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. 🙂

 





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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.

Kismet of Submission: Episode 23

Tamara doesn’t exactly feel neglected as Sir demolishes his waffles, eggs and strawberry yogurt with fruit; but his methodical refueling is timed to perfection. Check prepaid, Sir makes a quick dash to the lavatory to wash syrup off his fingers while Tamara stacks the plates and wipes down the table. Her half-eaten food is offered to go, but she declines.

Back in the car, it’s only a few minutes to the convention center and Sir continues to concentrate in silence. He does however, while waiting at a light to cross the divided highway leading to the parking garage, reach over, take her hand and gently massage her tense fingers.

Just before the light turns green, he gives her a long look with an ever-widening smile and a sharp laugh at the end.

Tamara feels a jolt at the junction of her thighs. Her hot bottom has turned into a deep muscle soreness that has worked its way around front. She’s not sure how to interpret his gestures and expression, but her pussy has made up its mind. It wants Sir in the worst way and it intends to get him.

No matter how many decades have passed since the Sexual Revolution, or magazines devoted to female empowerment; dating apps that allow women to swipe and hookup on a moment’s notice, an aroused woman who seduces a man is still labeled “Slut”. Too many women feel that to ask — to demand — sexual satisfaction, is somehow playing the whore and, although roleplaying can unlock the libido, at least temporarily, guilt often comes rushing back in after the comes have faded. Tamara is being whipsawed by her past: the memories harsh and accusatory. Nothing good will ever come of spreading your legs, girl, you’ll always be trash.

‘Sir? You don’t have to answer this right now, but I wanted to know if you thought I was submissive.’

He nods in acknowledgement. Pulling into a vacant slot on the lower level, he pops the trunk and jerks his head at her to join him at the rear.

‘These are my supplies for the meet-and-greet.’ He hands her the lightest bag, slams the deck lid, and locks the car. ‘Ready?’

‘I guess so. What do you want me to do,’ she asks as she hustles to keep up with his long strides.

He gives her another one of his shit-eating grins. ‘I told you. You’re eye candy.’

Tamara rolls her eyes at his smug masculinity.

Sir quickly transfers several bags to his left arm, and using his now unencumbered right hand, swats her twice on her butt.

‘Ouch!’ She skips ahead out of the reach of his stinging palm. ‘Are you going to do that all the time?’

He swiftly catches up and grabs her ass right between her thighs, her skirt bunching in his fist and riding up.

‘Sir! Somebody will see.’ Tamara almost orgasms feeling his fingers probing through the cotton fabric seeking her bare wet pussy.

‘I like you commando, Tamara,’ Sir chuckles with wicked glee.

Her reply is grumpy. ‘You would, since you’re obviously a pervert. I bet you have a raincoat to flash with in your car.’

He gives her one last lingering pat as he bursts out laughing. ‘And you have to ask whether or not I think you are submissive?’

‘It’s a fair question, Sir,’ she shoots back with noticeable heat. ‘I need to know what I’m in for if I decide to give in to your demands.’

The elevator ride up to the main floor is swift, not so Sir’s answer. His face is very serious. ‘Tamara, discussing submission and dominance takes a lifetime and is constantly changing. At its core, either you can submit or dominate, or you are submissive or dominant.’ The doors slide open and they walk towards the display area. Despite the early hour — it’s barely past seven a.m., there is a sustained caffeine-fueled buzz emanating from the scores of vendors, authors and maintenance personnel scurrying about. ‘Being submissive does not mean giving in.’

‘Then what does it mean, Sir,’ Tamara interrupts with a frustrated scowl.

‘Ah. Here’s our table.’ He sets the bags down, and plucks the one he gave to Tamara off her shoulder. ‘First thing, in that blue tote there is a tablecloth. Take it out, give it a good shake and lay it over the table. We’ll adjust it as needed.’

Tamara immediately dives into the tote and follows his instructions. ‘Pink? With flowers and unicorns?’

‘Almost all my readers are women, and this is a good icebreaker.’ He maneuvers the fabric until it is even; the centerpiece is a reproduction of a painting.

‘What’s that?’ she points at the woman holding a unicorn.

‘That’s Young Woman with Unicorn, by Raphael. He painted it around 1506.’

‘Hmm. What’s next?’

‘There are clips in the blue tote as well. Use those to secure the edges of the tablecloth together.’

She snaps a clip. It makes a sharp ‘cracking’ noise. ‘I can think of a few uses for these.’

Sir gives her a smoldering stare. ‘Me too. You, spread-eagled, nipples and labia clipped, me with a riding crop snapping you all over.’

Tamara almost self-combusts: her upper thighs are soaked. As she squats down to attach the corners, Sir joins her at the side of the table, hidden from the aisle.

He reaches into a red canvas carryall. ‘Luckily for you,’ pressing his hand up under her skirt, ‘I brought a towel.’ He wipes her thighs and strokes her back and forth between her parted legs.

This time, she can’t hold back. Her orgasm rips through her body. She drops the clip in her fingers, and falls forward onto her palms. The carpet is rough beneath her hands. When the towel withdraws, she mourns.

