It’s not a moral failing

Two personal posts in a row, it must be something in the air! Actually, this week’s prompt, Sad, for Wicked Wednesday, is very apropos. Even since the clocks moved forward an hour 10 days ago, I’ve been struggling with depression.

There are two definitions of ‘Sad’. ORIGIN: Old English sæd ‘sated, weary,’ also ‘weighty, dense,’ of Germanic origin; related to Dutch zat and German satt, from an Indo-European root shared by Latin satis ‘enough.’ The original meaning was replaced in Middle English by the senses ‘steadfast, firm’ and ‘serious, sober,’ and later ‘sorrowful.’ It also is an abbreviation for “seasonal affective disorder”, which is something many people who grew up in northern latitudes suffer.

For me though, being depressed doesn’t mean sadness. It’s more feeling empty; no emotion, no desire, no cares. Strangely enough though, it doesn’t impact me when I’m working, only when I’m at home; but that is when I have time to write. Which I am not. Writing.

The best expression of how depression feels is in this poem I wrote over a decade ago.

“D is for Depression”

it’s called the blues
not the music
but the soul
crushing despair
despair that grabs hold
and lingers
like a fungus
that grows on the tiles
in the bathroom of hell
you try bleach
you try scrubbing
til your fingers bleed
but it keeps
coming
back
over and over again
it’s called the blues

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

Now a Major Motion Picture: The Wedding Games

From Vladivostok they came
to play a wedding game
a case of vodka the prize
with competitive eyes
they rushed
and they popped
when to everyone’s surprise
up flipped their skirts
the groomsmen smirked
so the bride declared a tie
and ordered them birched
so all they got
for bursting their balloons
was to forfeit the knickers
and abstain from the liquor
but the boyfriends did rise
[to the occasion]
and after the toasts
made the most of the roast
that their girlfriend’s behinds had become

so let that be a lesson
when playing silly games
if the camera is rolling
keep your underwear from showing
and never
ever
piss off the bride

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

Coffee Klatch was never like this

This is part 2 of The Dastardly Dom’s story for Wicked Wednesday. Last week’s post is called: The care and feeding of submissiveness. It will make more sense to read part 1 first, since it is a direct continuation, but this flash fiction also works alone.

Vittoria’s screamed plea still rang in Dominic’s ears. Tolling like an iron bell, her emotional outburst combined with her tears broke open a part of his psyche that always made him uncomfortable. The part that liked to hurt her. Even now, even with the anger still bubbling and sensing the compassion with which he held his sobbing wife; even now, he wanted to bend her over and whip her ass. To see and hear the tears flow faster. “I’ll do something,” he murmured. “I promise.” He rocked her gently back-and-forth, crooning a wordless lullaby as she very gradually relaxed with shuddering gasps.

“I’m sorry, Dominic. I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.” Vittoria smiled tremulously, wiping her wet lashes. “Forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you, honey.” Dominic leaned in, giving her a deep kiss. “That is, if you make me some fresh coffee.”
She reared back, suddenly confused. “Coffee? At this time of night?”
A slow smile creased his cheeks. A cruel grin in fact. “Are you hard of hearing, Miss Caparelli? I do believe I gave you an order.”

She shuddered, conflicted. The raw memories merged with Dominic’s sneering words. What stayed her biting response though, was a spurt of dampness in her knickers. Closing her eyes, she fought for control.

“Don’t fight me, Miss Caparelli, you’ll regret it.”
“I wasn—” her startled gaze meeting his narrowed stare.
“And don’t lie, or you’ll discover why the secretarial pool calls me The Dastardly Dom.”
Awkwardly, she clambered to her feet, straightening her crumpled jogging pants and brushing out the creases. “Yes, sir. I’ll bring your coffee as quick as I can.” As she left the room, he called out, “And change your clothing, Miss Caparelli, into something more appropriate — and revealing. I like my women sexy and easy.” Her pussy clenched. His misogynistic and leering tone was turning her on. Her shame grew even deeper.

