Monday, December 31, 2018

End of Year, End of Story! #amwriting #goals #WIP @Archer_Larry

The end of the story

It is seven PM on New Year’s Eve, and I’ve done it!

I just wrote “The End” on the first draft of my major work in progress, Sin City Sweethearts. This book, the third volume in my Vegas Babes series, took forever to write, mainly because work and other responsibilities limited the time I could devote to it. The book is also significantly longer than the other two installments, clocking in at more than 50K words. My characters just didn't want to stop playing around!

Originally I wanted to publish the book for Christmas. Then by New Year’s. I’ve had to revise my expectations, but I’m still thrilled to be done with it. I expect it will be out before the end of January.

Sin City Sweethearts is another sex-drenched romp set in Larry Archer’s fictional Las Vegas, peopled by strippers and swingers, bouncers and bodacious babes. (Larry has promised to write me a juicy intro for this book, too!)

Annie and Ted, whose outrageous wedding provided the background for More Brides in Vegas, are back, and naughtier than ever. When a pair of gorgeous, innocent college freshmen move into the apartment downstairs, Annie and Ted can't resist taking them in under their wing and providing some carnal education.

I’ll be posting a cover reveal, blurb and teasers soon. Meanwhile, you can find an excerpt from More Brides here:

Happy New Year!

Sunday, December 30, 2018

Sweet Sunday: A Kiss at Midnight -- #SweetSunday #Romance #NewYearsEve #Kiss

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Some of you may have wondered if I can write anything that doesn’t include full-out, graphic sex. So for today, instead of “Sizzling Sunday”, I’ve got a “Sweet Sunday” vignette for you a brief taste of romance that promises happily ever after.

Meanwhile, I want to wish every one who reads this the very best of everything in the upcoming year: love, laughter, good health and prosperity. Blessings to you all!

A Kiss at Midnight

It wasn't deliberate, or what she'd expected.

Laura had actually planned to leave around eleven. She had to work tomorrow; hospitals didn't close for New Year's Day. The one glass of wine she allowed herself was long gone. She was exhausted from last night's shift. Her jaw ached from the constant smiling. She really didn't want to hear any more about Jill's and Howie's upcoming trip to Jamaica, or Martha's promotion, or Reese's engagement. All that Laura had to look forward to was curling up in the new quilt Mom has sent for Christmas, with a paperback mystery and her plump tabby Morris for company.

She'd made moves toward the bedroom where the coats were piled, but Gretch had intercepted her and begged her to stay. Gretchen was her best friend. Laura felt guilty refusing. She accepted a plastic glass of champagne and stood by the window, watching the drifting snow. Most of Gretchen's guests huddled around the TV, counting down with the broadcaster in Times Square.

Huge flakes swirled lazily like feathers from giant down pillow. She hoped that she'd be able to get a cab. Without thinking, she sipped at the effervescent liquid in her hand. It was chill and sweet on her tongue.

"Five. Four. Three. Two. One..." came the chant from the rest of the crowd. Laura barely heard them.

She felt his presence behind her an instant before he laid a firm hand on her shoulder and turned her around. She had a confused impression of worn plaid flannel and tousled brown hair as he gathered her to his chest and brought his face to hers.

His mouth was silky and strong and tasted like champagne. His brazen tongue played along the seam of her closed lips, teasing her into opening. A rush of heat flooded her when he entered, turning her earlobes and her nipples to burning coals. The air seemed to leave her lungs, sucked out by his energetic kiss. She staggered against him, suddenly dizzy. He held her closer, one bold hand cupping her buttocks while the other supported her under her arms.

He delved deeper, fanning the flames that whipped through her body. Between her legs, under her tights, she was melting. His scent rose around her, cherry pipe tobacco and old-fashioned lavender cologne. She ventured a tentative hand up his back and felt solid muscle move beneath his shirt. His fingertips grazed the side of her breast. A spark shot from her nipples down to her sex. She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the small sound, kissing her harder.

Laura lost herself in the velvet darkness behind her closed eyelids. She didn't want to break the spell. She relaxed into his arms, letting him explore her body as though they were completely alone. Rigidness pressed against her belly, kindling a drunken sense of triumph. He was as aroused as she was.

