Sugar is sweet, but your ass is mine

When I read this week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt, sugar, the first thing that popped into my mind was this 1969 song, “Sugar, Sugar” by The Archies.

A $1.00 kiss at the video cartoon Kissing Booth back then would cost $6.71 today. [A bargain if there’s tongue involved] Which got me searching for Archie spankings, and the comic strip below that was published in November 1973. For those of you unfamiliar with Archie Comics, the first issue was published in Dec. 1941 and is still being published today, 76 years later. Now, I don’t write fan fiction, but the premise of Archie having two “potential” girlfriends—Betty and Veronica—and never being able to decide between them, has a certain traction within the spanking genre in terms of a spank-off contest of jealous girls.

If it were me, I’d Dom them both, but that’s because I have delusions of polyamory grandeur. 🙄

Archie spanking Veronica. Source: Chicago Spanking Review

“Girls! Enough! What did I say would happen to both of you, if you fought again over access to my studly and magnificent body?”
“You said you’d spank us. Boo-hoo. We’re so scared.”
“Don’t try to sugarcoat your actions. I’m not a one-girlfriend man, so it’s my way or the highway.”
“You just want to have your cake and eat it too.”
“Oh, and he eats me so well… too bad your pussy smells like a swamp!”
“Does not!”
“Does to!”
“He likes my ass better!”
“Does not!”
“Does to! He fucked it so good last night even your inflated ego would’ve fit!”
SMACK!
SMACK!
“GIRLS! STOP SLAPPING EACH OTHER!”
“She started it!”
“Did not!”
“Did to! It’s not fair! She’s your favorite just ‘cuse she’s an anal whore!”
“No way! You’re his favorite ‘cuse you like your throat fucked like a frat slut!”
“GIRLS! ENOUGH!”
“Sorry/Not sorry.”
“I’m the Dom in this household and both of you are my subs. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“And do both of you get equal time with me?”
“Yes/No.”
“Well?”
“She got ten extra minutes last Wednesday.”
“You got twenty extra minutes last Sunday when you ‘claimed’ you had a cramp.”
“I did! The spreader bar caused a charlie horse in my thigh.”
“Was that before or after he whipped your butt for lying.”
“I never lie! I’m sugar and you’re spice. Remember?”
“What are you doing, Sir?”
You… lay over the table here… and you, lay over there. Hold hands… no, like this. After I tie your ankles to the table legs, and cuff your wrists together, I’m going to belt both of you until you make sweet with each other.”
“Never!”
“Never!”
“Then your butts are going to be battered and welted if you don’t kiss and make up.”
“And if we do so?”
“I’ll churn your pussies into butter and spray my sweet white cream frosting all over your faces.”
“What do you think? Should we cave to his perverted fantasy?”
“I bet you cave first.”
“Never! I can take twice as many strokes as you. I bet you cry first!”
“Never! The loser has to be a slave for a week and do anything asked. Get ready to suck some ass, bitch.”
“Fuck you! And that’s exactly where my strap-on is going to be buried all next week. Up your skinny ass, skank.”
“Bring it on!”
“It’s a deal.”
CRACK! CRACK!
“Harder, Sir! Make her scream!”
CRACK! CRACK!
“What’s the matter, Sir? Too much sugar rotting your muscles? WHIP HER!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“I still think he likes you better.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“That’s okay. He still thinks we hate each other.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“DAMN! He’s pissed off.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“Better than pissed on.”
“Says you.”
“WHAT?”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

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

Shivering due to an epiphany

I missed last week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt—foreigner—due to having no power after Hurricane Irma. Even if I had written something before the electricity was lost at 11pm Sunday night, I wouldn’t have been able to link to the prompt in time. What I found fascinating about the etymology of ‘foreign’ is that it comes from Latin meaning ‘outside’.

ORIGIN Middle English foren, forein, from Old French forein, forain, based on Latin foras, foris ‘outside,’ from fores ‘door.’ The current spelling arose in the 16th cent., by association with sovereign.

I don’t think when people talk about immigration as being an open-door policy, or closing the door on illegals, they are aware of the literary link to the past.

The current week’s prompt, eavesdropping, has an even more interesting origin. Eavesdrop is an literal word created to represent one specific action.

ORIGIN early 17th cent.: back-formation from eavesdropper (late Middle English)‘a person who listens from under the eaves,’ from the obsolete noun eavesdrop ‘the ground onto which water drips from the eaves,’ probably from Old Norse upsardropi, from ups ‘eaves’ + dropi ‘a drop.’

