Inexhaustible Smorgasbord

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.

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

Black Market Night by Kalidwen.©

The spanking illustration provided by the talented Kalidwen over at Kalidwen’s little spankings: Musings & fessées.

Flashback Friday: “Over the Top”

This week’s Flashback Friday, was originally posted April 11th, 2010. This will be the next to last Flashback Friday, as I have plucked the best of my past writings of 2009-2010 from the archives. After next week’s final posting, I will be changing the posting schedule. My plans are to continue posting the Victorian novel, The Bumhampton Chronicles, in 100-word drabbles on Thurs, Fri, Sat and Sun. Every Monday, a new non-fiction essay of 500-1,000 words about D/s, based on various prompts I find in the vanilla world. On Tuesdays, I will be starting a new serial novel called, Kismet of Submission, with 1,000 word episodes. The first two have already been posted for past Wicked Wednesday prompts, but I will be reposting them before moving on to new episodes. Lastly of course, there is the weekly Wicked Wednesday. Still in progress is my follow up Sir Fang novel, The Case of The Scarlet Paddle. Speaking of beta readers, if you are interested in helping me by reading drafts of current fiction, please don’t hesitate to drop me a line via email, either to Lurv Spanking, or Byron Cane.

The blue spruces shuddered violently. Lightning danced rapidly from menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about his health. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many an argument. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters.

“Mom! Where’s my yellow shirt?”

“It’s in the wash! I’m trying to write, have Daddy help you!” Corrine Campos grimaced hearing the horde descending upon her unsuspecting husband. Carmelo was warm and loving, except when it came to women’s work. Old-fashioned to the extreme he would never even consider lifting a finger to help around the house. He supported Corrine and their three children by running his own consulting business and that was enough for him and his mother. She’d found his masculinity overwhelming when they were dating but after ten years of marriage the resentments were reaching the breaking point. When her phone rang; well, Corrine snapped out without checking ID.

“What!”
“My, my, Corrine. Testy today?”
“Sorry, Roxy. Bad day.”
“I understand. Hate to rain on your parade but ‘Over the top’ needs work, lots of work.”
“I know, I know, I know. I’m editing now, Roxy, please give me a little more time.”
“I’m sorry, Corrine, but the deadline is Wednesday and if you don’t have a publishable draft by tomorrow the magazine is going to cancel. There’s nothing more I can do. Give me something to sell and I’ll go to the mat for you.”
“Okay, Roxy. Tomorrow, I promise. Gotta go, hubby is pounding on the door.”

“What are you doing? Your children are driving me crazy!”
“I’m sorry, Carmelo. I was talking to a friend. I’ll be right there.”

Corrine put her computer to sleep and wasted two hours caring for her children before foisting them off on her sister for the rest of the day. Carmelo had left, to go and do who knew what, but Corrine was quite happy to see his BMW squealing out of the gate. Finally: Peace and quiet.

The blue spruces shuddered violently as if in the throes of orgasm. Lightning danced rapidly from the menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead intent on rape. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her horny husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about the health of his penis. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many a blowjob. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters. What if she never got a chance to suck on his hard cock ever again?

Josh pulled into the garage amidst hail as large as fists and rain so thick the wipers failed to keep up. He was trembling with fatigue and looked forward to a long, hot soapy shower – by himself. Heather was so needy lately! What was her problem? He was less than pleased to open the door and find Heather on her knees, warm mouth open and blue eyes pleading for his cock. He finally snapped. Grabbing her long blond hair in his calloused fingers he dragged her into the living room and threw her over the back of the couch. Whipping out his belt he proceeded to beat his wife on her rounded quivering bottom while she cried and begged the entire time. When her ass was covered with weals he threw down the belt, stalked to her head, yanked up her head and shoved his cock down her throat.

Heather was in shock. Where was the loving gentle man she’d married? Why was he doing this? Her ass was on fire and while it hurt, the pain was nothing compared to her broken heart. When he pulled out of her mouth she protested again but then he began to pound her pussy each thrust slapping her sore bottom. Heather felt her climax building, the storm continuing unabated, neither one noticing the lights failing or glass shattering. Rain driven by violent winds soaked them as Josh fucked Heather as hard as he could: not caring a whit for her needs. She screamed again, pain was creating pleasure and her soaking wet cunt flooded the cushions. She moaned and writhed until she felt Josh shooting his spunk deep inside.