She discarded the pod, watching sightlessly as the brown fluid streamed into the ceramic mug. Like an escalator, her thoughts ran ceaselessly; going up, then down. A cycle of self-recrimination and hatred. The soft beep startled her. The acid churned. She swallowed hard and walked, shuffled back to her husband. Tears sprang anew. How he must loath me now.

Dominic heard her coming, reluctance in every step. How I love her. He put his hands behind his head, the chair reclining as she approached his desk, carefully setting the steaming brew on the blotter.
“Your coffee, sir. Will there be…” He waited as she blinked furiously. “Be anything else?”
He took a sip, watching as she rubbed her hands in apparent nervousness. “Yes, there is.” He kept drinking, expression impassive as he drew out the moment until the tension in her frame seemed ready to snap. “You know I’ve always admired your work, Miss Caparelli.”
“You have?” Vittoria blurted out, then covered her open mouth with both hands.
“Oh yes. I admire a great number of things about your work. You’re punctual, always willing to be a team player and, most importantly…” He set the mug down with a gentle thump.
She bit her lip, eyes peering sideways. “Importantly? Sir?”
He rose to his feet, moving around the desk, perching on the corner. “Most importantly, Miss Caparelli, is your grooming. Impeccable.” Dominic lifted a strand of her long, brunette hair, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. “You always look good enough to eat.”
“Coffee, tea or me?” Vittoria couldn’t help but giggle.
“Precisely.” He motioned for her to spin.
She felt her heart thump as she obeyed, the pleated hem swishing around her lower thighs, nipples tightening as his eyes caressed her chest.
“So glad to ‘see’ the new dress code leads to perky attitudes.” Dominic stood, going behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I believe this is where we left off, Miss Caparelli.” He squeezed tighter, slipping his fingers onto her upper arms. “I’m sure we can find some mutually satisfying means in which you can compensate for your careless actions… that cost this company money. Do you remember that part?”
She tried not lean back into his embrace, but to play the role of frightened employee desperate to keep her job. “I sorry, sir. I was going it pay it back! I am going to pay it back. I only needed medicine for my sick little brother.”
Fighting back a laugh at her dramatic improv, Dominic reached lower and cupped her breasts over her shirt. “You will pay, Miss Caparelli, believe me.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “Over and over again, you will pay.”

Vittoria whimpered.
Dominic swelled.

With a flourish, he swept the desktop clear — not the half-filled coffee cup, rest assured. “Your recompense, Miss Caparelli, will begin — note; only begin — with a sound spanking. Where we go from there will depend on your compliance to my demands.” He barked, “Is that clear?”
“A spanking?” She smacked her cheeks in wide-eyed horror. “I’ve never been spanked before, sir! I couldn’t possibly bend over your desk!” She belied her protestations by doing just that. “Like this, sir?” looking over her shoulder with brimming eyes.
He hissed softly, adjusted his tight pants, wanting nothing more than to whip up her skirt, yank down her knickers and ram his aching cock deep into her wet depths. The more his wife submitted, the more his beast growled with delight. “Reach back and raise your skirt, Miss Caparelli.”
The tight lace was slowly revealed, molding the toned flesh that called to his hand. “You are such a tease.”
“No I’m not!” she protested. “I’m a good girl! You’re forcing me to do this.”
SMACK! His palm made contact with her bottom. SMACK! “Yes you are.” SMACK! “You’re a tease. Always flaunting your body around me, fucking me with your eyes. I know what bad girls like you need.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
She cried out as the slaps grew harder and quicker. “Stop! Why are you doing this to me? I don’t want this.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Really? All you have to do is say, red, and I’ll stop.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “But I bet you don’t want me to stop, because deep down, you’re actually a slut.” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Am I right?”
“Noooooo,” she wailed as he kept whaling. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “I don’t like this.”
Dominic grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head back as he rubbed her red bottom with the other. “Shall we find out then? Pull your knickers down, Miss Caparelli.” He nipped the base of her neck. “If they’re dry, I’ll let you go, unmolested.”
She moaned as his teeth clamped, sending quivers down her spine. “And if not?”
“If they’re not…” He ran his tongue in a long swipe up to the corner of her mouth. “If — as I suspect — they are sopping wet — you’ll let me whip you with my belt, followed by sucking my cock and then begging for me to take your innocence.” He released her head, pushing it down until her cheek rested on the desk. “Do we have a deal?”