The kiss lasted for hours. One moment he nibbled delicately as her lips. The next, he forced her wide and plundered her mouth, grinding his thigh against her crotch all the while. Champagne bubbles had found their way into her blood. She felt bouyant, giggly, light as air.

Finally he released her. "Happy New Year," the stranger murmured into her ear, nuzzling her throat wetly. Laura gazed up at dark eyes brimming with laughter and intelligence. She realized that she was trembling.

"Do I know you?" His face was vaguely familiar, but the rich baritone voice was completely new.

"You do now," he said with a grin. He raised his champagne glass to her in a silent toast, then took a sip. "I'm Dan. Gretchen's brother. And you're Laura, right?"

"Um--right." Laura felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Did Gretchen put you up to this?"

She forced herself to move away from him, even though what she really wanted was to throw herself back into his arms.

"Put me up to what?" Dan raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. "It's midnight on New Year's. You're supposed to kiss the person standing next to you."

Laura looked around. Sure enough, lots of couples were locked in heated embraces. She would have sworn that Dan's kiss had taken hours, but clearly it was only moments after midnight.

"Hm--well--thank you." Her still-taut nipples pressed against her sweater. She was sure that Dan could see them. She took another step backward and was acutely aware of how damp her panties had become. "I've got to go home now. Happy New Year."

"Wait!" He grabbed her hand. His strength was obvious. Laura wished she could melt into the floor.

"Don't go yet. It's early." He searched her face and she saw doubt in his eyes for the first time. "Unless there's someone waiting for you...someone else...a lover..."

Laura's resistance fluttered away like the snowflakes outside. "No, there's no one waiting for me--except my cat. I don't have a lover."

Dan's relief was obvious. He circled her waist and pulled her against him. "Now you do."

His lips claimed hers once more. Laura knew it was going to be a good year.

Saturday, December 29, 2018

Saturday Spanks: Miranda's Masks - #SaturdaySpanks #FF #Kink #RolePlaying

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Today’s spanking excerpt is a bit of FF role playing from my novel Miranda’s Masks. Actually that book includes pretty much every fantasy and sexual combination you might imagine. This interlude is one of my favorites.

Lucy and Miranda were room mates before Lucy moved in with her new fiancé Ray. In an earlier scene, she shared with her friend the fact that although Ray was very adventurous sexually, he doesn't share Lucy's interest in kink. Miranda promises to help...

Miranda had been worried that she was pushing her friend too hard, but Lucy’s agreement reassured her. She pulled over the straight-backed wooden chair that was sitting in the corner. Then she arranged the step stool in front of it. “Stand on the stool, Lucy.” The girl obeyed. “Now, lean forward, and hold on to the chair seat. That’s right, one hand on each side.”

Given her slight experience in dominance and submission, Miranda had wondered whether the position she planned would actually work. She was gratified to find that the body dynamics were exactly as she had imagined. The stool elevated Lucy’s rump to a level where she could reach it without difficulty. Lucy’s back extended downward toward the chair at about a forty-five degree angle, giving her the stability to withstand the blows that Miranda was planning to inflict. She laid the ruler on the desk, temporarily, and attended to her victim.

First, she adjusted the gooseneck desk lamp so that it was focused on Lucy’s upturned bum like a spotlight. Then, bit by bit, working to achieve the maximum suspense, Miranda pushed the denim skirt up. Lucy’s buttocks were sheathed in plain white cotton panties. Very good—very appropriate. She felt a surge of excitement, surveying those vulnerable cheeks, and an intoxicating sense of her own power.

After a long moment, she reached forward, grabbing the elastic waistband with both hands. As if unveiling a masterpiece, she gradually pulled the garment down, exposing Lucy’s deliciously rounded flesh. She remembered her night with Big Daddy, and left the panties tangled around the other woman’s ankles, where they would add to her feelings of awkwardness and shame.

At Ray’s, she had barely seen Lucy’s sex. The encounter had been too frenzied to permit aesthetic appreciation. Tonight, she could take as much time as she liked. Every minute that she delayed Lucy’s punishment would increase the blonde’s fearful anticipation.

