What's hard about writing epic fantasy... and why I’m drawn to it anyway – #EpicFantasy #Giveaway

By C.P. Silver (Guest Blogger)

The first thing that makes writing in this genre hard is that fantasy readers have very high expectations. They require so many things to be in just the right balance. Other genres might rely on one aspect of the craft to carry them—masterful plotting for a mystery novel, for instance, or the emotional journey of a romance—but for epic fantasy, world building, character development, plot, theme, pacing, stakes, and more all play a crucial role, and an imbalance in any of these can throw off the experience for fans.

It’s also hard, sometimes, dealing with the perception that fantasy novels are simplistic, not real literature, unable to address serious themes. And so, readers who enjoy a deeper emotional experience might dismiss fantasy, to their disadvantage. There are, of course, light-hearted fantasy tales aimed at simple fun, many of which I thoroughly enjoy. But this is not the crux of what fantasy is, or what it can do. Whispers of the Elixir, for instance, explores themes of power, legacy, and identity, as well as a terribly fraught mother-daughter bond.

But the main thing that makes writing epic fantasy hard is something far more basic: that is, that a successful fantasy story must give the impression of reality in a world that is unlike our own. Although every story—fantasy or otherwise—aims to draw the reader into a fictional world, the more unlike our real world that fictional world is, the harder this task becomes.

Making the fantasy an epic adds to this burden, endeavouring to keep the reader immersed in this fictional world for sometimes weeks on end (depending on their reading speed). Making this experience both believable and enjoyable requires a kind of magic in itself.

So, why am I drawn to it?

One reason is the sheer joy that the creation of a world brings. Epic fantasy is, in a sense, a form of art. It allows self-expression to the highest degree, allowing me as the writer to create histories, legends, geography and magic, adding world-building elements simply because they delight me. Then, like art, it speaks to those who delight in the same things.

Above all, though, epic fantasy has the power to deeply move its readers. Through story, it allows them to face stakes and obstacles that are breathtakingly high, and then shows them how it feels to overcome. And while it’s fun to impart a sense of wonder with my world-building and create attachment to my characters, the greatest reward comes from reaching people’s hearts. One reader told me, “I will treasure this book forever and reread it as much as I can before I die.”

Wow. This is why I write.

Blurb

A matriarchal empire. A princess with forbidden magic. A mother who would kill to protect her own legacy.

As heir to the Min empire, Tori has spent her life under the iron will of her mother, Empress Zinchen—a sovereign determined to shape the world in her own image. But Tori has been hiding a dangerous secret: a forbidden elemental power tied to the world’s mythic past. If Zinchen discovers the truth, it will cost Tori her life.

Haunted by this threat, Tori flees into the hidden lands—an ancient realm of ghost-flowers, sentient forests, and immortals from a half-remembered age. But magic here is neither blessing nor curse—it is a reflection, a test, a force that shapes as much as it destroys. And as her trials progress, Tori is stripped of certainty and pride. To survive her mother’s ambition, she must use what she learns to suppress the power that could doom her—but in doing so, she risks losing the very future she was born to inherit.

Whispers of the Elixir begins the Order of the Ember series—a character-driven epic of legacy, sacrifice, and the strength of a princess destined to rise from the shadows and claim her place in legend.

In Whispers of the Elixir, you will find the political intrigue of Andrea Stewart, the mythic worldbuilding of Ken Liu, and the emotional resonance of M.L. Wang.

Excerpt

Tori fought the feeling of being on a leash. She raised a hand halfway to the feathers fastened around her neck, hesitated, then let it fall.

“Is it itching, Princess?” Lady Elnora said, watching her.

“Like all insanity, but no point fiddling with it.”

Her gentlewoman adjusted the feathered ruff anyway, providing no relief whatsoever. It didn’t matter. Collared or not, today she would prove she was not her mother’s lapdog.

She struggled to see above the red filigree rail of the Imperial Observation Pavilion—where the royal family sat, far above the masses—the weight of her ceremonial robes resisting her every effort. Imperial decorum, it seemed, had not been designed with mobility in mind. It was times like these that she regretted her small stature; her mother, no doubt, could see perfectly.

