Sexy New Spanking Romance by Casey McKay

I love Casey McKay. Did you all know that? Her writing is awesome, she is funny as hell and a very good friend. And she's here teasing you today with her new book, Cursed Waters…

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Natasha said I could use her blog today to pimp my book. I personally think Natasha is the Queen of the Tease when she has a new book out (and I love complaining about it). So I am trying to take a page out of her book and tease all you dear readers into purchasing a copy of my new book Cursed Waters.

At this part in the story Roxy has gotten herself into a bit of hot water with Trevor (she seems to do that a lot). They have a history together and Roxy is hoping they will overcome their past and not be doomed to repeat their mistakes. I like how Trevor gets all alpha male on her in this part (I know I wrote it, but I can still like it).

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Trevor reached up and pulled her arm. She fell, ungracefully, across his lap. Roxy put her hands out to steady herself on the floor and readjust, but before she even had a moment he started spanking her. The wooden spoon bit into her flesh. She still had the protection of her jeans, but thinking they were any kind of buffer would have been a mistake. Her mistakes kept adding up today. Lying to Trevor, hiding things from him, and letting him pack a damned wooden spoon.

           

“Ah,” she cried out, a particularly hard smack hitting her upper thigh, pulling her from her self deprecating thoughts. “Please!” Roxy kicked her legs straight out behind her and she tried to twist away from the incoming blows. “It hurts!” She yelled out.

           

Trevor stopped and waited for her to stop wiggling around. She felt his hand on her lower back rubbing small circles, “It's supposed to hurt, Roxy.”

           

His response infuriated her. He wanted to hurt her? She fought against his hold on her and pushed herself to her feet.

           

Trevor looked up at her in surprise. “Are we done?”

Roxy used both hands to try to rub the sting from her ass, “Yes!” she shouted at him.

“Who decides when the spanking's over?” He asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't respond.

“Who's in charge here?” He questioned her again. Roxy wanted to kick him, he was pulling out everything he knew that would get her to comply. “Do you need a break?”

She still didn't reply but she felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Why did she get so over emotional when he could remain so in control?

Trevor pointed to the corner behind the desk. “Go face the wall and think for a minute.”

When she didn't move right away he raised his eyebrows at her, Roxy spun on her heel and made her way over to the appointed corner. She hated being made to stand in the corner. Trevor knew this, she was surprised at how much he remembered from their previous relationship. But she was having doubts. Could she have this kind of relationship again? It had been a long time since anyone had spanked her, in fact no one had since Trevor. She thought she missed it, but this encounter was giving her second thoughts. She placed her forehead on the wall and focused on breathing in and out to calm herself down.

She heard Trevor moving behind her and then felt him at her back. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back to his front. One hand traveled up and massaged her neck and shoulders. The hand still at her waist began working on the button of her jeans. Roxy let her arms go limp at her sides and closed her eyes. She loved when Trevor undressed her, even if his intention was to punish her, it made her feel completely his. Once the button was open he slid down the zipper and started working her tight jeans down her hips. They stopped at mid-thigh, where they had gotten wet, the tightness and the material would have made them a struggle to get down to begin with, but with them being wet on top of everything else they may as well had been glued to her thighs.

He grabbed her hips and turned her around, giving her a hard look that dared her to defy him. He then lead her the few feet to the desk and bent her over the edge.

Blurb:

Roxy Wilson is going through the motions. She's running her deceased grandmother's psychic readings shop, but she's not a psychic. Hoping to expand and just become a gift shop, she contacts her ex-boyfriend, Trevor Dale. Only she doesn't anticipate the feelings she's still having for him after four years of separation.

Trevor could never get Roxy out of his system, and now with her so close to him again, he's reluctant to let her go. But a 40 year- old curse involving evil spells and zombies overtaking the small, seaside town of Ocean Pointe may put a stop to any sort of romantic reunion.

Can Roxy and Trevor break the curse and save their town from zombies? Find out in Cursed Waters!

Warning: This book contains spankings and anal play between two consenting adults. If you are offended by this subject matter, please do not read this.

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How Much Spanking Is Enough? #SatSpanks

Today's snippet comes from Aching To Submit. Kyan, the club owner, is using a paddle on Sophie while Michael, her husband, watches her as she takes the punishment. Kyan has become a sort of mentor to Michael - teaching him what his wife needs and wants.

