The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 20)

Daringly, when I joined their company with a contemptuous sneer on my face, I swung my right arm as hard as I could, and spanked Miss Frothinglips across her bared bottom. The smack was echoed in their shocked expressions. “Yes, yes, yes, to all your accusations. I was thinking about sucking your delicious prick, Sebastian, as I fucked Francine’s cunt with my fingers. Had I known you had a prior claim, I would have brought a dildo from the Gun Room and taken her for my own. It’s obvious to my ‘low and cunning morality’ that she needs regular fucking.”

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

An A(Muse)ing Fable

Once upon a time, a long time ago, more than two decades now, a man, an ordinary man, made a wish for a muse. Not a “Capital Letter” Muse, that would be much too much responsibility, but a quiet, unassuming, gentle muse who would collaborate with him and encourage him to write nice, little stories that would be enjoyable to read in his dotage.

HAH! He says again — HAH!

What showed up in his mind, was a full-throttle, in-your-face taskmistress whip-wielding MUSE who despised the word ‘no’. The writer hasn’t had a peaceful moment’s rest since.

Unless the MUSE takes a holiday… which she does… quite frequently. Her attitude is, “If you won’t promote yourself, I’m certainly not going to sign you up for social media. I’ve got a plane to catch, let me know we you get serious about writing.”

All he wanted was some inspiration and a companion to share the fire. So the moral is: Don’t wish for something you think you need, when what you have is more than enough.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Trafficked across the veil: Curtains for Betsy ~ 1

This story was originally posted for Wicked Wednesday on June 28th, 2017 as Inexhaustible Smorgasbord, a one-off story. There are two versions below. The first is the unchanged flash fiction repost, followed by an edited version that expands upon the original writing into a draft for longer fiction. I’m still not sure about the concept. Even with the rewrite, it’s not what my vision is. I may or may not continue this, or do something else.

The sharp cracks had faded to muted rumbles; the late summer storm trundled to the east, trailing an ebony cloak glazed with jagged streaks of abstract white. At my feet, the dull granite setts slowly slaked a thirst; the detritus of tourists swirling into the gaping sewers leaving behind deceptively safe and clean shiny streets. Historic Old Town, painstakingly resurrected—twice—from the ashes of pitiless warfare, brooded in the sweet morning air. The western skies pulsed with urgency, delayed flights flung themselves recklessly at the obscured stars, hastening to meet global schedules grounded by adverse conditions.

I cupped my left hand. Had any been able to observe, the brief orange flare would have revealed a deep weary cynicism. I puffed the harsh tobacco, blew out a stream of fragrant smoke that lingered close as if terrified by the surroundings. I ignored the warning, watching instead the CCTV camera as it whirred atop the light pole. The police drones had departed with the onset of rain. This was pass through area for visitors by day; small shops catering in information and deceit. By night, contraband slipped past the law with practiced ease.

A vibration shook the front right pocket of my black linen trousers. If a phone could sound impatient the summons snarled at my unruffled savoir faire. The cigarette tumbled like an acrobat without a net: I stubbed it out with a faint hiss as it splattered on the damp pavement. Finally moving forward, the crepe soles of my shoes were silent as a grave.

The night wavered. Lean shadows peeled from brick façades and dropped from pockets of mist hovering above. To those without the Sight, nothing had changed. My escort surrounded me. Lethal, immortal, they were not here to help—they weren’t allowed where I was expected—but to ensure I fulfilled my oath. If thoughts could kill…

Jutting phallicly with a hostile and arrogant contempt at the ragged edge of tradition [reclaimed] and gentrification, the Cashmere Tower was the tallest building in the city. Money fountained like arterial blood from the professional tenants, none of it staying for long; sophisticated programs laundered the stains through shell companies and numbered accounts. Standard procedures for corrupt businesses protected by slick lawyers and bought politicians. My target was higher up the ladder—literally—the top ten floors pandered to a different type of cash flow.

Vice was timeless. Nubile flesh an inflation proof currency. Educated agents were shopping for fresh victims that wouldn’t be missed.

By mistake or deliberate malice—the first understandable, the latter an apocalyptic possibility—the procurers had lured the wrong one. Whatever the alchemy of designer drugs and DJ mixed trance that had created the circumstances of the snatch, it had not removed the clear traces of her passage.

I was their emissary.

The elevator was smooth and quiet.

Rows and rows of glittering females arranged as if waxed produce in bins filled the luxurious rooms. The buyers with their tablets snapped pictures, and fired off messages that raced around the world. The auction started later, but I was not shopping. My steel attaché was not filled with clean dollars or euros or yen, but a single jewel that pulsed with all the suppressed fury at the unrelenting humanistic devouring of magic.

I carried a portal strong enough to suck the entire building into the Outerlands were it not tuned to ‘rescue’ my target. If the dead-eyed brokers knew what their exotic captive actually was, they’d run screaming into the night; not that fleeing was a viable option should she choose to destroy rather than drink in the essence of fear and despair coating the dungeon walls.

Why I was chosen to interrupt the pain slut as she writhed in her bondage, driving her price higher with every blow of the whip: that is a story best told later. For when the Queen commands retrieval of her wayward daughter: who better to mount an escape, than the Princess’ estranged human husband.

That would be me.







Trafficked across the veil: Curtains for Betsy

They came from someplace else; that much the physicists and theologians agreed upon. From there, matters took a turn for the worse: much worse.

 

 

The part in where the hero attempts to reclaim his past.

 

The sharp piercing cracks had finally faded to muted rumbles. The late summer storm trundled to the east, insolently trailing an ebony cloak glazed with jagged streaks of abstract white. At my feet, the dull granite setts slowly slaked an endless thirst: the detritus of tourists swirling into the gaping sewers. Left behind were the deceptively safe and clean shiny streets.

Historic Old Town, painstakingly resurrected — twice — from the ashes of pitiless warfare, brooded in the sweet morning air, waiting for the sun to warm brick and cement. To the west, beyond the huddled slabs of public housing and abandoned factories, the sky pulsed with urgency, delayed flights flinging themselves recklessly at the obscured stars, hastening to meet global schedules grounded by adverse conditions.