Once she finally shifted forward, however, her three-story vantage point allowed her a perfect view of the float parade winding through the city of Silver Fox Springs in a ribbon of color and sound.

“I still don’t see them,” Tori said, craning her neck forward.

Elnora’s smooth brown finger pointed the way. Blending seamlessly with the sculptures of giant mythical creatures adorning the streets, Tori’s pantomimists balanced on their stilts, waist pouches packed so tight with skades that the little stones stretched the seams. Pantomimists had never been seen before at the Tailu Spring Festival—and would remain hidden, until her plan required it.

About the Author

C.P. Silver writes fantasy set in a world where matriarchy is absolute, with immersive worldbuilding, evocative prose, and emotionally complex characters. A former lawyer who also briefly studied Chinese medicine, her experiences shape the nuance and depth of her debut novel, Whispers of the Elixir, a slow-burn epic centered on legacy, inheritance, and the dangerous cost of power.

Raised in the Cayman Islands, she now lives in Europe. When not writing, she’s usually reading in a quiet nook or walking somewhere green, listening for the next story.

Buy Links

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9YVK3NG

All Other Retailers: https://books2read.com/Whispers-of-the-Elixir

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Goodreads profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/56899835.C_P_Silver

Author website: https://www.cpsilver.com/

C.P. Silver will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

A boring beach town becomes murder central - #Mystery #Review #Giveaway

Blurb

Detective Ramesh Ryan’s career with Sydney’s prestigious Organized Crime Unit is on the up, until he loses a court case against the city's most powerful drug dealer. In disgrace, the detective is relocated to the tiny Australian beach town of Barton.

It is off season in Barton—when its few criminals usually take a well-earned rest. But not this year! With the detective's arrival, the town suddenly becomes murder central. Two bodies are discovered in the space of days, both victims of drug overdoses. Then a mysterious foot is found washed up on the beach, and memories are awoken of an unsolved cold case of the teenager who disappeared fifteen years ago. Add to this a blossoming romance, along with a contract taken out on Ryan’s life, and it's clear that the detective has jumped out of the Sydney frying pan into the Barton fire.

What follows is an action-packed adventure, thrilling at every turn—where truth and lies are almost impossible to separate, and unexpected twists are the order of the day.

Excerpt

DI Ryan lived in what was, in estate agent jargon, the Paris-end of Potts Point. Perched on a hill overlooking the naval base, the bay, and the city, the district had finally succumbed to gentrification back in the mid-eighties. Before this, Potts Point, with its myriad of one and two-bed apartments, had housed a mix of poor older people and even more impoverished youngsters. But with the developers' arrival, derelict land was brought up, and ancient terraces were bulldozed to make way for gleaming high-rise blocks. Today the area was a 'happening place' filled with hip restaurants and expensive boutiques. Well, most of it was. A little of the 'old' Potts Point remained, and that's where Ramesh chose to live.

The detective closed the gate, strode up the redbrick steps, and entered the lobby. Ramesh's apartment was on the third floor. To reach it, Ramesh had to climb worn stone stairs that curved around the building's innards. When he rented the unit two years ago, Ramesh was told that most occupants had lived in the block for at least thirty years. Many had bought their flats when prices were still just four figures. But, despite the numerous agents who came calling, many remained, refusing to leave. Ramesh knew why. Despite the district's noise, buzz, and cosmopolitan feel, his apartment, with its view over the city, remained quiet and serene—a perfect place to hide away from the world.

Ramesh paused outside his unit. He could hear the sound of a TV inside. The detective lowered the file and laptop onto the floor. Reaching into his blue suit jacket, he unholstered his Glock semi-automatic gun. Holding the weapon in one hand, he unlocked the door, twisted the handle, pushed hard, and entered.

“Ramesh?” the portly middle-aged woman said as the detective burst into the living room, his arm out, the Glock gripped tight.

“Mom?”

She peered up at him from the couch. “Why have you got that gun out?”

Ramesh looked at the weapon before hastily holstering it.