In reality, if your partner isn't naturally inclined to kink, there's definitely a learning curve and it's not always easy for them to understand how much we can take and how much we want to take. In this scene, Michael learns.

It gets pretty hot after this piece but here are my allotted sentences worth… I hope you enjoy.

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“She can take more than you think,” Kyan said to Michael, his breath shorter as he continued to spank her while speaking.

“Look at her expression, her eyes; her pupils are dilated. Her face is soft. She’s crying softly, but it’s nowhere near too much or even enough at this point.”

Michael nodded in understanding, watching his wife’s face, listening to the sounds she made. Her lips were swollen, her mouth slightly open, her eyes red from crying but soft, just soft. 

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A Prostitute in her Husband's Bedroom

Renee Rose is here sharing a little piece from The Reddington Scandal, her new regency. Do you remember Teddy from The Westerfield Affair? I do…I'm so glad she wrote his story. Here she is…

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Thank you, Natasha for inviting me to your blog! I’m pimping The Reddington Scandal today, my latest Regency spanking romance. Here’s the scoop:

When Phoebe’s brother-in-law catches the notorious rake Lord Fenton in his home late at night, half-dressed and obviously attempting escape, he flies into a rage, threatening to kill both his wife and Lord Fenton. In a desperate measure to avert bloodshed, Phoebe claims she is Lord Fenton’s lover, thereby forcing him to take her as his wife to avoid a scandal.

Knowing full well a philanderer like Teddy Fenton could never remain faithful, Phoebe insists upon separate bedrooms, resolving to resist his charm rather than fall in love and face the pain of his inevitable infidelity. Her handsome husband respects her request for a marriage in name only, but his marital dominance manifests itself in other ways. She soon learns that while he will not force her to his bed, Teddy is more than willing to take her over his knee and spank her bare bottom when her behavior warrants it.

Doubting his ability to stay faithful and not wishing to replicate his parents’ miserable existence, Teddy had never intended to take a wife, until he was forced to marry the lovely Phoebe Fletcher and everything changed. Suddenly other women hold no allure for him, and he wants nothing more than to win the affection of his new bride. But just when it seems he might succeed, secrets from her past threaten to destroy their chance at happiness. Can this couple come to love one another as befits a man and wife, or will their marriage end in scandal after all?

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The trouble with marrying a rake is the multitude of women who might try to reinsert themselves into their lives. Although Phoebe has insisted on a marriage in name only and granted her new husband permission to continue his affairs with other women, when push comes to shove, it seems she feels differently. Here’s what happens when a prostitute shows up in Teddy’s bedroom (uninvited!)...

“I don't recall inviting you,” she heard the slow drawl of her husband.

            Inviting? Who says such a thing to a woman who has been let into his bedroom?

            “Yes, well, it's been a long time since you've come to the bordello. I've missed you.”

            A light-skirt. Damn him. Damn her. Damn them both. How dare he allow her to entertain him here, in his home, with her in the room next door?

            “In other words, you need a few coins.”

            “Don't be cross, my lord,” she said, her voice sultry and coaxing. “It's not as if you haven't invited me here before.”

            “Yes, but I did not invite you this time.”

            Anger bubbled over and she got out of bed, throwing the door open and standing in it, her hands on her hips. The lady was a high-class courtesan, dressed in satin, with a string of pearls around her neck. For some reason, that bothered her even more. “Get out!” she said coldly. “Get out of my house!”

            “Teddy? Is this your sister?”

            “No,” Teddy said sardonically. “She is Lady Fenton, my wife.” He placed a bookmark in the book he'd been reading and set it on the bed. He did not stand up, but merely lounged on the bed, looking from the courtesan to her with amused interest.

            “I asked you to leave. If you will not, I will have you thrown out of this house.”

            The light-skirt looked at Teddy, as if expecting him to defend her right to be there. Anger produced a rushing sound in her ears. She strode over to the prostitute, fully prepared to slap her. Perhaps guessing what she had in mind, Teddy chose that moment to rise to his feet. He raised his eyebrows. “You heard her. The lady of the house asked you to leave. You will do so. Now.”

            She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, gritting her teeth through the woman's low curtsy and departure. When she shut the door, Phoebe turned and glared at Teddy, picked up one of the books from his shelf and hurled it at him.