I cupped my left hand. Had any been able to observe, the brief orange flare would have revealed a deep weary cynicism. I puffed the harsh tobacco — no ecigs for me — blowing out a stream of fragrant smoke that lingered close as if terrified by the surroundings.

Ignoring the warning implied by the carcinogenic swirls, I watched instead the CCTV camera as it whirred atop the nearest light pole. The police drones had departed with the onset of rain, the flatfoots sheltered in the all-night café, gossiping about the newest policewoman’s tits. This was pass-through area for visitors by day, the small shops catering in information and deceit. By night, contraband slipped past the law with practiced ease abetted by greased palms and greasier ethics.

A vibration shook the front right pocket of my black linen trousers. If a smartphone could sound impatient, its summons snarled at my weary savoir-faire and ennui. The cigarette tumbled to its death like an acrobat without a net: I stubbed it out with a faint hiss as it splattered on the damp pavement. Stepping forward off the curb, the crepe soles of my shoes were silent as a grave. Not mine: not this night at least.

If you were attuned, the pre-dawn wavered. Lean shadows peeled from brick façades and dropped from pockets of mist hovering above. To those without the Sight, nothing had changed. My escort surrounded me. Lethal, immortal, they were not here to help — they weren’t allowed where I was expected — but to ensure I fulfilled my oath. If thoughts could kill…

They didn’t like me: the feeling was mutual. Ritual snarls and posturing. I was suddenly exhausted by the drama. If not for my desire for revenge, I’d have pulled the trigger and exited this plane with a bang.

I often lied to myself. Lust played an oversized role in this operation.

Any one of the warriors at my side would have gladly seized the prize. Too bad for them I got there first.

Jutting phallically with hostile and arrogant contempt at the ragged edge of tradition [nostalgically reclaimed] and gentrification, the Cashmere Tower was the tallest building in the city. Money fountained like arterial blood from the quasi-professional tenants, none of it staying for long; sophisticated programs laundered the stains through shell companies and offshore numbered accounts. Despite the repeated hacks and journalistic exposures, it was all standard procedures for corrupt businesses protected by slick lawyers and bought politicians.

My target was higher up the ladder — literally — the top ten floors pandered to a different type of cash flow. Vice was timeless. Nubile flesh an inflation proof currency. Educated agents were shopping for fresh victims that wouldn’t be missed.

By mistake or deliberate malice — the first understandable, the latter an apocalyptic possibility — the procurers had lured the wrong one. Whatever the alchemy of designer drugs and DJ mixed trance that had created the circumstances of the snatch, it had not removed the clear traces of her passage.

I was their emissary.

The elevator was smooth and quiet.

What lay beyond the locked and guarded entrance was not.

Tears flowed. The fear filled the cold air with an intoxicating mélange of the most titillating scent of all: Fresh money.

Rows and rows of glittering females arranged as if waxed produce in bins filled the luxurious rooms. The buyers with their tablets snapped countless pictures, and fired off encrypted messages that raced around the world in an instant. No throttling of speed for this crowd. They owned the conduits on behalf of the 1%. Meat was meat — human livestock for consumption by those who could afford the very best.

The auction started later, but I was not bidding. My steel attaché with electronic lock was not filled with clean dollars or euros or yen, but a single jewel that pulsed with all the suppressed fury at the unrelenting humanistic devouring of magic.

I carried a portal strong enough to suck the entire building into the Outerlands were it not tuned to ‘rescue’ my target. If the dead-eyed brokers knew what their exotic captive actually was, they’d run screaming into the night; not that fleeing was a viable option should she choose to destroy rather than drink in the essence of pain and despair coating the dungeon walls.

Why I was chosen to interrupt the pain slut as she writhed in her bondage, driving her price higher with every blow of the whip: that is a story best told later. For when the Queen commands retrieval of her wayward daughter: who better to mount an escape, than the Princess’ estranged human husband.

That would be me.

You too can own Stephanie for your own

Hope everyone — in America — survived Thanksgiving and Black Friday. Today is Cyber Monday, and what better way to celebrate the occasion with a purchase of, The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie, for yourself or a loved one. That’s right, Stephanie, the complete novella, is now available to purchase for your ereader device.

Find Stephanie at Books 2 Read with links to online booksellers and ereaders, including Kindle, Nook, Apple, Kobo, 24S and Angus & Robertson.

Click Picture to go to Books2Read.com for links to your favorite bookseller.

If you already have an Amazon account, then click this link to go directly to Stephanie’s page in your country.

When Stephanie crashes (quite literally) into the life of Ross, high flying exec in the fashion world and eligible bachelor, she is stupefied he wants her as his. Under Ross’ tutelage, as Brat to his Sir, she learns that she can be spanked for more than just being naughty! And Ross — he discovers there’s much more to Stephanie than just her submissive need to be disciplined, as he falls more and more in love. A brilliantly funny, light-hearted, spanking erotic romance novella by Byron Cane, with memorable characters and a beautiful love story interwoven into the sexiness, lending a contemporary twist to the princess fairy tale.

Click picture to purchase: The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie, began as a modern updated tribute to The Perils of Pauline. It is a slightly satirical send up of both the contemporary spanking scene, and popular culture’s fascination with kink through the guise of both D/s and D/D. The novella is meant to be funny, corny, sprinkled with numerous touchstones and sly wordplay, while simultaneously weaving a constant serious spanking story line that turns romantic and erotic with a HEA ending.

The first part of the novella details the spankings Stephanie receives in various settings by her neighbors and boss. These are not always graphically described, but are rather the result of Stephanie’s hapless bumbling into situations requiring discipline. A third of the way through the novella, she meets Ross at a restaurant party hosted by her boss. The sparks (and spanks) fly between them, and Ross finds himself scrambling to keep up with the vivacious and mischievous Stephanie. Before the week is out, through both discipline and erotic spankings, they fall deeply in love with each other, and Ross’ firm hand. Each chapter builds upon the previous story line as various supporting characters reveal their own kinky backgrounds. In the end, everyone is satisfied, and Ross sexually claims Stephanie for his own.