“What the fuck? What the hell are you doing?”
“Carmelo! Stop that! You have no right! This is private!”
“The hell it is! No wife of mine is going to read this filth!”
“It’s not filth, Carmelo! I wrote this for publication, for money!”
“You wrote this perverted trash for money? Money? You whore!”
Corrine slapped her angry husband. “How dare you call me a whore? I am the mother of your children and if I’m a whore then you’re a pimp!”
“You’ve gone too far this time, Corrine. I’m the man in this house and I decide what my wife does.”
“Bullshit! I don’t have to take this crap from you! Let me go! I’ll call the police.”
“Fine, Corrine, call, but first, I’m going to teach you some long overdue manners!”

Corrine felt herself rapidly thrown over her furious husband’s knees, dress tossed over her head and panties thrown on the floor. Carmelo’s large hand descended in rapid-fire order on her naked bottom punctuated by his stern lecture on proper behavior. Corrine squealed and bucked but her husband had little problems keeping her in her place. “I should have done this on our wedding night! You will obey me, Corrine, or I’ll spank you every day, twice a day for the rest of your life! Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Corrine choked out.

After more than half an hour of spanking, Carmelo threw his weeping wife on their bed and stalked out slamming the door behind him. Corrine reached back and gasped as she felt the heat pouring off her battered ass. Gingerly rolling over she swayed to the bathroom to observe the damage.

“Roxy? It’s, Corrine. Don’t bother with ‘Over the top’. I’ve got a new story to write: ‘Disobedient and beaten wife’. Yeah, it’s personal, very personal.”

Flashback Friday: “Fear of pain”

The week’s Flashback Friday, was originally posted Nov 11th, 2009.

She tensed, winced, squirmed. His hand was so hard and her bottom so tender. She wanted a spanking, asked for a spanking, needed a spanking, but the pain was unexpected. She almost told him to stop… then… the pain became confusing. It hurt, it stung, his hand battered her cheeks and turned her insides to mush. Without thought, her hips rose, legs spread, aching for the ache to continue, to intensify. When he slowed, she whimpered, when he went faster, she moaned, when he hit her hard on her sit spot she screamed. A lap dance in reverse, her motions were fluid and random, seeking an elusive peak. When the paddle replaced his hand, she held her breath in shock. The pain was scary – scary good – and she never wanted him to stop beating her ass. The fear of pain made the high exquisitely beautiful. A floating, soaring, diving pain: roiling her blood and wetting his pants. Her loss of control extended her discipline beyond her perceived limits. Crashing through the barrier of fear, she found her soul deep within the safety of his strong hand punishing her hard.

Flashback Friday: “Do spankings improve your complexion?”

This week’s Flashback Friday story, was originally posted on Oct. 15th, 2009.

Such strange thoughts chase through your mind when bent over waiting for the first blow. No matter how many times your butt has been blistered, every spanking is different. Whether a good girl, maintenance, discipline, punishment, role-play, therapy or any other type of spanking, the mental aspect determines the effectiveness. Sure it’s your bottom *baring* the swats, but it’s your Dom toying with your mind that makes the scene fly.

[I mean scene as in personal scene not professional scene.]

Thus the questions in a submissive mind long before the spanking actually begins. Sure a spanking hurts, most of the time very badly, but the mental torture lovingly applied by a cruel Master is so delicious. It makes the nerves jangle, the adrenaline pump and when the bottom is bared to the implement of correction, the mind has become numb. Except for those pesky questions.

Do spankings improve your complexion?
How often do birds eat?
If we had roast last night, how many sandwiches can I make?
How long to teach that damned pig to fly?
OUCH!

Flashback Friday: “Exchanging Spanking Vows”

This week for Flashback Friday, the following post, originally posted Oct 10th, 2009, is my personal favorite out of all the hundreds of posts I’ve written. I hope you enjoy reading.

Angelique waited for her new husband to whisk her away from the reception. It had been a traditional wedding, complete with vows, although without the ‘obey’. Angelique fully intended to obey Henri in all things, but her modern friends did not understand her need to willingly submit to her Master. She’d tried, but been ridiculed and mocked when she revealed her love of discipline. The Story of ‘A’ she’d been dubbed and most of her now former friends were long gone from her life.