Arch your back, Lucy. I want to see that nasty little cunt of yours.” 

Lucy obeyed promptly.

Miranda licked her lips at the sight of the pink, protruding folds, vulnerable and hairless as a baby’s. When Lucy had shared their apartment, Miranda was fairly sure that she had not been depilated in this way. Ray must have suggested this little novelty. She smiled a little and retrieved the ruler.

Perhaps I should chastise your cunt rather than your bum,” she said softly. “I imagine that this ruler would sting quite nicely in that sensitive area.”

Lucy whimpered. “No, please, Ms. Cahill. That would hurt too much.”

But that is exactly the idea, my little slut. If the punishment does not hurt, how can it be effective?” She tapped the ruler lightly against the girl’s conveniently presented ass. “Still, since this is your first offence, although a serious one, I suppose that I will be merciful.”

Without further warning, Miranda snapped the ruler down smartly on Lucy’s right cheek. Lucy jerked and cried out. A streak of red appeared on her creamy skin. A matching streak on the left soon followed. Miranda paused, breathing in the ocean scent beginning to rise from between the other woman’s damp thighs.

She smacked the ruler against the right mound again. The sound of the flexible wood landing on elastic flesh echoed in the high-ceilinged room. She noted how Lucy’s lower lips swelled and reddened in response to the stroke. Another pearl of moisture escaped and trickled toward Lucy’s knees as Miranda addressed her ruler to Lucy’s left buttock. She resisted the urge to kneel between the other girl’s legs and lap at her juiciness. To banish any thoughts of such weakness, she increased the force of her slaps.

Miranda worked with deliberate care, evaluating Lucy’s state before each blow. The petite blonde was moaning now, twisting her hips with each stroke. However, Miranda noted the telltale glistening of moisture on those peach-hued labia whenever Lucy bucked away from the ruler. The woman was hugely aroused, despite, or perhaps because of, the pain.

After a while, Miranda’s wrist began to ache. She stopped for a moment and went around to look into Lucy’s eyes. Her face was tear-stained, but her quickened breathing bespoke her arousal. “Are you truly sorry for behaving so badly, Lucy?” Lucy nodded. “And do you promise that you will never again engage in indecent activities with another girl?” Something like defiance flared in Lucy’s eyes. Her lips were pressed tightly together. She was silent.

No? Well, miss, I guess that the punishment will have to continue. I should have brought my cane, but I did not expect you to be so incorrigible. My bare hand will just have to do.” Miranda began slapping her palm against Lucy’s cheeks, alternating right and left in a brisk rhythm. Before long, the rosy trails left by the ruler had disappeared in a general field of inflamed skin. Miranda could feel the heat half an inch away from Lucy’s flesh.

Her own hand stung and burned, and gradually, heat suffused her whole body. Her costume felt tight and constraining. She longed to be naked with Lucy, to take her into her arms, cuddle and console her. However, she knew she needed to stay in character. She stopped spanking the reddened cheeks in front of her, but Lucy did not cease her moaning and twitching. “Nasty girl,” scolded Miranda, “I do believe that my spanking arouses you. Let me feel your cunt.” She thrust her hands between Lucy’s damp thighs, found her clitoris, and gave it one hard pinch. It was enough to send Lucy over the edge.

The petite blonde gave a scream and clamped her thighs around Miranda’s hand, humping the fingers that Miranda pushed into her. Liquid poured from Lucy’s depths, soaking Miranda’s cuffs.

When Lucy’s spasms had subsided, Miranda removed her arm. She held her wrist under Lucy’s nose. “Look what you’ve done, you dirty girl. You’ve ruined my suit. You will pay for this, believe me.” There was still fear in Lucy’s eyes, but Miranda saw exhaustion, too.

Get your copy of this brave and arousing novel today!

Friday, December 28, 2018

Good With His Hands by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #romance #steamy #shortstory

Good with his Hands cover

Layla is enjoying a beautiful moorland walk in the English countryside when suddenly, clouds start to roll in. The weather was forecast to be fine all day, so Layla is woefully unprepared when the heavens open and her visibility is reduced to next to nothing. Trying hard not to panic, she carefully makes her way towards a remote hut she spotted before the fog descended. When she arrives, though, she discovers park ranger Stuart already there, and luckily for her, he’s much more prepared than she is, and they soon find a way to pass the time until the storm blows over.