On a personal note, I want to offer my thanks to Ina Morata, owner, editor and publisher of Clarian Press. Without her expertise in editing, Stephanie wouldn’t be the quality book it is now. When I wrote the first episode back in July, 2016 for Wicked Wednesday, I never imagined that the flash fiction post would wind up being a novella. So you thank you, Ina, and thank you readers for your loyalty and support.

P.S. As the author, I’ve probably read Stephanie dozens of times. Yet, the ending chapters always make me cry in happiness. I love, love this story and am extremely proud to offer this novella to you.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 19)

She cried out then, with a girlish lisp, proceeded to blame me. “It’sss all her fffault. Ssshe sshould be whiiped toooo.” Mr. Steedstiff moved aside and spoke over his shoulder, his finger clearly embedded in her wet cunt. “Is that true, Ruby? Did you seduce poor innocent Francine with your low and cunning morality? Part her sweet thighs and steal her sweet naivety with your wicked mouth?” Inwardly I sighed with relief. It was all a game: A game I intended to win at all costs. I pushed away from the wall, walking with an insolent sway in my gait.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 18)

To my astonishment, I could clearly see a dark blush suffuse her face and upper chest. “I got distracted, Sebastian.” His back to me, his expression was hidden, but not his actions. A hand slipped around to her front and wiggled up between her closed thighs. Her eyes closed—whether in shame or arousal I could not ascertain—but her reaction to his exploration was much louder than any I’d been able to elicit earlier. “Why, you naughty slut, Francine. Taking advantage of a helpless servant girl to satisfy your greedy quim. Shall I whip you for your wanton wallowing?”

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 17)

Over the suckling sound of their reunion of mouths, I could hear him murmur effusive platitudes such as this: “I’ve missed you, sweet Francine, like the blushing rose misses the damp dew of spring’s kisses.” Even as I winced at his overwrought sentiments, I knew there would be trouble if a gentlemen were discovered in a young lady’s chambers without proper chaperonage. I didn’t qualify and fervently wished for invisibility as I pressed my shoulder blades into the flocked wallpaper. No such luck. He released Miss Frothinglips, retaining possession of her posterior and genially asked, “Have you told her yet?”

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 16)

Heavy knocking broke the fragile silence. Fraught with entangled emotions, until she infinitesimally raised a plucked brow at my hesitation, I did not move to answer the door. When I did so, Mr. Steedstiff was waiting in the passageway. I nodded, waiting for Miss Frothinglips to bade him enter. Evidently he was expected. “Sebastian, please come in.” I stood aside and began to close the door. “Ruby? Where are you going? I did not dismiss you.” Confused, I stepped back inside her room watching as Mr. Steedstiff—Sebastian—hugged and kissed her with evident passion. His hands gripped her bottom.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

It’s the romance of the thing

This week for Wicked Wednesday, the prompt is Page 69. “Take one sentence from page 69 of the book you are currently reading and use it to write a story of your own.” The thing with me though, is that I’m never reading just one book. Currently I am in the process of reading five books and several magazines. It’s rare I find a book that I read in one sitting. Most don’t keep my attention. Anyway, the book I took a sentence from page 69 is, Six Degrees of Scandal by Caroline Linden. It’s a Historical Romance, set just after the Regency era in England, circa 1822. This genre runs the gamut from chaste love to all-out erotic descriptions. I enjoy reading romances in many different styles, because some of the best contemporary writers can be found plying their trade behind silly looking covers.

Page 69: “There was something about Olivia’s face that changed when she smiled; it was the spark of humor in her eyes, or perhaps the endearing little quirk to the left corner of her mouth, or even the way her chin went down a bit.”

“What are you smirking about, Olivia?” Annamarie glanced up from her phone at her wife’s snigger, her tone one of idle interest, not commanding. “You’ve got that smile again.”
“This romance I’m reading.” Olivia knew better than to dismiss her Mistress’ question with a casual ‘nothing’. Interested or not, Annamarie had a low tolerance for half-truths and mumbled conversations. “The heroine is in trouble — again — and insists on doing things her way instead on relying upon the tall, dark, handsome light-skinned hetero man she used to love long ago.” She smiled again, wider with a bright twinkle that caught the soft diffused LED lamps. “Sound familiar?”
Annamarie’s response was a throaty laugh; part growl and part purr as she raised up out of her chair with feline grace and intent. Sitting on the far end of the couch, she lifted Olivia’s legs and draped them over her lap. Delicately removing each wool sock in turn, Annamarie pressed her thumbs into Olivia’s bare arches. “Your feet are tense, KittyKat. Did my little puss-puss have a hard day at work?”
Groaning with pleasure, Olivia set the paperback, splayed open at the spine, across the jersey sweatshirt stretched over her slightly rounded tummy.
“Work was fine, Mistress. I was very productive and my boss even said I was glowing.” Olivia gasped as Annamarie’s finger slid under her loose pants and squeezed her calves. “Hmmmmmmmmm.”
“That calls for a celebration. Don’t you think, KittyKat?”
“Yes please.” Olivia’s answer was accompanied by a long moan as her Mistress’ hands reached her lower thighs.

Spinning like a rotisserie until her blushing cheek rested against the buttery leather surface on the cushion, Olivia lifted her rump while Annamarie tugged her pants and underwear down just enough to reveal a bare bottom to the warm air of the popping fire. The hand that caressed her plump globes was gentle, although Olivia knew it could also be stern and harsh when she disobeyed.
“I’m going to spank you, KittyKat, until your bottom turns that lovely shade of pink you love so much.”
Olivia couldn’t help wiggling her tail with excitement. “Thank you, Mistress! Your KittyKat adores your spankings.”
Annamaire couldn’t quite see Olivia’s expression, but as she raised her hand, and then spanked her palm firmly upon her submissive wife’s buttocks, she knew the ripples of the impact went straight to Olivia’s mouth and pussy. “Will you properly thank your benevolent Mistress after she finishes spanking your bottom?”
SMACK
“Oh yes, Mistress!”
SMACK
“On your knees?”
SMACK
“With my wrists cuffed behind my back and blindfolded.”
SMACK
“Feeling kinky tonight, are we?”
SMACK
“Yes, Mistress. I need to service you. Please?”
SMACK
“Very well, KittyKat. I will grant your request.”
SMACK
“Thank you, Mis—”
SMACK SMACK SMACK
“I wasn’t finished.”
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
“You may service me with your tongue and lips. However, should you fail to give me the number of orgasms I’m thinking of, you will be bound over the whipping table and caned until I deem your apology is sincere.”
SMACK
“Yes, Mistress. I will service you until you are satisfied. If I fail, please cane your unworthy submissive until she is contrite.”
SMACK
Olivia couldn’t see Annamarie’s expression, but she knew her Mistress’ mind after ten years together. While she didn’t want to fail, Olivia understood she had a chance to succeed and not receive the caning. A slim chance, but a real one nevertheless. Her Mistress wasn’t cruel, but both got what they wanted out of their marriage. Love, spanking and pain.

