Don’t Touch Me Today

By Rachel Leigh Smith (Guest Blogger)

I have a secret. One I don’t tell many people, but I’m going to share it here. I suffer from something called fibromyalgia. It’s a long word to say I have trouble sleeping, my muscles hurt all the time, and sometimes I want to cut my feet off to make the burning stop. There are days when picking up my eleven-pound cat is a chore, and other days where my hands don’t work very well. The day I realized something was wrong with me is one I’ll never forget. I couldn’t hold a glass long enough to take a drink, and I broke down crying in the middle of the kitchen.

There’s a lot of me in A’yen, the main character of My Name Is A’yen. Including my experiences as a fibro sufferer. A’yen is a humanoid alien covered with tattoos, called markings, that he did not choose to have. All males of his species have them. They’re divided into three sets.

First set is applied at eighteen and covers his arms and across the shoulder blades on his back, then goes down his sides to his waist. Second set goes down the outer length of each leg onto the tops of his feet, at the age of twenty-two. Third set is the worst, covering the rest of his back, and is done at thirty-two. In this book A’yen doesn’t yet have third set and he’s dreading it. He’s thirty-one in the novel.

Why does he dread it? Because they hurt. All. The. Time. They interfere with his sleep, clothes he can wear, where people can touch him, and make it easy for people to take advantage of him. There are times when he goes around in a fog from lack of sleep, and just wants to be left alone because nobody can touch him if he’s alone. I live half my life in a lack of sleep fog. I never feel like I’ve gotten enough, no matter how much I get. Because it’s not the deep, restful sleep every human body needs to repair itself. The constant pain keeps me from achieving that state on a regular basis.

The ink used for the markings is metallic, and his species processes electromagnetic energy very different from us humans. The ink is the source of the pain as his body fights it every second from the moment it’s introduced into his body until the moment he dies. A lot of males go mad and kill themselves so they won’t have to deal with it anymore.

I didn’t consciously make A’yen mimic my own struggles, but once I realized what was going on I went all in. For the first time I could take this thing I live with and use it to deepen a character. That’s what writers do. We pull from our own experiences to make the ones on the page feel real. I had a couple of bad stretches on the fibro front while I was writing this, and they made it into the novel.

Fibro is an invisible disease, and many doctors don’t believe it’s real. Those who don’t have it, and who have never had the crap beat out of them, don’t believe how much it can hurt just to be touched. As I’m writing this I’m in one of the “I want to cut my foot off to make the burning stop” phases. It’s always worse when the humidity is high.

The same is true for A’yen. Most humans in the story world don’t believe the markings cause pain, and they don’t believe he’s in pain every second of every day. Those of us who suffer with chronic pain, no matter the form, experience this every day. It’s why we tend to keep it to ourselves. People around us don’t understand it, and what’s worse is many don’t want to. They tend to think it’s all in our heads. It’s not.

Next time you’re around someone with chronic pain issues, be gentle if you have to touch them. Watch for the little things and do what you can to help. Because some days, getting out of bed is unbelievably hard.

The novel may be fiction, but A’yen’s pain struggles are very real. And they don’t end. A romance happily ever after happens in spite of the couple’s circumstances. That’s what makes romance unique. But I haven’t left him completely without hope. There are a couple of things he can do to ease the pain, and he indulges in them whenever possible. You’ll have to read the book to find out what they are.

My Name Is A’yen 
A’yen’s Legacy #1

They've taken everything from him. Except his name.

The Loks Mé have been slaves for so long, freedom is a distant myth A'yen Mesu no longer believes. A year in holding, because of his master's murder, has sucked the life from him. Archaeologist Farran Hart buys him to protect her on an expedition to the Rim, the last unexplored quadrant.

Farran believes the Loks Mé once lived on the Rim and is determined to prove it. And win A'yen's trust. But she's a breeder's daughter and can't be trusted.

Hidden rooms, information caches and messages from a long-dead king change A'yen's mind about her importance. When she's threatened he offers himself in exchange, and lands on the Breeder's Association's radar. The truth must be told. Even if it costs him his heart.

Excerpt from My Name Is A’yen:

Expedition: Day Twenty-five

Creeping through an asteroid field had never been high on A’yen’s list of favorite things to do. After five days, the end was finally in sight. Another twenty-four hours and they’d be free and clear. Then another forty-eight and Rim One waited for them.

But right now, running on seven hours of sleep spread over the last three days, all A’yen wanted was a night relatively free of pain so he’d stop feeling like a zombie. No wonder the men stuck in regiments or labor details went mad. Lack of sleep made it all so much worse. By now he should be used to it. But he wasn’t.

Stretched on his bed, arms spread, no clothes, and the air vents set to blow across him, sleep insisted on hovering without landing. He’d never been this tired before, never had to push through it on his own without relief. Right now he’d almost damn his soul and let anyone who wanted him have a go in the hopes it might set one off.

Or ask Dr. Hart to rub the oil in again.

The door chimed. He didn’t move. Another chime. “Come in.”

It swooshed open and heavy footsteps entered his room. Not Pete or Cap. Neither would have waited for him to invite them in. He cracked one eye open to find Hale Curran staring at him. “What do you want?”

“We need to have a talk.”

A’yen closed his eye. “Then talk.”

Hale’s foot kicked the bed. “Get up.”

Quick as a lightning flash, A’yen grabbed Hale’s ankle and yanked him to the floor, then sat up and pulled a blanket over his legs. “Don’t you ever do that again. I am not one of your regiment slaves to order about at your leisure.”

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Bio: Rachel Leigh Smith writes romance for the hero lover. She lives in central Louisiana with her family and a half-crazed calico. When not writing, which isn’t often, she’s hanging with her family, doing counted cross-stitch, or yakking about life, the universe, and everything with her besties. There may also be Netflix binging . . .

She hangs out on Facebook, www.facebook.com/rachelleighsmithauthor and can sometimes be found on Twitter, @rachelleighgeek. You can sign up for her newsletter here. More about A’yen’s Legacy can be found at her website, www.rachelleighsmith.com.

For a chance at an ebook of My Name Is A’yen, answer this question: Who is your favorite romance hero? Don't forget to include your email address in your comment!

Hurts So Good

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", in the upcoming anthology Master Me:

“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 know it until you've tried it.

Master Me comes out next week, November 15th to be exact. You can win a copy on the day it's released. Got to http://www.lisabetsarai.com/news.html for details.