Note: Good With His Hands was previously published in the Down and Dirty boxed set.

Buy links


Anticipation seeped into Layla’s body, increasing with every second that ticked by. Each handhold she groped for, each push off with her feet brought her that bit closer to the moorland plateau she’d been wanting to explore ever since she’d seen photos of it in a Facebook group a few weeks ago. She was a keen hiker—or walker, she’d never really understood what the difference was between the two—but she’d always stuck to places she knew well, or had at least visited a couple of times before, mainly because she always walked alone, and getting lost was bad enough without doing it by yourself.

But one Sunday evening, after a flurry of yet more stunning photographs of the area had been uploaded to the group, Layla made up her mind. The following Sunday, she would join the seemingly scores of people that headed up to the dramatic-looking gritstone edge in Derbyshire’s Peak District every weekend, no matter the weather. Hikers, climbers, fell runners… they all raved about the place, despite the crowds. And if she did get lost, well, she’d just ask one of them for directions. No problem. Then, providing it was indeed as amazing as the photo-uploaders proclaimed it to be, she’d add it to her list of regular haunts. It’d make a refreshing change from her usual low-level trail walks.

Now she was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about, and she wasn’t even at the top yet. After leaving the relative familiarity of the car park, she’d trekked up a slight incline through some dense woods—surprised to pass only one or two small groups of people on the way. She’d expected it to look like London’s Oxford Street but with outdoorsy types in hefty boots and backpacks instead of shoppers with umbrellas and carrier bags. The moment she’d stepped from the shadow of the woods, the landscape had opened up in front of her and she’d got a real sense of how special it was. Then she’d glanced up and to her right and, taking in the height of the edge she had yet to climb, realised she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.

With one last push to get her onto a particularly large boulder, then a small step, she was there. On the gritstone edge, the moorland plateau—whatever you wanted to call it. As she took a couple of tentative steps forward and looked around, she decided she wanted to call it heaven. It was like nowhere she’d ever been before—so removed from everyday life that she was half convinced she’d stepped onto the moon, except it was unmistakably England. Wild, untamed, rugged, but England nonetheless. How had she never been up here before? And were there more places like it? She suddenly felt like the worst kind of ignorant city dweller—her walks up until now had made a mockery of wearing walking boots. She may as well have done it in flip flops.

She turned at the sound of voices behind her, and moved aside to let a group of three men in their early twenties pass. They had enormous, weirdly-shaped bags strapped to their backs, and yet strode along—exchanging smiles and nods with her when they drew level—as though their burdens weighed nothing.

Layla shook her head incredulously and started to follow in their footsteps. She didn’t need to consult her walk instructions yet—there was only one path, deliberately keeping footfall to a dedicated area for conservation purposes, according to a snippet of text she remembered reading on her printout. The trail stayed close to the edge—not so close as to be dangerous, but close enough to afford the most amazing views. The ground beneath her feet was made up of mud, rough grasses, rocks and boulders in shades of grey, brown, and black, scrubby bushes, and what she suspected was heather. To her left, the stunning countryside went on for as far as the eye could see, with delightfully twisted trees in the foreground, followed by brown and green fields, woodlands, moorlands, and more fields, broken up only very occasionally by a road—often only identifiable by the moving glint of light that passed along them—vehicles highlighted by the reflection of the sun off their metalwork. It’d be incredibly easy to forget civilisation even existed while she was up here.

About the Author

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here:

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Thursday, December 27, 2018

A free gift from Madison Michael -- #BillionaireRomance #FreeBooks @MadisonMichael

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Moonlight & Moet
B&B Billionaire Romance Series (Book 2)
by Madison Michael

♥♥ FREE For a Limited Time ♥♥
December 26th - December 29th
Moonlight & Moet Amazon Buy Link: 

About the Book

Can the hottest man around melt this ice queen’s heart?

