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Jack Poignet

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  1. Jack Poignet
    Oddly enough, I never actually meant to write a cliffhanger. Act 1 ended with Ray‘s transformation, Act 2 ends with Timmy‘s transformation. Admittedly, I left out the gritty details, but that‘s all. In Act 3 it‘s already done.
  2. Jack Poignet
    Kind of…
  3. Jack Poignet
    The fiery face of the witch and the column of magical flame vanished like a final, contemptuous flicker sucked into a deep vacuum. An even deeper, more terrifying silence pierced the throne room. Phantom echoes rang in their ears, the stinging scent of ozone assaulted their noses and the cold ashes of deceit. The throne room felt like a tomb after the Coven’s fiery pronouncement had vanished. The thick silence was choked with unspoken fears. Rafael stood like a man turned to stone, his face
  4. Jack Poignet
    I have something better in mind… 🤫
  5. Jack Poignet
    Let‘s just say I grew up on fairytales of the Brothers Grimm 🤷‍♂️ Great, that you‘re enjoying this story. And thanks for „repaying“ me by leaving all the likes on the chapters , you‘re very kind ❤️
  6. Jack Poignet
    Late May’s unyielding sun of pressed down on New Orleans like a heavy, humid fist. It baked the new bricks of structures slowly clawing their way from the ashes and drew a feverish dampness from earth still dark and wet from recent floods. Nearly a month had passed since Etienne and Amélie had stood over Maison Noir’s foundation, a shared hope and a buried secret between them. The city’s wounds were raw, but stitching themselves closed with the frantic sound of hammers; within the Chênier h
  7. Jack Poignet
    You‘re doing way better than me, I always seem to write what people want me to write. That being said, I swear that I have already written the next chapter and @Darryl62’s wishes have nothing to do with it!!!
  8. Jack Poignet
    I‘m afraid the next chapter is only about Ray and little Timmy. but after that, there’s an interlude and then we‘re already in Act III. Things will get more interesting
  9. Jack Poignet
    As an author, I always worry that I fail to write in a way that the readers can „get“, that they get why I write some things ... the emotions, the character development etc. That why I love your comments. @VBlew just did a lovely summary that showed me that I somewhat succeeded. Of course, that doesn’t mean that his theories about the future development are any more correct than those of @akascrubber or @drsawzall 😱
  10. Jack Poignet
    The silence in their suite was a raw, gaping wound. It had only been an hour, maybe less, since Rafael’s strained voice had finally dismissed Mother, since her chilling presence had finally, blessedly, lifted from the Lodge. An hour since the immediate, chaotic aftermath of her truths, her departure, had momentarily overshadowed the even greater, more personal devastation: Gabriel was gone. He lay curled on Gabriel’s side of the bed, cheek pressed into a pillow that still held the faintest,
  11. Jack Poignet

    Chapter 3

    Jack Poignet commented on Jack Poignet's story chapter in Chapter 3

    @chris191070, @long1jo, @drsawzall, @Tris, @VBlew, @Freemantleman and @Bft, Thanks for all the kind words! After some deliberation I‘ve changed the status from „Complete“ to „Long Term Hold“. The next two chapters are well in my head, so should be written fairly soon. The big question is if/where this should be heading after that…
  12. Jack Poignet

    Chapter 1

    Jack Poignet commented on Jack Poignet's story chapter in Chapter 1

    If this is hot, then I‘m wondering how you‘ll find the rest of the story … 🤔 Enjoy
  13. Jack Poignet
    Sounds strange, but when reading I look for little details that make a world „breathe“ (and readable). Loved this one: “Why is the sugar in the fridge?” he asked, confused, while he was already fiddling with the little capsule machine. “The stuff has to go somewhere and I don't have that much space here.”
  14. Jack Poignet