They smiled together, the smiles of lovers synced in D/s.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

The 400 Club

This week I received the 400th follower to this blog. I don’t have anything special to offer though. No sweepstakes, no cruise for two, no lifetime supply of dark chocolate. Sorry. 🙂

However, I do get this warm fuzzy feeling whenever I get a notification of a new reader. You’d think that after all these years, I’d be more jaded, but I’m not. I am so thrilled that even one person likes what I write, never mind hundreds.

Speaking of writing, I know I’ll never be the most popular, or the most eloquent and, since I rarely write anything personal about myself, certainly won’t have millions of people waiting for my next tweet. Which I don’t: Tweet. I don’t have any social media accounts; I don’t consider blogging to be social media, although when it started, it was. Since been eclipsed by other platforms.

I’m not a tormented author; I don’t huddle in bed bemoaning lack of progress or rend my clothes shrieking when the perfect prose eludes my grasp. Writing for me is fun. Primarily because the fiction I write; I write because it interests me. I know from reading other blogs, that my stories are often pale imitations of the ‘real’ deal when it comes to sex and discipline. But that’s okay, I prefer delving into the mental and emotional aspects of characters rather than intimate details of pieces and parts.

Will I ever post pictures here? No. Will I ever reveal my sexual history? No. Will I ever meet any of you in person? Maybe.

What I will do is keep writing fiction and poetry about spanking and sex from the submissive female perspective — with a little dominance thrown in for good measure. I mean, Byron Cane is a large pen name to live up to. He creates an image of sage wisdom, pithy advice and a keen eye for the feminine posterior. Of course, I could just be blowing smoke up your asses. Only time will tell. 🙂

 





Breaking NEWS!!!!!!! Stop the presses!!!!!! Hold the phones!!!!!!! Alert the feeds!!!!!!!!!

FREE Stephanie Chapter 1 to 5

For a limited time only, you may click this link to Instafreebie and claim your very own FREE copy of the first 5 Chapters of The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie. The entire novella will be available for download to your ereader November 27th, 2017. If you are a book reviewer or would like to receive an advance copy in order to publicize Stephanie on your social platforms, please contact Ina Morata [Owner, Editor, Publisher of Clarian Press] at this contact link to send an email of query.

I guess I did have something for joining the 400 Club after all. Have a happy day and good reading.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 15)

My pride stinging more than my cheeks, I gazed at her silk slippers and braced myself for more abuse. She growled; like a spoiled lap dog to a suitor. Surprised, I raised my chin daring her to hit me again. Fingers reached out, stroked my jaw and then her mouth crushed my lips, tongue slithering past my teeth and subduing my anger. I thought I understood her confusion, so meekly submitted as she sought to reestablish her dominance. When she released me—with reluctance it seemed—she was once more the distant and haughty Miss Frothinglips. The afternoon became stranger.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 14)

While she presumably cleaned, I did the same, wiping dry the floor and the stool. When I finished, I brushed off my uniform, stood at attention and waited. Wearing a long dressing gown trimmed with satin ribbons and floral embroidery, she strode, not towards her vanity to finish her daily ritual, but instead, without any warning, reached out and slapped me across my unsuspecting cheek. “Do not presume, Ruby, to seek liberties where none are offered.” Shocked at the vehemence more than the blow across my face, I must have expressed my inner smugness. SLAP! My head rocked once more.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 13)

Forcing her surrender had consequences, but even though in her frenzy she shoved me backwards arse-over-teakettle, inside I was smirking at her loss of control. Perhaps you believe I was naively being exploited, but I assure you, even then I knew my sensual prowess and submissiveness were the keys to a secure future. It was only fickle fortune that I loved every sexual aspect of unbridled lust. While awareness seeped back into her eyes, I remained seated on the floor awaiting her next desire. I pretended to notice neither her unsteady gait nor her destination of the enclosed water closet.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 12)

I felt the ripples of her climax. She sprayed my face. A trembling hand clamped my skull. My open mouth forced to drink. My tongue delved deeper. Her pert bottom rose. I jabbed two fingers to replace my thumb lifting in unison with her gyrations. If she was still quiet, at least her body was not quiescent. Her writhing limbs, her rapid breath, the clenching of internal muscles all betrayed her lustful nature. How many consecutive orgasms I wrung from her oh-so-sophisticated aristocratic cunt, I do not now remember, but it was Miss Frothinglips who conceded the amatory field first.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

Here be Dragons!

beneath the down, warm slick ridges yield to pressure, fingers tracing the lines written with rattan
curving up the slope, straining for the summit, plunging off the crest deep into the shadowed depths
the geography of your body is a cartographer’s dream, all thoroughly explored by disciplined surveying

paper crackles when I step
an old Esso map
creases worn thin
a souvenir of our last road trip, back when we had few responsibilities and fewer cares, our only goals to fuck
then fuck some more

sliding under the covers, morning cock crowing, driving forward between the parted hillocks
remembering the first time we plunged into Terra Incognita, the dark tunnel resisting eager efforts
the hiss you make now, reminds me of the hot springs, a memory of long ago when a map still excited us

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Stephanie gets spanked and exposed

Last week I shared the beginning pages of The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie over on my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction. The post is called WIP it Wednesday: A date with Stephanie. I will be sharing a longer excerpt tomorrow there, but today I wanted to share a couple of snippets here. [It will make more sense if you read last week’s post first, but it’s not mandatory.] Only a fortnight to go! That’s two weeks or fourteen days. My publisher, Clarian Press, calls The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie “An updated modern-day fairy tale romance with spanking.”