When her husband publicly cheats on her, Leigh Dobbs trades her humiliating reputation as an ice queen and a hometown that shuns her for the unknown of rural North Carolina. Taking over a small bed and breakfast, Leigh sets out to restore it, her dignity and her life. Excited at the prospect of adding more rooms and a full-service restaurant, Leigh’s big plans encounter the brick wall that is Caleb Rausch. Sparks fly even as Caleb votes no on the planning commission, crushing Leigh’s dreams.

Handsome powerhouse Caleb Rausch is a man on a mission, expanding his huge corporation without encroaching on the small town where it resides. His commitment to his products, employees and historic preservation are unwavering. What’s lacking is his commitment to one woman. Caleb is the most eligible bachelor in three states, dating celebrities and models, but never settling down. Until now.

Even as Caleb forces Leigh’s expansion plans on hold, the couple moves full-steam-ahead on their relationship, unable to resist the mutual attraction. So why, after a steamy night together, does Caleb disappear for weeks? Has Leigh put her heart out there again, just to be played?

Will the magic of a moonlit night be enough to kindle their love or will Caleb’s constant disappearing act prevent him from melting this ice queen’s heart?

Moonlight & Moet Amazon Buy Link:

♥♥ Gigantic Christmas Giveaway ♥♥
December 24th - December 31st

About the Author

Madison Michael is an indie publisher, blogger and the author of the Beguiling Bachelor Series as well as the novella Desire & Dessert, from her sizzling B&B Billionaire Bachelor series.
A Chicago native and hopeless romantic, Maddy was raised on Chicago culture, fairy tales, great literature and swashbuckling movies. Maddy employs that history, writing steamy contemporary romance novels set against the sumptuous backdrop of Chicago’s elite society.

After receiving a BA in Journalism from the University of Illinois and an MBA from Loyola University of Chicago, Madison abandoned her writing to find her way in the corporate business world. Daughter of a librarian, it was inevitable that she would return to the world of books.

Maddy writes from high above Chicago where she can stare at its gorgeous skyline or the shores of Lake Michigan surrounded by feline assistants. When she is not writing,, Maddy can be found lost in a book, fighting for the rights of the mentally iil or dining on Chicago’s famous cuisine. Hot dogs and pizza, anyone?

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Maddy's Romance Madness:

Wednesday, December 26, 2018

No matter what it takes —False Hope by Meli Raine (@meliraineauthor) #suspense #amnesia

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More chilling romantic suspense from Meli Raineavailable now!


She thinks she’s fooled me. But I’ve known all along.


Lily is hiding something, a secret so big, she came out of a year-long coma and her first instinct was to lie.

Who does that? Someone who is afraid. No—not afraid.

Terrified. And it’s my job to take that fear away.

My partner and I have spent countless man-hours hunting down the cold-blooded killer who did this to her. Meanwhile, Lily’s spent her waking hours recovering. Getting stronger. Getting smarter.

Staying beautiful.

Never get involved emotionally. That’s my dictate. Never get attached.

When you realize you’re caught in a triangle, it turns out there is no exit.

Crossing a line is easy. Holding a line takes strength.

Lily’s shooter knows that she’s my weakness.

One I have to get back.

No matter what it takes.



How can you stand there in front of me after kissing me like that and tell me everything will be okay when you know there’s no way out?”

If I thought there was no way out, Lily, I wouldn’t be here.”

And if I thought there was a way out, Duff, I wouldn’t be here, either.”

What does that mean?”

It means, hypothetically,” she says slowly, “that you’re asking me to give you information I don’t have.”

The tipping point happened.

I lost.

She’s gone over the edge. Or maybe I’m the one who’s gone over the edge. There’s no backtracking here. But I’m planting seeds, and seeds, when exposed to sunlight, eventually have to grow.

Lily, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

I know.”

But if you did, if you were going to give me one shred of information, I would ask this: Is the person who tried to kill you standing in this stairwell with you?”

I just handed her my heart. Pulled it straight out of my chest and held it up, waiting for her to take it.