“What are you doing here?”

"Watching the TV, of course. What does it look like?"

Ramesh squinted his eyes. “How did you get in?”

“With a key .”

Ramesh strode across to his mother, lifted the remote, and turned the TV off.

“A key?”

"That is the way you usually enter an apartment. And thank you, Ramesh. Now I won't know if anyone won the million dollars today.”

Ramesh sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

The detective’s mother stood up and brushed down her green sari over her substantial stomach.

“Curry.”

“You’ve cooked curry?”

"Yes, for you. It's your favorite. Now come over here and kiss your mother."

Mumta opened up her arms to embrace Ramesh.

"That's better," she said. Releasing her son, she walked out of the living room into the kitchen.

Ramesh, still confused, followed.

“You have a key?”

“You gave me one last year, don’t you remember?”

“That was for you to let the electrician in while I was at work.”

“For which you never thanked me properly.”

“I did, mom.” He thought about that. “But you gave me that key back?”

Mumta dipped a wooden spoon into the pan of curry and offered the liquid to Ramesh.

“Try it.”

 

Review by Lisabet Sarai

Sydney detective Ramesh Ryan had an air-tight case against drug boss Oscar Bruno, or so he believed. When the jury rules that Bruno is innocent, Ryan knows that someone has been bought off, but there’s little he can do. Then, as if it watching the conviction slip through his fingers wasn’t bad enough, Ryan’s boss reassigns him to help the local police in Barton, a small beach town several hours north of Sydney. Chief Inspector Dudley claims the temporary but open-ended relocation is for Ryan’s protection, but the detective is pretty sure he’s being punished for losing.

Barton’s a pretty boring little hamlet, especially during the winter when the tourists are gone. It’s hardly a hotbed of crime – at least not until Ryan arrives. Before long, though, he’s dealing with multiple, apparently unrelated murders, some of them clearly involving drugs. As the Indian-Australian detective works to piece together the clues and figure out which of the town’s quirky inhabitants he can trust, he doesn’t realize that he’s the prime target to be the next Barton corpse.

Off Season is an entertaining and intellectually challenging mystery with an engaging hero. The author handles the detective’s ethnicity with great skill. Being of Indian descent is a part of who Ryan is, but it does not define him. Meanwhile, the book doesn’t flinch from showing the casual racism that he encounters almost daily. Fortunately he’s no shrinking violet and it takes more than crude prejudice to derail him. His self-confidence seems at least partly due to his strong-willed and assertive mother, who makes delightful cameo appearances just when things are getting grim.

The plot is intricate, with a myriad of disconnected threads and many secondary characters. Clive Fleury does a credible job weaving the strands together by the end of the book, though the resolution depends on a bit of sleight of hand involving nicknames.

The characterization is quite brilliant, effectively utilizing deep third person perspective. Many of the chapters assume the point of view of people other than the detective, including some individuals who are clearly bad guys. Somehow Fleury manages to evoke some sympathy even for his villains. On the other hand, he’s pretty brutal in finishing them off. Almost every one of the miscreants involved in the plot ends up blown to pieces. A few innocent bystanders perish as well.

I noticed in retrospect, however, that with all the killing going on, Ramesh Ryan himself never actually does anyone in. I guess that would be bad karma for the hero.

All in all I greatly enjoyed this tale. My one serious complaint involves the poor editing. I noticed sentence fragments, incorrect pronouns and various other issues throughout the book. Perhaps the worst error was that the author (or the editor) used the term “facetious” to describe Ryan’s tendency to be careful about his appearance. I believe the desired word is “fastidious”. Alas, this mistake occurred more than once.

As an editor myself, I just have to shake my head. Still, the novel shows evidence of thought and craft. Perhaps the author should consider releasing a new, corrected edition. This book deserves a better presentation.

About the Author

Clive Fleury is an award-winning writer of books and screenplays and has worked all over the world as a Film/TV director, writer and producer. He has written six books, most recently 'All Or None', the second novel in the Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series.