The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

Excerpt #1. [On the way to work]

Once more the heavy wooden brush spanked her quivering buttocks. Mr. Johnson hit much harder; the smacks and distressed cries echoed loudly in the enclosed space.
Unfortunately for the sniffling Stephanie, the elevator stopped at every floor going down. She blushed in humiliation as she explained to each new potential passenger that she was being a naughty girl… again. All of them smiled, waved to her neighbors, and said they’d wait for the next elevator. By the time the lobby was reached, her bottom under the peek-a-boo silk panties was a bright gleaming pink.
She composed herself as Mrs. Garcia congratulated Mr. Johnson for a ‘job well done’. After one final loud spank on her bottom, Stephanie fidgeted when they complimented the pretty color of her cheeks, and sighed when they finished with a close-up inspection and check of warmth by hand.

Excerpt #2. [Later that same day after work]

“I want you to lay on your back then scoot your bottom up high in air so that your tailbone rests on the arm of the couch. I’m going to put the pillow and towel underneath as you pull your legs back to your chest.” Stephanie made a small sound of protest at Mrs. Garcia’s instructions. “No, darling, I’m not going to spank you, although the diaper position is very effective in getting the point across. I’m going to oil your bottom with aloe and vitamin E like I always do.”
Stephanie had never felt so humiliated before. Thank goodness it wasn’t Mr. Johnson peering down at her wet, curly haired pussy and tiny puckered anus! She let out a long sigh though when the cooling lotion was rubbed into her tender skin.
Stephanie couldn’t help but feel tingly when Mrs. Garcia’s strong fingers spread her thighs even further apart and moved closer to all her moist, flushed nooks and crannies. She blushed and put her arm across her face when Mrs. Garcia teased, “Seems like a certain naughty girl is enjoying her treatment. I wonder if she is thinking about being spanked some more?”

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 11)

My jaw began to ache. Other than heightened puffs of breathy inhalations, she made no vocalizations. Determined to provoke a reaction—I was used to Louisa’s earthy vocabulary and uninhibited passion—I slipped a finger into Miss Frothinglips narrow tight frontal passage. Wet heat clamped. I circled her swelled clit with my other thumb. Her thighs quivered. Still she was silent. The thumb moved lower. Her back portal was not virgin, even if her cunt had not been plundered by a prick. I rubbed my probing digits together, only a thin membrane between my tips. She slumped even further down.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 10)

Lifting her pink peignoir, she revealed the dimpled valley and rumpled hillocks of her womanhood. Her rich scent complimented her floral perfume that she habitually daubed from a crystal jar. She did not speak. I did not hesitate. A fleeting thought as my tongue lapped her essence, perhaps their confusion is due to my eagerness. Her filmy silk garment enclosed my head like dove’s wings as any mental whimsy flitted away under the influence of her dewy flux. As I licked and swallowed her rich crème, I noted she tasted much different then Louisa. Likely a better diet, not breeding.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 9)

At this I panicked. I was no ladies maid and knew nothing of the upper-class toilette. With short, even shy shuffling steps I was drawn by her coiling finger: closer and closer until her upraised palm halted me only inches away from her body. Her head, level with my bosom, cocked sideways peering up as I looked down. “Kneel.” There was no ‘please’ in her command. I knelt anyway. It was only as her thighs leisurely parted and her elbows went back to rest upon the table that I realized her intent. As punishments went, licking her cunt seemed benign.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 8)

I bit my lip, hard. Protesting my innocence would only serve to deepen the apparent rift that had opened overnight. “Nothing else to say, Ruby?” My eyes finally clashed with her reflection. She was angry. Why, I could not fathom. “I apologize if I’ve given you offense, miss, for I know of no action of mine that would have caused your apparent disfavor of my presence here.” She spun, slowly, the top of the stool silently rotating until she was square to me as I stood at a respectable distance. Her forefinger curled, beckoning me closer. “I require your expertise.”

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

For WIP it Wednesday, I posted an update on Stephanie. She’ll be being spanked everywhere on November 27th, 2017. Hop on over to my other blog, to read the beginning of this novella. I’ll be posting more excerpts, information on ordering and links to ARC to those who are interested in reviewing.

Addicted to Tech

One of best ‘spoofs’ of ’80s music videos, was Addicted to Love, by Robert Palmer in 1985. In honor of this week’s Wicked Wednesday’s prompt of telephone, I thought I would write alternate lyrics — raunchy — lyrics about being addicted to tech. [Feel free to laugh at my attempts.]

Playing in bed, I’m all alone
Downstairs, you’re on the phone
Cock is hard, I wanna fuck
Too many blogs, I’m outta luck
Can’t turn off, can’t unwind
Going down, constant chimes
Just one more check, pretty please
I want your mouth, get on your knees,
Damn, you like to believe you’re in charge of your feed, bullshit
closer to the truth you’re making love to your phone
You think all my hard spanks are boring, you’re addicted to tech
Ignore the signs, they’re really clear
You’re texting me, but I’m right here
Your thumbs dance over the screen
Updates come in and it’s too late, wanted to ream
Your ass is safe
Coming for you I masturbate
Notice that you don’t care
When cum gets in your hair
Damn, you like to pretend you’re in charge of your feed, bullshit
Replaced by your phone I say enough is enough
Even your pussy is neglected, you’re addicted to tech

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Spanking for pleasure

If you did a word association with ‘spanking’, the likely top response would be ‘punishment’. Even within the D/s community, spanking is used frequently for discipline and correction, rather than fun. That being said, if you said ‘sex’, the word most commonly utilized is probably ‘fucking’. After all, it depends on your definition of what ‘it’ is.