When you link the two prompts together you get this: Outside the door, the ground onto which water drips from the eaves was churned to muddy paste where the foreigner was eavesdropping.

As an aside, in The Fellowship Of The Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien uses this bit of dialogue quite adroitly.
‘Well, well, bless my beard!’ said Gandalf. ‘Sam Gamgee is it? Now what may you be doing?’
‘Lor bless you, Mr. Gandalf, sir!’ said Sam. ‘Nothing! Leastways I was just trimming the grass-border under the window, if you follow me.’ He picked up his shears and exhibited them as evidence.
‘I don’t,’ said Gandalf grimly. ‘It is some time since I last heard the sound of your shears. How long have you been eavesdropping?’
‘Eavesdropping, sir?’ I don’t follow you, begging your pardon. There ain’t no eaves at Bag End, and that’s a fact.’



He calls me—I am positive he thinks it’s a clever endearment—’a drowned rat’ whenever I return from my run; rain soaked. He’s never understood my passion for exercise (an obsession, is his term when he’s being nice). He’s never tried—never even asked—why it is I seek to flee and only reluctantly return. As I toweled off in the mudroom, for once, my shivers were not from being wet. It was not the runner’s high that caused the silly grin; no, it was my foolish whim to follow the strange rhythmic smacking I heard over the sound of the pelting rain and pounding footsteps of my shoes. I eavesdropped: first with caution, then shame and at the last, unabashed curiosity that led me back here, outside the door, hand raised to knock, hoping they will understand my need that seems so foreign to me.

A week prior:

“Are we clear on why you’re being spanked?”
“Yes, Sir!”
The smacking noise that had drawn me like a butterfly to pollen had ceased. I eavesdropped instead on the scolding lecture and the teary replies. His voice; stern and uncompromising, yet I heard no anger in his leading questions. Exasperation—that I sensed—but with an underlying respect and determination to teach his woman a lesson. Her voice; wheedling and needy, yet also resigned to taking her punishment like a big girl.
This big girl huddled against the building, collar upturned and hood drawn against the steady gush of water through downspouts. To those passing on the sidewalk—not that anybody else was crazy enough to run in a monsoon—would have assumed the figure in the bright yellow slicker was simply seeking rough shelter from the storm. The window above my head was open, the overhang sufficient protection from the elements; although, at the time I did not think it was odd that the drawn blinds allowed sound to radiate.
The smacking sounds resumed. I sagged against the damp brick and squatted in the puddles amidst the bundled yellow-red leaves of autumn. I folded my arms tight against the sudden twinge deep in my stomach. I felt sick, not with anguish at hearing a fellow female being spanked, but sick with envy. Her yelps and cries, her sobs and pleas; all settled in a soulful place that had never known this craving was possible. Spanking wasn’t possible; not in my current relationship, never, never, ever would I allow ‘him’ to spank me.
When the hard slaps finally ended, and the noises now competing with the splashing raindrops turned to a rhythm of a more primal nature; I crept silently away from temptation: for now. I knew then I would be back.

At present:

Laughter spills from their windows. Music, modern hits, flows out into the twilight bringing visions of a party in motion. I hesitate at the threshold. ‘He’ was gone, sent packing with no regrets, the apartment both emptier and freer without his snarky presence. I wanted answers to questions I couldn’t articulate. I had no expectations. I was naive; but willing, oh so willing to find out for myself how it felt.
So, I knock.
The laughter eases. Muffled conversation ends on a rising note of query. The door opens; warm light rushes out like puppies seeking freedom to gambol amongst the vibrant chrysanthemums; tearing off the multi-petaled heads and spreading fragmented jewels across the green carpet.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
I shiver once more.
A distant cry. “Honey? Who is it?”
A louder roar. “I don’t know! It’s a woman!”
“A woman?”
Rapid tapping of heels arrive in a whoosh of Estée Lauder. “Hi. Whatever it is you’re selling, we’re not interested, dear. Honey, we need to leave soon.”
She spins to leave. I call out with a desperate croak. “I heard you!” She pauses looking back over her shoulder. I clear my throat. My eyes never stray from her knowing expression. “Last week, during the storm, I was jogging, and I heard you. I heard you both.” My gaze slides to his. “You, sir, were… were…”
“Spanking my wife?”
I swallow hard at the flaring heat in his response. I don’t notice her return until her arm slips possessively around his waist.
“You were eavesdropping, dear? How very naughty of you.”
“But your window was open!” I protest in a vain attempt to explain my guilt.
That excuse doesn’t work for me, dear, and I suspect you don’t expect a free pass either.” I catch her smirk as she peers up at her husband. “It seems we may be a wee bit tardy to the concert, honey. I do believe this woman owes us an apology.”
“Well?” he states with a demanding tilt of his head. “We’re waiting.”
“I’m sorry I listened to your private… erm, session. I’ll never do it again.”
She quickly steps forward and seizes my hands. “That’s not how apologies are given around here… as I’m sure you can guess. If you are truly sincere and wish repentance, then you know what is required, else you’d not be here tonight on our doorstep asking for punishment.”
She tugs lightly. I submit, as I knew I would, and allow myself to be drawn past the door, and deep inside their world of discipline and painful pleasure.