            He dodged it. “Phoebe, that is not acceptable.”

            Not acceptable? Entertaining a “Bit 'o Muslin” in one's own home was not acceptable. She picked up another book and hurled it.

            “Enough. Put that down,” he said sharply when she picked up the looking glass. But the satisfaction of breaking something was too much. She hurled it against the wall, disappointed when it only broke into a few pieces, rather than providing a full shatter. His silver snuff box fit in her hand like a heavy stone, and it she threw it at him before she could think properly. It struck his head with a thud that rattled her own teeth. She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands, all her heat turning cold.

            He stumbled backward, cursed and hit the wall, doubling over for a moment with his hand over his forehead.

            “Forgive me,” she whispered. Fear coursed through her veins, turning her hands to ice. She had hurt him—badly. She felt terrible—she hadn't meant to hurt him. How angry would he be? Would he turn violent?

            He stood upright with another curse, his hand covering his forehead, a trickle of blood spilling from underneath it. But he did not appear out of temper. Apart from the blood, he looked as unruffled as he had when she'd entered the room and ordered the prostitute to leave. He withdrew a handkerchief and blotted the blood from his head and hands.

“I will punish for that, Phoebe,” he said coolly.

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Renee Rose, a erotic romance author, did not come out of the closet as a spanko until she published her spanking romance Betrothed. A lifelong writer, she has a B.A. in creative writing from Knox College, where she won the Davenport prize for both fiction and poetry, and the Lorraine Smith prize for literary criticism. She spent thirteen years in technical writing before she found a way to incorporate her deepest darkest spanking fantasies into fiction and express a part of her that longed to see the light. She is now passionate about supporting others in accepting and exploring their kink, whatever that may be.  Visit her blog and join the conversation!

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Submission and Trust

Posted on Spanking Romance on 9/23/2013

I've always known that trust is essential to submission. That was kind of a given. But having read the recent Round Table Discussions, I really thought about that trust for the first time.

Sometimes I look up the definitions of words I know the meaning of and am surprised at the true definitions, or maybe the way to say it is they add another layer to my understanding of the word.

There was one comment in particular that Gemini made about the gift of Dominance. As a sub, I am completely and selfishly focused on myself and this was interesting to read. In my post, I spoke about struggling with submission - wanting to give it but being unable to. After reading what Gemini wrote, something clicked for me. When giving the gift of submission, you must trust that the gift of Dominance will be given in return. It's like you have to trust that the one you are giving your submission to can take it, can accept it and give you back what you need - fill the lack with his Dominance.

In Aching To Submit, the blurb reads that Sophie hadn't told her husband of her kink out of fear of rejection. Yes, that's one side of things, but there's also the other side - maybe she wasn't sure or didn't trust that he could take it and give her back what she needed - his Dominance.

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Once in the attic, she stripped off her clothes and folded them, setting them on top of one of the boxes. She laid the belt on the chair and chose a corner, touching her nose to it and clasping opposite elbows behind her back so her bottom would be displayed for him once he came up.

Michael’s dominant nature surprised her. No, that wasn’t it. He was dominant in every way, but the fact that he took on his new role with such zeal was what surprised her. There would be pain tonight; she wasn’t fool enough not to believe that. But she also believed there would be pleasure afterwards. Riding that fine line between the two opposites thrilled her, her submission itself almost better than the orgasm.

It was a good twenty minutes before she finally heard his step on the landing, and when she did her entire being shook with anticipation.

“Good choice,” he said, and she knew he must be looking at the belt.

She didn’t dare turn around until he called her to him after a few moments. He stood in front of the single chair that sat in the middle of the room on top of the rug. She made her way over to him.

He was shirtless and barefoot and she couldn’t help but look at the wide span of his shoulders, his powerful, muscular arms. “Bend over and put your hands on the seat of the chair,” he said. He wasn’t yet holding the belt.

She turned and did as he said, knowing to keep her legs wide as she supported her weight on her hands, looking straight down at the doubled-over belt. It wasn’t a moment before his fingers were massaging a cool cream over her anus.

“This plug is a little bigger than the last one,” he said, his voice coming out a little hoarse as his finger penetrated her tight ring. “I want it in your ass when I whip you.”