As The Dastardly Dom’s belt belt lashed her jutting buttocks, Vittoria’s hand was a blur as she frigged her swollen clit and wet folds. This was one memory of her boss she’d relive over and over again, this time without shame.

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

The care and feeding of submissiveness

“I’m in here, honey!” Dominic called out to his wife as the front door closed with rather emphatic force. He resumed stirring the mixed vegetables, tossing in a pinch of sea salt as he deftly tossed the skillet’s contents.
“You do that so well.”
“All in wrist, Vittoria, all in the wrist.”
She kissed him carefully as he kept one eye on the gas burner. “Sounds like something, The Dastardly Dom, would utter.”
“Portentously, of course.”
Vittoria took a deep ragged breath. “Smells good. What else?”
“I have some grilled small potatoes, mashed with a garlic cream sauce, and wild salmon seared with grape seed oil and citrus peel.”
He flicked off the burner and set the pan to one side. “Go ahead and get changed, Vittoria. I’ll have dinner ready in thirty minutes.”
“I can wait.”
He put his hands on his hips and glared. “That wasn’t a request.” With a stern expression he pointed towards the stairs. “Change.” He smacked a wooden spoon in his palm. “Now, young lady, or there will be further consequences beyond those already earned.”
With a cocky grin, she flounced upstairs, turning at the last to stuck out her tongue. She giggled loudly when he growled.

After dinner, it was Dominic’s turn to change; not clothing, but demeanor. His wife’s attitude was verging on bratty, and he knew from experience — albeit very little — that she’d had a bad day at the office. Until they had started dabbling in role play, the most likely consequence of questioning her mood, would have led to raised voices and pouty silences. Not at all conducive to romance.

“So, Miss Caparelli,” he began in a sneering tone. “You have finally deigned to answer my summons. Please, come in.” He waved impatiently at her reluctance to enter the office. “I insist. You do wish to remain employed, do you not?”
Vittoria made her way to the chair in front of the desk. Ordinarily, she enjoyed their scenes, but tonight, the naughty secretary and lecherous boss they’d discussed was not having the desired effect. In fact, the wonderful food he’d cooked was churning in her stomach. She kept her head down, trying to hide her reactions to his words. When he caressed her shoulders, speaking, “I’m sure we can find some mutually satisfying means in which you can compensate for your careless actions… that cost this company money,” she flinched, blurting out, “Three hundred!”
Dominic rocked back. “Three hundred?”
“Yes. That’s how many men have now been accused of sexual harassment.” She still couldn’t meet his gaze.
“I’m confused. I thought you wanted to try this.”
“Me too.”
“Okay. That’s good, right?”
“No, Dominic.” She finally looked up. She heard his breath catch when he noticed the shimmer in her damp eyes. “Me too. As in, hashtag-Me-Too.”
He sank to his haunches and hugged his wife. “Oh, Vittoria. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I-I couldn’t… Before. You know. This.”
This was silly then, there’s no need to go any further, honey.”
“NO!” Vittoria panted and held up her hands, fingers stretched. “No. I need this. I’ve been carrying around this shame and guilt for so long now. I can’t let him,” she spat the word, “control me anymore.”
He stroked her flushed cheek. “How long?”
She shuddered, her voice barely a whisper. “Since I was sixteen.”
Dominic fought the rage coursing through his veins. How he kept from snapping the arm off the chair, he didn’t know, but he managed to speak calmly and rationally. “You want me to rub him out?” he snarled.
“No,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “It wouldn’t take away what happened.”
“Then what can I do?”
She replied with a firm declaration. “You can be yourself — or rather — The Dastardly Dom. It was all my fault.”
“Is that what the fucker said? That you were a tease? You had it coming?”
“He was my boss.”
Dominic leapt to his feet, storming around the room, hurling expletives like lightning bolts. Gradually, through the red haze of his fury, he heard her calling out: “Dominic! DOMINIC!” His anger was doused by the fear he saw. “I’m sorry, Vittoria.” He raised his shoulders on an inhale, then relaxed. “I’m good. I’m good.”