    Chapter 3

    Jack Poignet commented on Jack Poignet's story chapter in Chapter 3

    Ok, that’s all I wanted to share on here of Bob‘s first time. While most of my stories contain some sex scenes, sometimes funny, sometimes rather extreme, this site should be about the story itself, not the sex. I might continue this one day on some other site (or do a full proper story? ) Thanks for reading! Edit: Obviously, there are now more chapters, but I think I stayed mostly true to the spirit of the first three chapters. Enjoy
  15. Jack Poignet
    The biker pushed himself up to a sitting position and patted the empty space on the wide leather seat of the chopper in front of him. “Sun’s good out here.” Then, with a glint in his eye, he added, “ Take a load off. You earned it.” Bob’s blush, which had receded, came rushing back, hotter this time. He looked from the biker to the chopper seat, then down at his slightly strained jockstrap. “I… I can’t, really. I mean, I’d like to, but…” He shuffled his feet. The machine truly was beautiful
  16. Jack Poignet
    24 April, 1788. The air above the recovering city, thick with humidity this late April, carried a complex perfume: the lingering smokiness of distant, burned out fires, mingling with the sharp tang of new construction. Above it all, the scent of wet earth and decay clung like a heavy musk to clothes and skin, carried into town by the annual spring floods. The river, swollen and angry from weeks of snowmelt and rain, reeked of churned-up mud, rotting vegetation, and the musty bre
  17. Jack Poignet
    As the Biker lowered his arms from the stretch, his hand moved to the front of his jockstrap. A brief, unconscious adjustment, yet Bob’s gaze was drawn to the way the stark white fabric of the pouch shifted, resettling. Through the thin material, Bob’s mind registered the distinct, weighty presence of the biker’s balls finding their place, the fabric visibly contouring to accommodate them. The outline of his manhood, too, gained a more pronounced definition as the jockstrap settled anew. Bob’s e
  18. Jack Poignet
    Indeed! Next he'll be allowed to polish the exhaust pipes and stuff... After that, well...
  19. Jack Poignet
    The sun beat down, a tangible weight on the shimmering asphalt, the kind of late spring heat that baked the dust into the cracks and made the air above the blacktop dance. Inside "Earl's Gas & Go," the ancient air conditioner wheezed, doing little more than stir the scent of stale coffee and old motor oil. Bob leaned against the counter, tracing patterns in a condensation ring left by his soda. A well-thumbed copy of "Road Atlas USA" lay open beside the till, its pages filled with highl
  20. Jack Poignet
    Bob is bored behind the counter... but things heat up when a sexy biker pulls into the otherwise deserted gas station.
  21. Jack Poignet
    Is that really what she will do? Hmm...
  22. Jack Poignet
    Nothing big. I just noticed that at the very end "A final, hard look at Ray." was repeated in the last two word. So I changed it into "A last, long lock at Ray." I will NEVER change anything worth a reread. What you're reading is the first draft, published as soon as I have written it... major rewrites will happen after, when/if I prepare to publish it as a proper book.
  23. Jack Poignet

    Chapter 1

    Jack Poignet commented on DanXWrites's story chapter in Chapter 1

    I‘ve already discovered this story on Nifty. The writing and the (not so slow) build up really stand out so far, so to everyone: Enjoy
  24. Jack Poignet
    Ray woke slowly, cheek pressed into linen still faintly warm. For a moment, the scent soothed him—sunlit fur and cold forest air, snowmelt over moss. Clean and wild and warm. Like getting hugged by a mountain. Except it was a pillow. It made his chest ache. The smell wasn’t fresh. It lingered like a memory. Like a warmth left too long in an empty room. He stretched out a hand. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool. No weight. No indent. No breath. The silence w
  25. Jack Poignet
    April 12th, 1788. The air still tasted of ash. Etienne stepped over a crumpled shutter, his boots grinding soot and plaster dust into the cobblestones. A light wind stirred the haze that clung to the city, as if even the sky refused to forget what had happened. The fire had passed over two weeks ago, yet the smell—burned linen, scorched sugar, something metallic and dry—hung in the streets like a final judgment. New Orleans still stood, in places. Over three quarters of the
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