We are a genitally obsessed society. Every focus of swiping right is to get a penis in a vagina, or two cocks hooking up, or two pussies or any other dizzying variety of possibilities. Breasts and buttocks are reduced to visual mounds of flesh, flashing interest and availability while ‘down below’ prep is in full swing.

Not for spankos though. We know that time spent caressing, fondling, pinching, squeezing and of course, smacking the rounded rump of our partner, gets the mind into an area fraught with arousal. I am sure some of you can masturbate to climax without engaging in internal fantasy, but it’s a lot better when you orgasm thinking about someone or something else.

I know from reading many of your blog posts, spanking is often used this way; as foreplay. Whether you liked to be spanked, or like to spank, sex is more than bumping genitals. Yes, that’s often the payoff, but the route to get there can take many different forms. Bending over a lover’s knee and being spanked moderately until red and glowing, is a great way to get pleasure out of spanking. It makes the ‘sex’ that follows, all that much better.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 7)

At her dressing table, in careless déshabillé, she beckoned me forward. I did not meet her gaze in the mirror, but could sense her intense regard despite her seemingly casual posture and partial nudity. “Do you know why you are here?” I shook my head. “We had a meeting last night — your principle trainers. You puzzle us, Ruby. Did you know that?” Miss Frothinglips’ tone made it clear she expected a thoughtful response. “No, miss. I am but a humble maid and have sought only to do what I was told.” Her smile was predatory. “Lies will not avail you.”

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 6)

This was my first time in her domain, and although we’d interacted—to salacious results at times—there was an unbreachable bastion between us. I would never be more than servant class, no matter how wealthy and influential my husband night be. She was aristocracy, and her blood was deemed better than mine. I did not mind. Ambition was tolerated — if not encouraged — but I had no desire for a glass slipper or a prince’s kiss. The gilded life seemed glamorous from the outside, but it was a cage nevertheless. “Good afternoon, Miss Frothinglips. I was told to report here.”

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

For those interested in an update about, The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie, click this link to be transported to my other blog.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 5)

I did not like deferred punishments. During a maid’s cycle, canings and whippings accrued to be given all at once when sexual servitude recommenced: An incentive to behave with extra circumspection and diligence. I of course, being an incorrigible termagant, piled up demerits like windblown red leaves against a fence. That was later though. Firstly came Saturday afternoon and an assignment to Miss Frothinglips. Was ever a surname more appropriate, I never encountered. “Enter.” I brushed my damp palms down my brushed out skirt. There were still smudges on my apron. Nervous, I pushed open the door to her suite.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 10 (Part 4)

My fifth day in service was markedly different. It was exceedingly bizarre to not only be wearing a uniform at all times, but an undergarment girdling my loins. The fabric chaffed my tender nipples. The loss of freedom through lack of nudity felt like a day in gaol. Thus does one quickly become accustomed to circumstances even when some would label them beyond the pale. The roster was shuffled. Louisa and I swapped duties for the next three days. I much preferred scrubbing floors and being spanked, to her tasks of cleaning grates and oil lamps. I was very dirty.

Rather than read each individual drabble, you can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters. For easier reading, once I have posted all 30 drabbles, I repost the entire chapter in 3,000 words.

The shoot at Memory Lane

This post is over the suggested word limit for Wicked Wednesday, but I hope Rebel won’t mind.

I first met missy in August, 2016, a month after she started blogging as Submissy. What attracted me to her was not so much the topic(s) discussed, but rather the erudite style of her essays and the pithy wit displayed when dissecting the tribulations of balancing D/s with a very full family life. Her posts have inspired many a response — both essays and fictional — from me and, when we have a chance to chat — which isn’t often enough, my bad — we talk about everything except D/s. A recent series of posts about dark desires, submissive triggers and the moving goal posts that is kinky behavior, led to my comment suggesting His Lordship should produce a calendar called, Twelve Months Of missy. She was properly horrified, but knowing her writings, undoubtably turned on by thought of millions of people admiring her nude body. This is for you, missy, my friend.

When missy arrived home from school and went upstairs, there was a note and a change of clothes on the bed. All were garments she wore regularly, except the underwear — a deep iridescent purple verging on black. The note read:
Tonight, one of our darkest and twisted desires shall come true. You belong to me, missy, and it is time others celebrated that fact. You have fifteen minutes to change and meet your Sir in the garage.

“My mind’s made up, missy. We’re doing this. The time for discussion is over,” His Lordship intoned as they pulled around the back of a nondescript brick building at the back block of Memory Lane Industrial Park. Pulling up to corrugated steel door and after putting the vehicle in park, he twisted his torso in the driver’s seat and tugged his submissive closer by grasping her chin. “I love you. I love your body. And I love the idea of showing you off to others. You deserve to be on display, missy, not only because you are beautiful and I am proud to be your owner, but because your dark desire for kink is even more twisted than your thick glass anal plug.”

She shivered and moaned as He firmly nipped the base of her neck where it met the shoulder. The waves of desire, panic, excitement washed over her mind and brought dampness to her core.

The door rolled up with a clatter. His Lordship drove forward into a lift. As they went down, missy’s fingernails dug into the armrest of the passenger’s side door. She jumped when the lift came to a jarring halt. The inner door opened vertically. The headlights shone into a vast dark cavern. As His Lordship slowly drove the vehicle into the open space, in the distance, could be seen a faint reflection.

She leaned against her seat belt, watching as the redness resolved into an elevated platform; carpeted steps led up to where furniture could now be clearly seen in the headlights. There was a couch in rich velvet, a leather ottoman, a wood table and a metal T-bar rack with clothes hangers. Her heart was pounding. Nothing else was visible.

His Lordship turned off the vehicle — the lights stayed on — and got out: missy heard him open the boot. It slammed shut. Her door opened, he helped her stand on her three-inch stilettos. He handed her a silver platter. She gasped seeing the cane, paddle, lube, clamps and plug. “Take this tray up the steps, missy, set in on the table, and wait for my instructions.”

Her hands were shaking. The contents rattled. The headlights went out as she placed the tray down. Utter darkness for what seemed like an eternity. Then, a single spotlight, then another until a total of four pinned her like a specimen spread-eagle under glass.