There was a long period of silence while they tried to assimilate what this revelation meant for them, and their budding interest in TTWD. For Vittoria, it felt like an anvil had been lifted off her soul. Even without the details, Dominic was concerned exploring spanking and kinky sex had triggered something awful.

“What?” They both spoke simultaneously. She gestured for him to go first. “What do you want me to do? Tonight, here and now. Specifically.”
She didn’t hesitate. “He told me I was pretty.” She held up her palm to stop his retort.”Let me finish.” She clenched her fingers together, the engagement ring sparkling in the light. “He said he needed to speak to me, after work, about something very important. I was excited. He’d always treated me with respect, praising my efforts and showering me with flattering compliments.” Vittoria paused for a minute, visibly trembling. “After it was over…” She stumbled to halt. “I never went back there. I never told anyone.” She looked at Dominic, anguish written on her body. “Make it go away. Please. You’re The Dastardly Dom, do something!”

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

Per repeated requests in the comments on last week’s post, The Dastardly Dom has returned. I wasn’t planning to make this a long episode, but the characters decided they wanted a bigger stage. Part 2 is posted, Coffee Klatch was never like this, at this link here.

The Dastardly Dom sails the High Seas

This week for Wicked Wednesday, the prompt is ‘Pirates’. The title character comes from a conversation I had recently, in which the term, ‘Dastardly Dom’ came up in a cheeky way. 🙂

“Dominic?” Vittoria called out. “Are you almost ready?” She fussed in the mirror, adjusting her mask and tugging at her short — very short — hem. The length of leg exposed was disconcerting, but the party was not only for adults, but between a small group of friends exploring the ‘lifestyle’. She reached round and tugged the wedgie out of her crack. “I hate thongs,” she muttered, then carefully applied lip liner. “Dominic! We’re going to be late!”

Heavy tread clumped down the stairs. “What are doing weari…” Vittoria sucked in her breath as all the air seemingly vanished from the foyer. “Dominic?” she said with a soft squeak.

“You there, wench, fetch my cloak from yonder chest. The Dastardly Dom wishes to hoist the anchor.” As she gaped at her husband, he scowled and slapped his thick leather gauntlets across his palms. “Are thoust deaf, wench. Move your arse lest you feel the wrath of my scurvy temper on your backside!”

Vittoria quashed an incipient giggle at his attempted archaic pirate dialog, for she was feeling very light-headed and awed at his costume. She scurried to do his bidding, opening the closet door and blinking at the black wool cape that hadn’t been there in the morning. She felt the overwhelming urge to curtsy as she presented the garment to her pirate lord and master. They may have barely dipped their toes into role playing, but Vittoria felt extremely submissive already. She tipped over the edge when he barked his next command.

“Remember your place, slattern, is to please me…” he leaned closer and hissed, “or else.”

She bit her lip, not in fear or mirth, but because she was on the verge of throwing herself at his feet and begging to be ravished. “Yes, Sir. I understand.” She dared to glance at his stern face, gasping at the unbridled lust she saw in his eyes. Gabbling for something coherent to say, she stammered, “Doe-does m-my attire please The Dastardly Dom?”