'All Or None' sees Detective Ryan back in the thick of things. His latest investigation into a mysterious death couldn’t come at a worse time. He discovers his mother is hiding a troubling secret and is further sidetracked by a new romance. Fans of who dunnit's, crime thrillers, and cop and detective stories will love this novel.

Clive's other books include 'Off Season' - book one in the Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series; 'Kill Code' - a dystopian science fiction novel set in a world facing climate change; ‘Scary Lizzy’ - a novel about an eight year old girl, who befriends an African child ghost – and the teen action adventure book; ‘The Boy Next Door ‘ - a story of what happens when a teenage girl has a crush on her next door neighbor, who isn’t all he seems. He also co-wrote ‘Art Pengriffin and The Curse of The Four’ - a young adult fantasy adventure about a teenage boy who discovers his father was Merlin the Magician.

Website: https://clivefleurywriter.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/clivefleury

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100087136850713

Clive Fleury will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

A steamy new release from Sadira Stone – #SmallTownRomance #SecondChanceRomance #FakeEngagement

My friend, colleague and favorite romance author Sadira Stone has a new book out, the first in her Tiny Houses series. Check it out!

Blurb

Zax Dupré gave me the hottest night of my life. Then he ran off with my tiny house.

I sank everything I had into that half-built house, but a paperwork snafu sent it to the hunky carpenter. Now he’s offering me an irresistible deal: he’ll customize my tiny house if I pretend we’re engaged, smile pretty for his social media followers, and fool his prudish auntie long enough to finish the job by her impossible deadline. Easy peasy, right?

Lilith is the one who got away. Now I’m fighting to keep her.

And fight we do, on camera and off. A fake engagement with the fiery beauty who ghosted me is torture, but the longer we pretend, the more she reveals her true self, and the harder I fall. I’ve got two months to convince her that together, we can build something real. If I fail, we’ll both be homeless.

Come to Pinevale, Washington, for cozy vibes, heartwarming chosen family, and spicy second-chance romance where the houses are tiny, but the joy is so big!

Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DKS5NRK9

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/tiny-house-big-fake-fiance-by-sadira-stone

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/250645008-tiny-house-big-fake-fianc

Bookfunnel link for bonus scene: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/3bcao2n069

Excerpt 

The crunch of gravel spins us both toward a shiny black GMC Sierra heading our way.

My stomach drops into my boots. There’s no mistaking the telltale logo on the truck’s door: Lilith’s Leathers in swirling, hot-pink script.

The last time I saw this rig, it held a custom wooden camper where I spent the most unforgettable night of my life.

The door opens, and a shapely leg emerges, wearing a tall black boot. A delicate hand grasps the door frame, silver rings twinkling in the spring sunlight. With feline grace, the driver slides out and reaches for something on the passenger seat, a motion that pulls her leather skirt tight across the generous swell of her hips.

“Where’d you go, you slippery little shit?” Her gravelly voice raises goosebumps on my skin.

That voice is seared into my memory—raspy, low, rough as moonshine and just as intoxicating, purring filthy words that haunt my dreams.

“Lilith?” I croak.

She straightens and shakes out her riot of black curls—curls that once caressed my trembling belly as she slid down, down, down, a wicked grin on her scarlet lips.

Clutching a handful of papers, she slowly turns to face me—and Aggie, of course. My elderly aunt may be hard of hearing, but she has eyes like a hawk’s.

For Aggie’s sake, I restrain myself from tackling this goddess and slamming my body against her sinful curves.

Lilith’s gaze snaps to mine. She rolls the documents and tucks them into her pocket, then crosses her arms, framing plump, perfect breasts beneath her leather vest. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the handsome carpenter.” Her plush lips tilt in a snarky smile, but she can’t hide the heat in her espresso-dark eyes—not from me, not after I’ve seen her come apart in my arms, over and over again.

She scans the clearing behind us. “I’m looking for Zachary Dupré.”

Inflating my chest, I swagger closer and lower my voice so Aggie won’t hear. “Forgot my name so soon? Don’t pretend you didn’t scream yourself hoarse repeating it.” Dipping my head, I bring my lips to her ear and whisper, “Don’t stop, Zax, don’t you dare stop.”