It was a very special place, an isolated wind swept bluff overlooking the river far below. The land had been in Henri’s family for centuries. Here, over a convenient stump, Angelique received her very first spanking from Henri and had fallen in love with his commanding ways. Now they returned to exchange a second set of vows, vows meaning so much more to them both.

I, Henri Montague, do take Angelique Montague née Molyneux to be my cherished submissive. I promise to love her, to guide her, to support her dreams and to provide discipline whenever needed. She is mine and I will use her freely as I see fit. I promise to listen and to understand her special needs. I will honor her parents and kin. I will respect her body as a temple of Eros and strive to make her sexually satisfied. As Angelique’s Master it is my solemn duty to protect, shield her from harm and spank her firmly when she errs. I swear before God I will keep her heart safe and her soul warm.

I, Angelique Montague née Molyneux, do accept Henri Montague as my cherished Master. I promise to obey him, to love him, to support his dreams and submit to his stern discipline. I am his and I will freely submit to his every desire. I promise to listen and understand his special needs. I will honor his parents and kin. I will respect his body as a shrine of Eros and use all my orifices to keep him sexually satisfied. As Henri’s submissive it is my solemn duty to anticipate, shield him from worry and accept punishment when I err. I swear before God I will keep his heart safe and his soul warm.

“Lust in Spring” nearing publication

The newest published anthology from Paranormal Erotica Romance—aka PNRLust—is scheduled on Amazon Kindle and Kindle Unlimited, this March 30th, 2017. As you know, or should know, I am writing my fiction for publication under the pen name, Byron Cane. My novella is called The Witch of Olympus Hollow and is a different spin on ‘green’ erotica. If you would like an Advance Review Copy of my novella as a Word .docx, please contact me via lurvspanking@gmail.com. In return for the free copy of my novella, I would request an honest review posted on your blog, and/or on Amazon or Goodreads once the Lust in Spring anthology goes live on March 30th, 2017.

What do a wealthy divorcee, a gay college student, five men trapped in a cottage, and a college graduate in the 1950s have in common? Each has a date with the supernatural. In Lust in Spring, the sixth volume in the Lust series, Spring is a time of renewal and desire. Gods, goddesses, incubi and the Fae will seduce and beguile their mortal lovers. But the price for pleasure must be paid.
——–
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.

In JD Carabella’s Milady’s Command, Juliet has wasted fifteen years on a loveless marriage. She’s a beautiful, sexual woman, and she needs a man who will surrender to her lust. Will her secret fantasy of power and control drive away the man worthy of her attention? Juliet’s dream can come true, if she’s willing to pay the price.

In Emma Jaye’s Incubus Spring, university student Finn has a dilemma: which man to pick? His current boyfriend, Charlie, is the take-charge type Finn wants. Problem is, Charlie is more interested in managing Finn’s budget than his body. Then there’s Ezra. It’s tough to resist when the sexy owner of an adult toy store offers hands-on demonstrations. Torn between loyalty and lust, the unwitting prey in a seductive game of cat and mouse, Finn’s decision will shape his destiny.

One goddess. Five men. In Ina Morata’s The Greenwood Goddess, it’s Beltane, and five men have been taken prisoner by Gaia. They’ve been set a quest: compete for the goddess’ favor with the best erotic story. As captivated as the rest, Ben is desperate to win, not least because in this strange and magical place, losing has serious consequences. But if he wins…will the prize be what it seems?

Dating before emojis

A dating profile for Wicked Wednesday. Not much wickedness here, maybe a little satire. 🙂

SDBRF seeking AG/AI/AT/AL/ADR for KISSGBDSMSPNKMEHARD

Single desperate but realistic female seeking any gender, any income, any transportation, any lodging, any dietary restriction for kinky invasive sex, spanking, gaming, brooding, drinking, social misfit, shopping partner, nudist, knowledgeable, mega ego handy, adventurous, rebellious, daring.

Intellectuals need not contact, have standards, you know.

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

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  • The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

    Download your ecopy at a special price at Kindle, iBooks, Nook, Kobo and through other digital platforms.November 27th, 2017
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  • The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

    Coming soon... "The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie"

  • 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.

  • 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