He stroked his goatee, brows furrowed and impatiently motioned her to twirl. “Faster, and keep your arms outstretched.”

She shivered, feeling the cool air flowing over her bare cheeks and wet knickers as she spun.

“I am satisfied, very satisfied,” he purred, clear evidence tenting his tight trousers. “Except…” From beneath his scarlet cummerbund, he retrieved a short leather strap. “Thou art too pale in the posterior for my tastes. I prefer a red-bottomed lass in me bunk. Assume the position, the crew deserves a good showing of pirate law.”

As the strap rose and fell on her smarting buttocks, Vittoria thought, “I could get used to rum, sodomy and the lash.”

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

The cruelty of nostalgia’s whip

This week for Wicked Wednesday, the prompt is Time Travel and, despite the plethora of fictional treatments, is something that is impossible. Without getting into the mathematical formulae that deal with the one-way arrow of time — nor the multiverse concept spawned by quantum mechanics — the oft-used example goes thusly: “If time travel were possible, then why are we not overrun by future iterations of advanced lifeforms either enslaving or lecturing us about what pathetic beings we are?”

But missy wrote about a type of time travel we all practice in her recent post, “Blame it on the Boots”, where she explains about her passionate {if not kinky} love affair with boots. In her post she travels back in time as she writes this passage: “The first time we visited Italy together, we drank too much wine and found ourselves in a lovely leather shop in Montepulciano. Here we bought my first pair of summer boots, beautifully soft, handmade, with leather soles.”

In our minds, the arrow of time does not exist. Memory serves as an instant reminder and flagellator of all the mistakes we’ve ever made. It takes an effort to realize there were many more good times than bad. Which brings me to the photograph below that was taken in the summer of 1981, in Como, Italy, through the narrow wooden doors opening upon the public street.

Como, Italy 1981

It was a long time ago and, someone else, another personality who took the picture. I see my past through their eyes and it makes me wonder about the impermanence of nostalgia. Memory is fickle and not to be trusted; the only path forward is to exist one moment at a time and revel in the sharp sting of leather upon flesh.

boots drum under whip
the cobbler would know the sound
cypress sway gossip
pink cheeks suffused by lover
Tyrrhenian Sea glistens

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

The colors of submission

As a blogger, I write what I want. Fiction for the most part, some poetry and the odd essay tossed in. I never write about myself or past exploits and relationships. As a writer — for publication — I choose characters that challenge the reader and portray fantasies that seem slightly quirky. One of the unpleasant facts about erotica and BDSM, is that there is a level of censorship not given to “mainstream” fiction. It’s perfectly alright to maim, torture and murder; but, try a caning that bleeds or a flogging that bruises, and the algorithms that rule the world, bury your book at the bottom of a landfill.

One thing I do know though, is that D/s produces a rainbow of colors. Red, blue, yellow; the infinite palette of hue that is a natural, and desired, byproduct of consensual discipline. When was the last time you got spanked? Didn’t you — at the first opportunity — rush to the nearest mirror, twist your head and admire the splotchy pattern your Dom created on your butt? Wishing it was more colorful?

Did you say: “Oh my God! Look what my Dom did to me!” not with horror, but with a contented purr; proud that your Dom is so talented and knows a spanking without a bruise or two is a wasted effort? For many submissives, marks are something you wear with honor. They are visual proofs of your Dom’s devotion to your personal well-being. Why else would they take the time to stamp their dominance upon your body, if not for love?

For those not in D/s, it always comes as a shock to realize that some people crave the outward bonds that physical play often creates. To them, D/s is about degradation, anger, violence and people in need of rescue from an abusive situation. Marking someone is evil: it’s black and white.

For those of us chasing the rainbow though, the waiting — impatiently — for the colors to fade and heal; so that we can do it again, that’s the real challenge. Scars on the soul linger: bruises fade.

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