I can still feel the sting of her nails raking my back, her heels digging into my ass.

A flush tints her cheekbones. “Zax for Zachary. Of course. Small world, isn’t it?”

She remembers me, all right. Her pulse leaps visibly in her throat, and her pupils are blown wide.

About the Author

 

Award-winning contemporary romance author Sadira Stone spins steamy, smoochy tales set in the U.S. Pacific Northwest. Her stories highlight found family, friendship, and the sizzling chemistry that pulls unlikely partners together. When she emerges from her writing cave in Las Vegas, Nevada (which she seldom does), she can be found splashing in the pool, playing her guitar, making art (badly, but getting better), going to concerts with her charming husband, cooking up a storm, and gobbling all the romance books. For a guaranteed HEA (and no cliffhangers!) visit Sadira at https://sadirastone.com

Visit Sadira on All the Socials!

https://linktr.ee/SadiraStone

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sadirastone/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18568049.Sadira_Stone

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She wasn’t about to give up yet... #Steampunk #AsianHeroine #MFRWHooks

Following on with last week’s theme, I have another Asian heroine for you today. Cecily Harrowsmith may have a British name, but her mother came from Ceylon and Cecily can easily pass as a native in India.

Rajasthani Moon is an alt-Victorian kinky paranormal romance extravaganza. Be prepared for the unexpected. Never have I had so much fun trampling on tropes!

Blurb

When Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit – to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.

Kidnapped by the ruler's half-brother Pratan and delivered into the hands of the handsome but depraved Rajah Amir, she soon finds herself fighting against her own lascivious nature as much as the schemes of her captors. Her sympathy for the moon-cursed wolf-man Pratan only complicates her situation. Cecily has never failed to complete an assignment, but now she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart.

The Hook

Pratan is conversing via radio with his brother the Rajah, many leagues distant. Though he’s speaking Hindi, Cecily is mistress of many languages.

“Wait a minute. ‘Cecily’, you said? Something’s tickling the back of my brain… Let me examine the Universal Electropaedia…” In the ensuing pause, Pratan glanced over his shoulder towards the bed. She assumed a demeanour of indifference. “Ah, yes…Dark complexion, you say, and blue eyes?”

“Correct.”

“Between twenty-five and thirty years of age? About eleven stone?”

“Ten stone four pounds!” Cecily interjected before she could help herself.

“Yes, and tall too, for a woman. And from the way she’s straining against the ropes, I’d say she understands every word we’re saying!”

Her spirits sank. Did the Electropaedia actually include an entry for her? Why hadn’t the Empire’s censors excised it? This unforgivable breach of security might well have sealed her fate, though she wasn’t about to give up yet.

“Brother, I believe that you’ve succeeded in capturing one of Queen Victoria’s most notorious agents—Miss Cecily Harrowsmith. According to reports, she is brave, brilliant, beautiful, and as dangerous as a king cobra.”

Pratan rubbed his bruised shin where she’d kicked him and grinned at her with genuine menace. “That sounds like her.”

 

 

 

Buy Links

Ebook

Kinky Literature - https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/363-rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance/

Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1100493

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rajasthani-moon-lisabet-sarai/1140045684?ean=2940165000041

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance

Apple Books -

https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1582490320

Add on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58835067-rajasthani-moon

Print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D8CDFSZ5

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks blog hop!

She swore her daughter would have a good life – #Thriller #Giveaway

Blurb

She survived the night. The truth didn't.

Nicole gets the call at 4 a.m. Her daughter Lacey was found in the woods beside her friend's dead husband. He was stabbed forty-four times. Lacey is barely alive. Covered in his blood. And completely mute.

She hasn't said a word since. Not to the police. Not to her husband. Not even to Nicole.

Nicole had Lacey at seventeen and swore her daughter would have a good life. Now Lacey is sitting in a cell, and Nicole's three grandchildren are left behind with a father who is losing it.

But Nicole knows her daughter. She isn't a cold-blooded murderer. Guilt didn't silence her. Fear did. Whatever happened in those woods scared Lacey more than prison.