About the Author

Meli Raine writes romantic suspense with hot bikers, intense undercover DEA agents, bad boys turned good, and Special Ops heroes — and the women who love them. Meli rode her first motorcycle when she was five years old, but she played in the ocean long before that. She lives in New England with her family.

Social Media Links:

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Merry Christmas!






May your days be merry and bright!



Sunday, December 23, 2018

Charity Sunday: Doctors Without Borders - #CharitySunday #DoctorsWithoutBorders #giveaway

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Welcome to my last Charity Sunday of 2018. I asked the members of my VIP Readers list which charity I should support today: PlannedParenthood, Doctors Without Borders or Amnesty International. All three of these organizations are favorites of mine, and all of them got votes, but Doctors Without Borders was the clear winner. Readers also offered suggestions for several other charities—which I will support in future Charity Sundays.

In case you’re not familiar with them, Doctors Without Borders, also known as Medecins Sans Frontieres, works to provide health care and humanitarian assistance to refugees, people in conflict zones and victims of disasters. The medical professionals involved volunteer their time and knowledge, often in perilous circumstances, to help other human beings, around the world. MSF is currently active in Yemen, where civil war has devastated the population and millions are on the verge of starvation; in South Sudan, where new violence has erupted; on the U.S. border, where Central American migrants deal with hunger, squalor and disease as they wait for word on asylum petitions. What I particularly love about MSF is the fact that they never take sides. They will help anyone who needs it, regardless of their affiliation. In fact this courageous position often puts volunteers on the ground in severe danger, but the organization will not compromise its principles.

Anyway, as is the case for all Charity Sundays, I will donate one dollar to MSF for each comment I receive on this post. I’ll leave this open until January 2nd. In addition, I have an excerpt from my holiday BDSM erotic romance tale Silver Bells, which is one of the stories in my Coming in Costume volume. I will give away two copies of this book to randomly selected people who leave comments.
May your days be merry and bright!

Tinkle, tinkle.”

I nearly dropped my cup into the punch bowl. Under my loose black velvet tunic, my clamped nipples throbbed with fresh heat. Blood rushed to my cheeks as well as to my steel-pinched clit. Embarrassment and lust mingled until I didn’t really know what I was feeling. It was simultaneously awful and delicious.

I didn’t dare whirl around to discover who had whispered the taunt in my ear. The tiny silver bells Greg had affixed to the thumbscrews above and below might ring more loudly. Swallowing my moan and gathering the shreds of my dignity, I turned at a stately pace to find Greg’s old friend James standing behind me, sporting a naughty grin.

Did you say something, James?” I managed to hold his gaze with some degree of poise, though I knew my face must be flushed. Wearing my party heels, I was only a few inches shorter than my guest. Behind his wire-framed spectacles, his brown eyes gleamed with mischief. For the hundredth time I wondered how much he knew about the nature of Greg’s and my relationship.

Just that it’s a lovely party, Isabella,” he replied. Was he laughing at her? “Simultaneously elegant and festive. You’re a very talented hostess.”

We’re glad you could make it.” I was astounded at how cool and in control I sounded. The ache from my tortured nipples and clit was nothing compared to the fear that my perversity might be revealed to the outside world.

Well, when I found out about the conference here in Manhattan, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Especially since it was close to the holidays. I’ve been wanting to visit you two for quite a while. Seems like ages since the wedding.”

Just a year and half.” James had been Greg’s best man. Apparently they’d known each other since college, and kept in touch through grad school. Greg had implied more than once that James had kinky interests that paralleled his own, but I thought it was unlikely he would have shared the thrilling and sordid details of our sex life, even with his closest friend.

My husband was a very private person. We didn’t go to clubs or play parties. He enjoyed threatening me with exposure, and we’d occasionally engaged in some semi-public scenes (the sudden recollection of one spanking in Central Park set my pussy flowing), but most of the time he preferred to test and torment me at home. To be honest, I was the one with the exhibitionist fantasies. Greg understood my warped mind only too well. Hence the bells.

California’s quite a ways from New York. And of course, I’ve been really busy with work.” James looked exactly like the Silicon Valley super-nerd he was: unruly black hair too long to be fashionable, geek glasses, a sensitive mouth, penetrating eyes, a complexion without the slightest trace of a California tan. He was well built, though, neither flabby nor too skinny. The company he’d founded must have had a gym. “I’ve thought about you quite a bit, though.”