She made a sound, unable to manage words, taking in the not-unpleasant sensations.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he encouraged as he pulled his fingers out and began to insert the plug. With that she struggled a bit; he wasn’t kidding that it was bigger and thicker. Michael pressed it in and pulled it out, patient and slow, waiting for her to open and accept it. “You can take it, Soph, come on, open. Reach your hips back. That’s it. Push against it. Almost there.”

She made another sound as the thickest part penetrated and the plug was finally seated firmly inside her.

“You can straighten up,” Michael said. He went to wash his hands in the corner sink.

Sophie tightened her muscles around the plug, which was heavier than she’d anticipated. Michael returned with a pair of leather cuffs.

“Hold out your hands,” he said.

“You don’t have to bind…” she began.

“How many additional strokes do you think you deserve for speaking when you did not have permission to speak?”

She stared at him. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said quickly. “I just…”

“Ten more, then. Another word and we’ll make it twenty on top of what you’re already going to get.”

She stared at him, her mouth open, but luckily too smart to keep talking.

“Hold your hands out,” he said.

She extended them to him and he bound them in front of her before sitting down on the chair. “Lay yourself across my lap,” he said.

Sophie took a step to his side and held on to his thigh as she leaned forward, then put her hands to the floor. Once she was situated, he trapped both her legs between his and pulled her tight to him. She then felt the weight of the belt as he laid it over her low back.

“I like you like this,” he said, his hand circling her buttocks, then pressing on the base of the plug before dipping down into her pussy. “You’re wet, Soph, even for your punishment you’re wet. But pain before pleasure and this is going to hurt. Are you ready?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” she said, her voice wavering.

He chuckled and slapped her ass once, then caressed softly before repeating the motion on the other cheek. The caress was just momentary and only heightened her anxiety as she knew the strike that followed would be sharp and quick.

“Ow,” she said, already squirming.

“Oh, honey,” he said and she could hear the smile in his voice, “this is nothing compared to what’s coming.”

He slapped harder and she struggled against each one, but with her hands bound as they were and her legs trapped between his, it was useless. When he picked up the belt, however, she shoved her full weight against him, trying to get free, panic overriding everything else.

Michael pulled her to him, holding her tight by her waist. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay, Soph. It’s me. You can take this; you’ll feel better for it.”

“Easy for you to say,” she cried.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, surprising her.

She turned her head to meet his eyes. “No.”

Her eyes, which had been dry until then, suddenly filled with tears that overflowed onto the carpet beneath her. “I don’t want you to stop. I’m just scared. I think I made a mistake. I think I should have chosen a different belt,” she cried.

He laughed out loud, but it wasn’t cruel. In fact, as he did it, he hugged her to him, rubbing her back. “Baby,” he began, “you think I’d have let you get away with that?” he asked. He was massaging her low back.

That was the moment she understood that he wouldn’t have let her off the hook.

Goose bumps covered the flesh over her entire body as this realization settled upon her. She exhaled and closed her eyes, relishing the release, the knowledge that she was safe here in his arms and that she could lean on him, that he would carry her. That he could carry her.

http://www.amazon.com/Aching-to-Submit-ebook/dp/B00F74K5K4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380024466&sr=8-1&keywords=aching+to+submit

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#Figging Gabrielle

I don't really know why the idea of figging is such a turn on. It's probably one of the most taboo things for me at this moment in time.

If I think about what I write and how explicitly I write it, I'll admit, I blush a bit. Even as I write this post, I'm a little embarrassed. It's funny, if it's in the pages of one of my books, I don't feel that way. Maybe it's that if you're reading the book, if you're reading that naughty little scene, well, we're in on a secret. I wrote it and you're reading it. That secret is safe between us. Weird thought, huh?

Anyway, on to figging. I like it. I like the preparation, the mental place it puts you to to receive the ginger as well as the physical sensation - to a point. I've written two figging scenes so far and kind of backed away from them for a bit just to do something different but I'm going to bring it back into my next book I think. I'd love to read more books where figging is used but they're not that easy to find. Or I live under a rock so recommendations are welcome.

For now, I wanted to share a snippet from Taught to Kneel where Gabrielle has asked for punishment and Julian is the one whom she trusts enough to give her what she needs. And in case you weren't sure, yes, he brings the ginger...   

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Julian went into his room and closed the door. He was hard already at the thought of what was to come but he wouldn't decide until after the punishment if there would be sex. His priority was Gabrielle. It had taken courage to ask for what she'd asked. She trusted him to deliver what she needed. She trusted him completely.