His Lordship’s amplified voice boomed and echoed. “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for accepting my invitation to my submissive’s photo shoot for my calendar, Twelve Months of missy. Please feel free to comment and applaud, but do not approach the platform.”

Gripping her elbows, missy stared out into the blackness, unable to see anything. Her eyes were wide and panicked, randomly darting in every direction.
“missy,” His Lordship spoke, “remove your jacket and hang it on the rack.”
For a long moment, missy couldn’t move. Biting her lip, she forced her numb fingers to unbutton and hang up the jacket.
“Bend over, place your palms on the table.”
When she obeyed, she sensed Him appear behind her. Feeling the paddle tap, she arched her bottom instinctively. SMACK!
A bright strobe caught her expression the instant after the paddle landed.
“That’s for January, missy. Now, take off your sweater.”
She felt a deep rush of humiliation knowing what would be exposed. Still, she didn’t hesitate; his voice and commands were gradually forcing her submission.
“Stand at the back of the couch and thrust your chest forward. Show everyone your gorgeous breasts.”
The translucent blouse did nothing to hide the black bustier pushing up. The tight fit drew the eye to her erect nipples poking out an inch, tenting the white silk. SMACK! SMACK!
“February is for lovers.” This time the picture showed missy with slack mouth, tongue peeping between teeth and a strained expression of longing. “Remove the blouse, missy, then kneel on the couch and lay your bared breasts on the top edge for all to admire.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The camera captured her head tossed back as the hard blows snapped against her skirt.
“March can cause very puckered nipples, don’t you agree, missy?” There was laughter from the darkness beyond the stage as missy blushed nearly as red as the couch.
“Skirt. Off. Straddle the ottoman and flash your wet knickers to the voyeurs.” His Lordship paused as she tugged the zipper down. “They are wet, aren’t they, missy?”
The metal hangers rattled as she placed the skirt on the rack.
SMACK! “Answer the question!”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.
SMACK! “They can’t hear you.”
“YES! My knickers are wet.”
Applause rang out.
She had to squat slightly in order to spread her knees either side of the leather ottoman. All she now wore was a black bustier, seamed black stockings, her fuck-me shoes and lace hipsters. Oh, and a purple satin ribbon in her hair.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “April leads to warmer weather, and as you can clearly see, less clothing.” This month’s picture showed her from the side, breasts and buttocks quivering under the blows.
“Now then, you have two more items to remove. I think…” His Lordship tapped the paddle against his thigh as he pondered while missy’s thighs quavered with the strain of holding her position. “Bustier. Let’s free those mammary glands, shall we?”

missy felt the intent regard of — to her — hundreds of eyes watching her striptease.

“Kneel on the ottoman, hold both arms straight out and keep your bottom off your heels.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Each paddle strike rocked her forward as she fought to stay balanced. The side effect was that her breasts bounced. If anything, her nipples were even longer and thicker. “Exercise in May, people, to go topless on the beach.”
There was a buzz of anticipation; missy could taste the desire rushing the stage. No longer afraid, she wanted to go further. She needed to have her limits pushed — no, smashed — until she could reveal her innermost fantasy made flesh.
“Stand at the edge of the stage, missy. Turn around, spread your legs shoulder-width apart, bend forward and slowly, teasingly, lower your knickers to your ankles.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The centerfold of the calendar captures the moment when the sixth impact is indenting and rippling missy’s pink bottom. What you can’t see, is her glistening pussy: that view was reserved for the punters.
“June, when nude frolicking is fun.” His Lordship set the paddle down, and picked up the cane from the platter, along with the lube and plug. “As you can see, missy is nude — mostly — and instead of taking off her stockings and heels,” he held up the anal corkscrew plug to a roar, “I am going dress my submissive in some other accouterments. Bend over the arm of the couch, missy, reach back with both hands, and spread your spanked bottom cheeks nice and wide for your favorite glass anal plug.”
The loud hiss and moans from missy’s throat as the long plug was steadily and firmly twisted deep into place, could be clearly heard by all.
“Head up, missy, while I cane you. Pretend you are sucking a cock. I want this month to show how much of an anal slut you are as well.”
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
“July is exploring new places.”
Dual close up views of missy’s bottom; red, lined with darker red, the glass end of the plug pulsing in and then out.
His Lordship reached into his pocket. “Stand up and face me, missy.” He dangled the objects from his fingers. “What are these?”
“My nipple clamps, Sir,” missy’s voice was raspy with lust.
“Lace your fingers and place your hands behind your head.”
The steel teeth bit her left nipple. The photo caught her wince.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
“August brings taut bodies.”
The steel teeth bit her right nipple.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
“September can have surprises.”
That month, the camera waited until the cane stopped snapping. Her eyes were closed, but her slack expression showed arousal.
“More clamps, missy, these are new though. Lay on the table, on your back with knees spread, pulled to your chest — just like an exam. Remember last week, missy? How hard you came when we played ‘doctor and naughty patient’?”
There was no mistaking her orgasm when His Lordship clamped a labial lip. Her passionate cries of release were tinged with pain when he placed another clamp on the opposite lip. She shrieked when the third clamp chewed her engorged clit. Those cries turned to yelps when His cane lashed her lower crease and upper thighs.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
A three-quarter view this time, the photo showed the cane tip wrapping around and sinking in. The glass end of the anal plug winked in the light. The steel clamps gleamed. Her head dangled off the end of the table, long hair flailing; mouth screaming ‘I’m coming!’.
“October, time to harvest the bounty.”
His Lordship ordered her back onto her shaky feet, temporarily. “Kneel, missy, and receive your collar.” He placed it around her neck and secured the latch. “Stand up.” When she did, he took her right wrist and wrapped it around her back, then did the same with the left. “Keep them there.” His Lordship pulled out a slender length of chain from another pocket. Attaching the y-shaped end to each nipple clamp, he drew the other end down, between her legs, to where it clamped the two labial clips together to her clit. “Walk,” he commanded missy.
When she took a step forward, the chain pulled taut between nipple and pussy. She made a little shrieking moan. SNAP!
“Keep walking, missy.” The warning was clear in his tone. With each step, the opposite clamps tugged. With each trembling stride, the cane whipped her on.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
“Crisp November, when walking for fitness is so important.”
This next-to-last picture captured a full-length side view of the torment mid-stride. The chains were pulled tight; missy’s upper inner thigh was clearly wet.
“Since the final month of the year is all about giving and receiving, missy is going to gift you with her gratitude for watching her performance.” He prodded her with the cane. “Stand on the couch, put your right leg up on the arm.”
In this position, there was no doubt missy was aroused and primed. His Lordship handed her a battery-powered vibrator. “You will come for them, missy, multiple times. Show them all what a greedy and needy slut you are. Give them all something to remember you by, every day they look at your calendar to make an appointment.”
The last twelve cane strokes were slowly paced out as missy pressed the vibrator hard against her swollen and clamped clit. She came four times as His Lordship spurred her deeper into submission.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
December’s glossy photo was a tight facial exposure of her final ecstatic explosive orgasm. As the bright strobe flared against her closed eyelids, she swooned. His Lordship caught her.

