makes him want me more; my open, shameless, prideless need and desire for him. He's a player and I know it, but that's exactly what I need, to get away. From him, from Hoppy."

Hopkins: "The boy thinks he can take her away, but he can't, she's my property, and if he tries, I'll sic the law on him. But, curse him, he must remain, I must keep him here, with us, to let her seduce him, over and over again, and drive him mad, until he burns like a sinner on fire in Hell, just like me; because this foul triangle of sex and madness and wrong hopes, secures her more to me, than anything I ever did to her before, and certainly more than if he were gone."


[Fiction / Adult Fiction / Adult Erotica / Explicit / Erotica for Women / Dark Sensual Romance / Erotica / Spiritual Sex / Dark Romantic Erotica / Dark Romantica™ / Paranormal / Psychological Erotica / Spiritual Erotica / Multiracial / Interracial / Literary Fiction]

Award-winning Neale Sourna's HOBBLE!

        Yippee and huzzah!!  My baby, HOBBLE [An Adult Novel], won the award:  


        What a surprise!  Thank you so much. The award certificate looks "mahhhvelous," don't you think?  Thank you, Dolores Thornton; thank you,, for this sehr tres cool honor.


Read Excerpts

Critics' Reviews!

 "Dipping into several genres from erotica to mystery, even sprinkling a little comedy into the mix, Sourne created a story like no other. This ... tale had me shaking my head in astonishment and I can honestly say I never read anything like Hobble before.

        Sourne wrote a novel with such a large supply of twist and turns it'll have you dropping your mouth in shock. But be forewarned, Hobble has a crazy mix of characters.... Some of the sex scenes had me (a person who loves erotica) squirming.

        Although the book is racy, it was an interesting read and should be picked up by anyone who enjoys reading something different from the norm."

—Joy Farringdon, Nubian Sistas Review

READ Full Review

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"Hobble is a story of lust and obsessive sex ... I was so moved ... I went back to my (Franklin) dictionary ... hobble means to limp along ... to impede ... to tie-up, shackle or leash ... all of [which] were used in this steamy story, of sex, incest and betrayal!"

—Delores Thornton, Reviews

READ Delores' full review

[A Review]

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More Reviews 

YB Free - Reviewed By: Jennifer Walford

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READ Jordan Duke of ScriptCLEVELAND'S written informative

        INTERVIEW: Jan 2003, Neale Sourna's HOBBLE

Handsome JD's HOBBLE rating:

        "compelling", "very sensual & spicy", "a terribly sexy, erotic, and guy friendly, um, romance". 

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