So Nicole starts digging. But some secrets don't save people. They destroy them.

Excerpt

I strode past carts and nurses, straight down the hall, and yanked open the door to room 12.

But I wasn't ready for what was waiting inside. My body jerked back as my hand shot up to my neck. "Dear God."

Lacey sat upright on the bed, wearing a hospital gown. A doctor stood over her, shining a light into her eyes. Two nurses flanked him.

I almost didn't recognize her.

Her hair was soaked in dried blood. Matted. Tangled with dirt and leaves. Thick blood streaks ran down her neck and across her temple like Viking war paint. Her face and arms looked like someone had tried to wipe her clean with a wet napkin and given up halfway. Just smears of pink and red everywhere.

The bandage on her forehead was already smudged with red too.

Her eyes met mine. Brown, blank, dull. Nothing behind them.

"Sweetheart!" My voice fell apart. Tears burst out of me as I crossed the room in two desperate strides and grabbed her. Held her. Pressed her to my chest so tight nothing could tear her away again.

Not even the nurse who latched onto my arm.

"Ma'am, you can't be in here right now." Her voice was sharp and demanding.

I didn't move.

The other nurse came at me from the side. Hands on my other arm.

"You need to wait outside," she said, yanking at me.

"Get off me," I growled.

About the Author

S.T. Ashman is an American-German author who calls the beautiful U.S. sea coast home. A graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, she spent years working as a psychotherapist in the criminal justice system. The work gave her a rare window into the human mind, both the beautiful and the deeply shadowed. It's no wonder readers often say her characters feel real enough to step off the page.

When she's not crafting her next twisty tale, you'll find her chasing after her kids, nose-deep in a book, or curled up late at night with a horror movie and a husband who always falls asleep on the couch before the scary parts.

Social Links

https://www.tiktok.com/@ashmanbooks

https://www.instagram.com/booksbyashman/

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100094353614873

www.ashmanbooks.com

Link to ARC on Netgalley: https://www.netgalley.com/catalog/book/830451

S.T. Ashman will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

Hurts So Good - #BDSM #EroticRomance #PainPleasure

Much of my erotic fiction includes aspects of dominance and submission -- partly because that's what pushes my personal buttons. One of the most perplexing aspects of BDSM, for people without real world experience, is the question of how pain could be arousing. In a consensual BDSM scenario, both the dom and the sub supposedly enjoy what's going on. But how could activities that hurt be enjoyable?

The answer to this question is multi-faceted. At the biological level, there is significant evidence that sexual arousal changes pain thresholds and pain perception, although the mechanisms underlying these changes are not completely understood. Both hormones (epinephrine and norepinephrine) and endogenous opiates ("endorphins") are believed to play a role. Thus, experienced dominants will often "warm up" a submissive, starting with less extreme pain and mixing it with sexual stimulation, before moving to more painful activities. To put it succinctly, when you're horny, things don't hurt as much!

Meanwhile, there are many psychological factors that motivate a submissive to accept or even desire pain administered by the dominant. One aspect involves conditioning. When painful and pleasurable stimuli are experienced together, the sub "learns" to associate pain with pleasure. For example, the bottom may be penetrated with a vibrator (normally an arousing activity) while being whipped. Eventually whipping alone may evoke a sexual response.

The submissive also derives emotional satisfaction from the notion that the master is getting off, even though the dominant's pleasure may require the sub to endure significant pain. Every relationship is different, but this aspect of submission -- devotion to the dom and dedication to pleasing him -- was one of the most potent aspects of my own BDSM experience.

Still, the cut of a cane, the sting of a crop or the burn of melting wax don't stop being painful, no matter how much you love your master. I remember introspecting once, in a scene that involved rubber bands and a wooden ruler, thinking "What am I doing? Am I crazy? That hurts like hell!" Yet I didn't tell my master to stop. I didn't want him to stop - far from it. The pain somehow just pushed me higher - I wanted more intensity, not less.