Fade to black.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

  • Corrupted

    Now available, "Corrupted", an anthology from Sexy Little Pages, including my short story, Ghosting Past Emily. Click the picture for ebookstore links.

  • Ghosting Past Emily — part of the Corrupted anthology

    After Amsterdam and Berlin, Tokyo was her favorite place to explore the latest in technological sexuality. Unlike in Europe though, in Japan she would always be gaijin, and the locals off limits to her needs. On the crowded streets of Ginza she felt the stares and heard the unspoken contempt, Go back to where you came from, which was something it had in common with America. She was too tall, too confident, too yellow and most of all, too female. She channeled the perceived insults into taboo actions.
    It was a tired and bitter Emily that touched down ten hours later in a San Francisco of bone-chilling damp and a watery rising sun. She needed a hard session at the Armory before returning to work on Monday. Her slave had better be ready to grovel and be pussy-whipped.

  • Purchase: The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

    Click the picture to purchase, The Case of the Disciplined Valentine.

  • The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

    A comedy of Victorian manners mixed with delicious spankings and sexual encounters guaranteed to raise even a vampire’s blood pressure. Byron Cane sets a torrid pace in his historical paranormal erotic novella.

    It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Sir Nachton MacRath is warily returning to his home isle after decades abroad. He has good reasons to steer clear of the Royal Family, but is immediately snared by the Queen herself, who anoints him, Her Chastiser of Loose Morals, complete with elevation to the upper reaches of the aristocracy. Rather than a quiet existence as a vampire, he is now a Peer uneasily rubbing shoulders with the most powerful men in the Empire.

    Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but like all her contemporaries, longs for some excitement and romance. Valentine’s Day is only weeks away, when their paths cross with a bump. Despite later discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. The more encounters with Sir MacRath she has, the more her body yearns to know what it is to submit to his vampiric touch. When he reluctantly agrees to be her Valentine, thus begins a Domination and discipline the likes of which she’s never dreamed.

    MacRath doesn’t feel he deserves Phoebe’s love, and attempts to push her away by taking her deeper into sexual submission. She surprises him — and herself — by eagerly submitting to his every desire. Together, they explore the sensual heights that a woman and a man — a vampire — can reach. But politics and conflict are never far away, and the Valentine’s Day deadline comes all too soon.

    Note: The original version of this book was included in the Lust in Lace paranormal romance anthology.

  • Purchase: The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

    Purchase The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie by clicking the picture.

    Pity poor Stephanie: twenty-five years old and still spanked daily. She was intelligent, a college graduate with honors, articulate, a fashionista with a good job and an all-round delightful person with never a cross word and always a genuine smile for everyone. It was to her misfortune that she also exuded an innocent sensual charm, leading both men and women to have one uppermost thought in their minds: spanking Stephanie’s spectacular and epic rounded bottom. It was not her fault; genetics had blessed her with both the ideal rear end and a delightful bewildered submissiveness. It simply never occurred to her to challenge her discipline. If someone needed to spank her, well, obviously she was guilty of some offense and thus deserved to be spanked.
    When Stephanie crashes (quite literally) into the life of Ross, high flying exec in the fashion world and eligible bachelor, she is stupefied he wants her as his. Under Ross’ tutelage, as Brat to his Sir, she learns that she can be spanked for more than just being naughty! And Ross — he discovers there’s much more to Stephanie than just her submissive need to be disciplined, as he falls more and more in love.
    A brilliantly funny, light-hearted, spanking erotic romance novella by Byron Cane, with memorable characters and a beautiful love story interwoven into the sexiness, lending a contemporary twist to the princess fairy tale.

  • Lust in Spring

    Click picture to go to Lust in Spring Amazon page

  • Lust in Spring anthology

    In Byron Cane's, The Witch of Olympus Hollow, it’s 1952, and Gale Johnson is outraged when her parents send her packing to a tiny town in Appalachia to visit the mysterious great aunt she has never met. In the foothills of North Carolina, Gale will discover a wondrous birthright. A lifetime of discipline and sexual satisfaction awaits, but her destiny comes at a cost.
  • Lust in Lace

    Purchase Lust in Lace on Amazon Kindle. Click picture to go to Amazon.

  • Lust in Lace anthology

    In Byron Cane's Sir MacRath Thrashes his Valentine, MacRath is a centuries-old vampire returning home after decades of absence. It is 1854 in steampunk London, and Her Majesty has appointed MacRath Her Chastiser of Loose Morals. Phoebe Hayward is a lady of good breeding, but quite a handful. Despite discovering the man ordered to discipline her is actually a vampire, she can’t help falling in love. MacRath will ensure she is well punished and dominated in all ways as befits his naughty Valentine.
  • PNRLUST

  • Paranormal Erotic Romance

    Come visit the Paranormal Erotic Romance website for information about the Lust anthology series. Read Lust by the Sea, Lust on the Wing, Lust in Tooth and Claw, Lust in Winter and Lust in Lace.

  • ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’ Oops. Does that date me? These are the top posts.

  • Back writing 6/30/16 short stories and a spanking novel