I’ve never regretted a single moment of eavesdropping.

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

Summer of Love

It seems that ’69 never really left the Bay Area. Besides snatching up all available housing and snarling local traffic, the explosion of high-tech industry is apparently sucking up all the available sexual partners as well. According to this article called, Silicon Valley’s Sexual Revolution, in the April 4th, 2017 edition of Wired magazine; what was once called ‘free love’ or ‘swinging’ is now officially morphed into Polyamory 2.0.

By Julian Sancton: In Silicon Valley, love’s many splendors often take the form of, well, many lovers. For certain millennials in tech—as well as, rumor has it, a few middle-aged CEOs—polyamory holds especial appeal. Perhaps that’s because making it work is as much an engineering challenge as an emotional one, requiring partners to navigate a complex web of negotiated arrangements. (There’s an app to keep track of that, obvs: The Poly Life.) Some enthusiasts even claim it’s the way of the future. “If life extension is possible, we might have to think about relationships differently,” says one Valley-based polyamorist. “It’s pretty hard to have an exclusive relationship with someone for 300 years.” True that—but balancing multiple LTRs takes just as much dedication and discipline (if not more).

The article goes on to list six bullet points including this little nugget: 4. Don’t be a letch: You shouldn’t go to a get-together hoping to hook up. These are not orgies. (Though tech-nerd orgies do get pret-ty wild, what with the color-coded bracelets signaling what you’re cool with doing/having done unto you.) And stick to your age bracket—restrictions are enforced to keep things comfortable.

I have nothing against polyamory, I was involved with my wife and another woman who lived with us for two years and we parted amicably, but I have some serious questions with the way the article *nudge-nudge, wink-wink* casts shade on the entire scene with more than a hint of California crunchy granola vibe. I mean, hasn’t Silicon Valley been rocked with sexual harassment claims from female engineers? And don’t all the major tech companies have a distinct lack of gender balance, in fact, steeply tilted towards males in both status, numbers and pay? Not to mention, a whitewash of upper management with the occasional token person of color or Asian.

One of the arguments against gay marriage is that once it was legally established, and same-sex marriage turned out not to be the end of the world, polyamorists would be pushing for legal bigamy next. We all know how that has worked out for the Mormons, although there are plenty of current cultures who practice bigamy for the elites. On the other hand, it was fifty years ago that the United States Supreme Court ruled 9-0 that biracial marriage was in fact legal. Society changes all the time, for better or for worse. Not too long ago, BDSM was firmly in the closet.

If the show Mad Men, unveiled the sordid ’60s chain-smoking sexual predators that stalked the secretarial pool in pressed white cotton button-downs, then today’s online hostility towards women in tech has been enabled and abetted by the same companies that seek to control every single aspect of our lives. I for one, don’t want apps watching in my bedroom or stalking me through targeted ads. The Internet of Things markets bold promises of inter-connectivity yet lags far behind in sensible security. Our entire online existence is at the mercy of hostile hackers who are constantly stealing identities and money from companies too cheap to protect their customers.

There is a serious and pervasive lack of respect for women in all areas and strata of society. The tech industry, along with the online juggernaut players are just that: players who give lip service to the rights of their employees and consumers while generating nothing physical that betters society. The profits are stashed away for a rainy day all the while politicians of all stripes scream at each other and let the country fall apart by doing nothing constructive. All the cute articles about polyamory aren’t going to change that equation into a positive app.

  • 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.

  • Click the picture to claim your FREE preview of, The Case of the Disciplined Valantine

    The Case of the Disciplined Valentine

  • 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.

  • Click the picture to claim your FREE first 5 Chaptersof Stephanie

    FREE Stephanie Chapter 1 to 5

  • 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