Sir claps his hands. ‘Chop, chop, Tamara, no dawdling now, time is wasting. I am sure they vacuumed down there overnight, but thanks for checking.’

Tamara’s butt is throbbing, her pulse is racing and she mutely obeys Sir’s non-stop commands as he completes the setup. When it’s ready, he nods with satisfied pursued lips and pulls her into a tight hug. ‘Yes, Tamara, I do think you are a submissive. It is up to you whether or not you want to be submissive’

To read all the Kismet of Submission episodes in order from the beginning, please go to this page for individual links. As an FYI, this series, Kismet of Submission, will conclude by the end of the year. I will be pulling the posts at that time, and then continuing to write a full-length novel starring Sir and Tamara for publication in either 2018 or 2019.

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

A shock to the system

Daniel was a quarter of the way to work, when he realized he’d forgotten his lunch on the kitchen counter. Rather than call his wife and ask for a ‘nooner’ delivery [a tempting thought] after scanning the roads for cops, he pulled an illegal U-turn and raced back home.

Dodging the toys in the front hallway, he scooped up his lunch and was almost back out the front door when he heard a strange noise from the rec room in the basement. Frowning — his wife had told him she was having her hair done this morning — he walked softly to the stairs and cautiously cracked open the door.
“Ouch! Come on! Keep up for crying out loud! What do you mean no score? You stupid fucking machine!”
Tip-toeing down the carpeted treads, Daniel peered around the corner to see a shocking sight. His wife, his naked wife, in front of the big screen TV swinging a kitchen spatula against her backside in time to action on the screen. “What do you think you are doing?”
She screamed and spun around with her hands to her face. “Daniel! What are doing here?”
He wordlessly held up his lunch bag.
“Oh… I…”
“Is that a Wii program? A spanking program?”
Her shoulders slumped and she pressed the off button. “Yes, it is. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t even know they made such a thing.”
“I saw it online and I had to order it.”
“Because…?”
“Because it looked like fun. You’re supposed to mirror the spanking in the video. It’s set for solo action or multiple partners up to eight in total.”
“I see. I guess I don’t spank you enough, is that it? Am I inadequate?”
“No! No, Daniel, you’re a wonderful spanker.”
“But…”
“I like to self-spank, okay? I’ve been doing it since I was a little girl. It feels good and gets me off. I’m sorry.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me. It’s the least you can do.”
“I ca—”
“What’s your favorite position? Your favorite fantasy? Favorite tool?”
“You’re going to be late for work!”
“Hi, Sherry. I’m running a bit late. What? No, I’ll be in soon. Just a domestic crisis that requires my expertise. Wouldn’t you like to know! Bye.”
“How is, Sherrrrry. Still a bimbo?”
“More or less… but still unspanked.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Hardly. This is a threat. Turn the program back on, pick up your paddle off the floor, and spank yourself until you’re bright red.”
“Or else?”
“Or else I’ll invite your book club over for a demonstration on how a real romantic hero controls his wayward wife.”
“Daniel!”
“I don’t see any spanking in the mirror.”

Twenty minutes later, when he was back driving into work, he couldn’t stop smiling in the rear view mirror at the vision of his red-bottomed wife coming as she paddled her butt harder and harder. He shifted in his seat — speaking of hard — and wondered what to do next. “I think we need to have a long talk about some things. Siri? Find spanking blogs.”

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

Kismet of Submission: Episode 21

Audible only to the parties involved, there is the slightest of whistles as the paddle compresses the air on the way to impact. It’s Tamara’s only warning as the leather surface cracks upon her bottom with a loud retort.

It hurts.

The second and third strikes follow in quick succession. A pause: three more on the other cheek. She hisses and bounces on her toes in a vain effort to ease the stinging burn. In her mind she compares the erotic paddling she received yesterday evening. Even the hundred spanks then didn’t equal the pain of the six blows thus far. Somehow though, the pain is welcome, fitting even. The sentence, you deserve this, echoes with the continuing paddling.

So how do you feel about this? Does Sir have the right to punish Tamara? Are you troubled by the concept of an adult woman bending over and receiving a hard, bare-bottom paddling even when she agreed? Is Sir a predator after all, and cunningly taking advantage of an abused victim? Or, does he have the obligation to take care of Tamara and keep her safe, even if that means frequent spankings and other punishments? There is no right answer that fits every situation. I guess we’ll just have to continue watching and hoping.

The paddle keeps rising and falling like a metronome. To Tamara it seems endless, and the pain has mutated into a searing heat that has spread throughout her body. She can only dip and straighten her knees, keening softly while painted fingernails dig into the hard seat cushion with each sharp smack. Panting through her mouth, it takes her a moment to realize the spanking has ceased.

She jumps slightly feeling his cool hand stroke her hot flesh.

‘Six more, Tamara.’

She lets out an involuntary moan.

‘Actually. Move back a bit and grab your ankles. Yes, like that, no, a little wider. All the way down. Don’t let go, or the blow doesn’t count.’

CRACK!