I started out trying to explain the appeal of pain in a D/s context, but I find that at its heart, it truly is a mystery. Maybe it's just something you have to experience. Or perhaps you can understand, a bit, if you can identify strongly enough with a fictional heroine. Here's a snippet from my story The Understudy, available both as a single title and as part of my boxed set Whips & Kisses. (The latter is free on Kindle Unlimited.)

 

“You’re late.” He didn’t rise to greet me.

“I’m sorry, sir…I fell asleep.” Desperation clutched at my throat at the notion that I had displeased him.

“Excuses will not help you escape punishment.”

“Punishment?” A thrill rippled through me, of fear or desire, possibly both.

“Come here, Sarah.” He patted his lap. “I hadn’t planned on spanking you so soon, but you give me no choice, do you? I need to teach you. If you are going to be mine, you must obey me completely—or face the consequences.”

“Um—yes, sir,” I mumbled as I stretched myself across his body.

I couldn’t believe that I was doing this, willingly it seemed. Gripping the chair arm, I leant my cheek against the upholstery. He was so much bigger than I was. My chest, belly and thighs rested on his lap. My lower legs hung awkwardly on the other side, toes just touching the floor.

His flesh was warm under his slacks. I could feel the muscles shift as he adjusted my position. His scent tickled my nostrils, summer sweat and expensive cologne intermingled. I could smell my pussy, too, ripe and salty, announcing my brazen arousal. He flipped my skirt up over my back, exposing my panty-less bottom.

“I do like your attempts to follow my instructions,” he commented, his voice softer and more intimate.

He brushed his hand across my bare butt. Every contact between his skin and mine struck sparks.

“You’ll learn better how to please me over time.” He dipped a sudden finger into my sopping cleft, gathering my juices, and chuckled. “You’re remarkably wet, Sarah. You want this, don’t you? You want to feel the sting of my palm on your ass.”

I thought I’d die of shame. I burrowed into the cushions, hoping the question was rhetorical.

He dabbled his fingers in my cunt, making me squirm. “Well? Answer me!” He pinched my butt hard.

“Ow! Um—I can’t…”

His gentle fingers stroked my hair, working out the tangles. “Tell me, little one,” he practically whispered. “Don’t be afraid. You can tell me the truth. Do you want me to spank you?”

That hint of tenderness broke me. “Yes,” I moaned, as he plunged deeper into my pussy. “Yes, please…”

“Good girl.”

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers from my sex. I didn’t have time to cry out at the loss of contact.

I heard the smack an instant before I felt the sting of his palm meeting my ass.

“Ow!”

He slapped me again, on the other cheek. The site of the first blow pulsed as the sharp pain morphed into something quite different. Tendrils of sensation blossomed, travelled, twined their way around my clit. His hand landed again, near the first spot, amplifying both the pain and the pleasure.

“Ouch! Ow! Oh—ow!”

He spanked me harder and faster. Each slap hurt more than the one before. Each brought the seething cauldron in my pussy closer to a boil.

“Ah! Ow! Ow, ow...argh!” My bottom was on fire. I jerked each time his hand connected.

He paused. “Should I stop?” The mocking knowledge in his voice made my face burn as hot as my bum.

“Um—no—well, it’s up to you, sir.”

“I suggest that you not cry out so loudly, then. The walls in these old buildings tend to be thin. Maybe I should gag you. Would you like that?”

I had a terrifying vision of my mouth stuffed with one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs, unable to cry, scarcely able to breathe. My pussy clenched and flooded at the image. I shook my head, stripped of every remaining shred of pride.

Fortunately my gesture was enough to satisfy him. He resumed his assault on my ravaged buttocks, each smack more vicious than the one before. I writhed in his lap, my mouth pressed against the cushions to muffle my yells, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. I raised myself on tiptoe, trying to escape his inescapable blows. I couldn’t help myself. He forced me back down without breaking his rhythm.

It seemed to go on and on. After a while, I found myself floating in a throbbing crimson haze. The bite of his blows seemed far away. My cunt felt heavy, swollen, ready to burst, but there was no urgency. I was willing to lie there forever and be punished, for as long as he thought necessary.

 

Very peculiar indeed. But don't knock it until you've tried it.