He unpacked the ginger he'd bought and set the bottled water in the small refrigerator. He then took the small fruit knife and went out on his patio. There, he peeled the thick pieces of ginger root and began to carve them.

Her punishment would be thorough tonight, inside and out. She might be sorry she asked for it in fact. Julian considered his feelings for Gabrielle. She was beautiful and he was attracted to her; that went without saying. But her nature, her softness, her innocence… it all made him feel very protective of her, very possessive. She was a woman he could see himself with for longer than a weekend or a few nights.

But he pushed those thoughts aside. She needed him tonight. She needed him to chastise her. He'd come to terms with the part of him that gained satisfaction from giving discipline. But her trusting him enough to give herself over completely, to give up her safety net, that fulfilled a whole other need.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes to go. He placed the carved ginger root in the refrigerator and stripped off his clothes to have a shower and change.

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Gabrielle knelt in the corner farthest from the door. He'd be here in less than five minutes. Her stomach was in knots, goose bumps raised every hair on her body, and her nipples were pebbled hard. Moisture lubricated her throbbing pussy, her lips spread open, hungry, waiting.

The key turned in the lock and her heart all but stopped. When the door opened, she dropped her gaze to the floor and listened as he closed and locked the door, set the key on the table beside it, and approached. She could see from beneath her eyelashes that he wore dress shoes and black slacks. She dared a glance up to see him set the grocery bag from earlier on the table and quickly dropped her gaze again when she caught his disapproving look. He was dressed in a black suit with a white button down shirt that was open at the collar. His hair was still wet from his shower and seeing him like he was while she knelt at his feet, naked, made her want him like she'd never wanted a man before.

She listened as he took off his jacket and set it over the back of the chair.

“Look at me, Gabrielle,” he said.

She swallowed and lifted her eyes to his. She watched while he rolled up his shirt-sleeves, recognizing once again the power in those arms, those hands.

“Tonight I'm going to punish you hard. I expect you to submit and take your punishment unbound, but if you struggle or resist, I'll bind you. If that happens, you'll receive additional strokes. Do you understand?”

She nodded, eyes wide.

He stepped closer and took hold of a handful of her hair.

“Ow!” She reached instinctively for his hand.

“Words, Gabrielle. This will be your only reminder.”

“Yes. Yes, Sir. I understand.”

He released her. “Good. Stand up.”

That wasn't a question so she didn't answer. She rose to her feet, but she was unsure whether to meet his eyes or not and so she kept hers to the ground.

“Climb on the bed, on your knees and elbows. Keep your legs wide and face forward.” He moved to retrieve whatever he'd brought with him.

She couldn't see the item while she moved into position, feeling the sticky moisture drying on her thighs while she situated herself, settling on her elbows which lifted her ass high.

She heard his feet on the tile floor and couldn’t help glancing back when the bed dipped beneath his weight.

A sharp slap to her buttocks quickly readjusted her position.

“Turn around again and I won't stop at one.”

“I'm sorry, Sir.” He was being harsher than he had been before, harder on her. It turned her on and frightened her at the same time.

“This,” he said, just as she felt something cold and rough at her anus. “Is ginger root. It's about two inches long and two finger widths wide.” He pressed and she clenched. “And this is exactly the reason we're using it tonight. Relax your muscles and push against it. It will go easier.”

She mewled and although she wanted to do as he said, she just couldn't.

“I won’t be using lubricant or the ginger won't serve its purpose. Do you know what that purpose is Gabrielle?'

“No, Sir.” The sting had already settled along the rim of the tight passage, giving her some idea when the tip of the root penetrated her entrance.

“The ginger will cause a burning sensation from the inside. It will hurt but you may find it pleasurable. If you clench, however, the sting will become more intense. I plan to whip you tonight and I want your buttocks soft and unclenched for the punishment.”

He was going to whip her, just as she wanted but feared.

“Bear down, Gabrielle. Put your face on the bed and bear down.”

Could this be more humiliating? She laid the side of her face on the bed and pushed, feeling the ginger slide in as she did so. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant at first; in fact, when it was all the way inside and he released it, she worked her muscles around the cool intrusion and she knew if she reached back and touched her clit, she'd come.

But after a few moments, she knew exactly why he was using the root. 

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