About me? About us? I didn’t have the nerve to ask.

Don’t forget to leave a comment! Help MSF help others. And please include your email address, obfuscated if your prefer, so I can find you if you are my winner.

Saturday, December 22, 2018

Saturday Spanks: Tomorrow's Gifts - #SaturdaySpanks #MM #HolidayRomance #99cents

For the last Saturday Spanking before Christmas, I have another bit from Tomorrow’s Gifts. This is an intense scene between Michael and Thorne Wilder – the ghost of Christmas future. It might be at the hands of a stranger, but Michael is finally getting want he has craved for so long: submission.

The stranger had removed his jacket. I let my eyes wander hungrily over his bare chest and linger on his prominent nipples, deep maroon contrasting with his tanned, golden skin. He was more slender than Neil but clearly strong. His shoulders, especially, showed well-defined muscle that rippled ominously when he reached for the crop.

Good boy,” he murmured, and I felt absurdly pleased. The shaft whistled through the air. The leather tip of the crop snapped loudly against the sofa. My heart jumped into my throat. “Lucky for you, I know just how to use this.” He gestured toward the armchair in the corner, where Neil normally sat to read the paper. “Bend over. You know what I want, Michael.”

It was the first time that he’d used my name in a while. That calmed me, a bit, taking the edge off my terror without diminishing my lust. I did know what he wanted, as if I could read his mind – or he could read mine.

I placed my hands on the padded arms, leaning over so that my back was nearly horizontal. My naked ass was presented to his view, at a most convenient height. I spread my thighs, knowing without being told that this was appropriate. My balls dangled in the gap, easily accessible. Vulnerable. On the Web, I’d occasionally watched videos of testicle torture, horrified but unable to stop myself. I didn’t want that, I’d told myself, trying to ignore the throbbing in my cock. If this dream-man tried something like that, would I stop him? Could I?

My mind whirled, full of filthy images and unspeakable desires. For a long while, though, my so-called master did nothing. I could tell that he was behind me; I felt the air move when he stepped into position. But he didn’t touch me. Gradually my chaotic emotions subsided, leaving nothing but the ache of lust. I tried to relax, to ready myself for what I knew was coming. The longer I waited, the more I craved the blond man’s attention, even if it hurt.

His hand hovered above my bare buttocks. I felt the heat emanating from his palm. He didn’t touch me, but I felt a ghostly caress as he trailed his fingers millimetres from my bare skin. Touch me, I wanted to beg. Somehow I knew that I was not supposed to speak. The spectral hand moved away, leaving my flesh crying for contact.

A whoosh. A snap. A line of fire laced across my butt and burned into my soul. I screamed, then choked back my cry, as another stroke seared the opposite cheek. A third blow sliced crosswise across both sides, triggering a howl of pain that I couldn’t suppress. God, what if Neil heard? What if he woke and saw me, bent over like a slut, offering my ass to this stranger?

Don’t worry, he can’t hear you.” The blows paused. I gasped, feeling the fiery tracks across my flesh dying down to a pleasurable heat. “We’re in a different time locus. You can scream all you want. He’ll never know.” He lashed out again. The crop danced across my skin, striking sparks wherever it landed. I yelled as each blow landed, free at last.

I was high on the fantasy. Finally, I was being beaten, by a gorgeous man who knew exactly what I needed. The abstract wonder fled quickly, however, replaced by the physical realities – intense pain and equally overwhelming pleasure. I dreaded each stroke, yet as soon as it arrived, even before the agony faded, I craved another. My new master had apparently inexhaustible energy. Again and again he slashed at my ass, until my whole backside was raw. He laid new welts on top of the old ones. My flesh screamed, sensitised to the point where the gentlest touch would wake painful echoes. And he was far from gentle.

I was beyond screaming. All I could do now was whimper, tears leaking out from under my closed eyelids, fluid dripping from my rock-hard cock. Yet I didn’t want him to stop. I was floating on a cloud of sensation, borne up by the knowledge that I pleased him.