‘One, Sir!’ Tamara yelps as the hardest spank yet rocks her torso forward.

CRACK!

‘Two, Sir!’

CRACK!

‘Three, Sir!’

CRACK! CRACK!

‘Four-Five, Sir!’ she yells, holding on with white-knuckled grip.

CRACK!

The sixth and final paddle swing is even harder and lands right at the junction of thighs and bottom crease.

Tamara cries out. ‘SIX, SIR!’

The pain is agonizing but quickly turns into an aching soreness. She stays bent over, legs quivering jelly-like and tears splashing on her feet until Sir gives her verbal release to move.

Stumbling to the bed, she bends over again, sniffling and wiping her eyes as she lies on her stomach.

‘Here,’ Sir speaks quietly handing her a box of tissues.

Blowing her nose, Tamara gasps softly when she feels smooth lotion being smeared over her sore bottom.

‘This will help cool the burn, but you’ll feel this spanking the rest of the morning.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He finishes and rubs the excess over his hands. ‘Sit up.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘I know, but you’re going to do it anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you need your coffee and sugar fix and, I said so.’

Tamara perches on the very edge of the mattress, squirming and winching trying to find the least punished posterior place. ‘Ow! My poor butt hurts.’

Sir drags the chair closer, sits down and sets the tray next to Tamara. ‘Drink up and eat a pastry. We need to get going in a few. I want to stop for a real breakfast on the way over to the convention center.’

She sips the still hot coffee and chews up the cinnamon roll with steady bites. Sir’s hand never leaves her knee, except to travel further up her thigh and cross over to the other leg. Swallowing the last of the sticky treat, she drains the cup and puts it down. ‘I’m done.’

‘Good. Let me clear out the bathroom and we’re ready to checkout. Well, I’m ready to checkout, you’re not a registered guest.’

‘Just your overnight fling.’

‘Do you want another spanking, Tamara?’

‘No, Sir!’ she bolts to her feet grabbing her sore bottom. ‘What did I say?’

He taps the tip of her nose. ‘No running yourself down, remember? The punishment is over, no recriminations, no storing up grudges and slights to use decades from now.’ Tilting up her chin, he leans down and kisses her, long and slow, parting her lips with his tongue and delving into her fragrant mouth. ‘Cinnamon and icing, yum.’

Tamara seizes his body in a fierce hug. Wild emotions wash over her, many of them extremely scary and unfamiliar. All she knows is that she’s going to try her hardest to live up to his vision of her, even if it means regular spankings.

‘It’s over, Tamara.’

Her response is fraught with feeling. ‘I know, Sir. I know. Please be patient with me when I screw up. It’s not directed at you.’

‘I know that too. It doesn’t mean you’re off the hook though if I feel you are being deliberately harmful to yourself or others. If this afternoon, we decide to stay together, there will be rules to follow and consequences of breaking those rules. I want to be very clear on that point.’

She steps back and takes hold of his hands. With a voice only slightly shaky, she looks directly in his eyes and states, ‘I want—I need—to change my life, Sir. I am only being honest when I say I don’t like myself very much, and sometimes hate and loathe the person I am today. I can understand intellectually the “whys” and “hows” of what made me paranoid and bitter, but if, if, you truly believe submission to you will help me become a better person, then I am willing to submit to your rules and accept any punishments.’

Sir lifts their entwined fingers to his lips and kisses her right knuckles, then the left. ‘Then I accept your submission, Tamara, and pledge to you that I will guide, protect, encourage and discipline you in order for you to strive towards your goals.’

‘I don’t have any goals, Sir.’

‘You don’t have any goals yet, Tamara.’

To read all the Kismet of Submission episodes in order from the beginning, please go to this page for individual links. As an FYI, this series, Kismet of Submission, will conclude by the end of the year. I will be pulling the posts at that time, and then continuing to write a full-length novel starring Sir and Tamara for publication in either 2018 or 2019.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 9 (Part 21)

“Truly, Ruby? You enjoy the sex and beatings?” In the dimness her eyes sparkled and her round mouth reflected her astonishment. “Yes, Louisa, I wish Mrs. Cleanknockers would whip and spank me all day long, as I was tied to the horse and used in all my orifices by the entire staff. I have become a wicked slattern doomed to Hell… but I don’t care.” My tone was defiant. “If my fiancé desires my training to be as asset to his business, and my body the currency with which it prospers, then I will be a dutiful and obedient wife.”

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 9 (Part 20)

“Oh, Louisa! I had no idea! I’m so sorry and angry that you’ve been so abused! His lordship will hear about this in the morn!” She bolted upright in alarm at my bold declaration. “NO! Ruby, you cannot… you will not challenge his lordship over this! It is the way of the world and I forbid you to reveal what I’ve told you in private.” I too sat up and soothed her agitation with caresses and solemn promises. I confessed my own sins by stating I loved—I craved–sex and wanted it all the time with anyway who asked.

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.

  • Click the picture to claim your FREE first 5 pages of Stephanie

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  • The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

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  • The Spanking Misadventures of Stephanie

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  • 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

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  • 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

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  • 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