BREAK ON ME
While much is made of the intense, heart-stopping wonders that your delicious decadent dominance gives us, thank you for your understanding, compassion and loving strength. Allowing us to be weak when we need to be, returns our power, and allowing us to sink into sadness when it overcomes us, brings us back from the abyss.
A shoulder upon which to surrender
His comforting caress
Gentle words of wisdom
The sweetness of his kiss
Warm hands that stroke and soothe
His warm hug in which to hide
Fingers that wipe away the tears
With love, he restores my pride.
HER DOCTOR IN CHARGE
(This is not the cover pic, but I do love it)
HER DOCTOR IN CHARGE
Thanks for stopping by. I haven’t been posting as much as I would like, because this very decadent dominant doctor has been taking up all my time. His name is Dr. Daniel Dupont, and he practices from his Harley Street surgery in London. A young woman suffering from fatigue and headaches is referred to him by another patient, and from the moment she walks into his office he finds her intriguing, and certainly worthy of some thorough examinations. Her attitude though, could use some adjusting.
Slowly rising to her feet she walked the few steps to the chair, and as she climbed up on the seat cushion, and took up the position, he didn’t waste any time lifting her skirt above her waist. Her full round bottom was encased in red lace knickers, and he gazed at it fondly as he began to roam his hand across her seat.
“A few good smacks with my hand to warm your skin,” he declared, “then the strap. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Doctor,” she mumbled.
As he lifted his hand, Dr. Daniel Dupont had no idea that his new patient was deliriously happy.
Lady Sybil Sinclair was a lonely submissive who had been craving a dominant. A man to scold and spank her, a man to love and adore her, and as the handsome Dr. Dupont landed the first, hot smack, she gripped the arms of the chair and let out a long, silent, satisfied sigh.
His take-charge attitude had tickled her submissive imagination from the moment she’d met him, and it didn’t hurt that Dr. Dupont was more than easy on the eyes. He had that something that dominants’ possessed. It wasn’t just confidence, it was a unique kind of confidence, and she’d immediately seen it in Dr. Dupont. He had it in droves, but the last thing she’d expected was to end up on her knees with her dress up around her waist, and her butterflies fluttering in a wild dance as his hand bounced off her cheeks.
His punishing palm was hot and carried a significant sting, and Sybil gasped as he whisked his slaps across her sit spot, but even as she wriggled in both joy and pain, she was very aware that her glistening dew would soon be evident against the satin gusset of her panties, and he would know she was totally turned on. What would he do then?
Thanks for swinging by, and as always, comments are always greatly appreciated. The list of other contributors is pasted below, and I’m sure they’d love you to stop in and have a read. My apologies for the lack of an active link. WP will not allow it. :(
1. Daryl Devore: Linked to: myeroticnotions.blogspot.com
2. Christina Mandara: Linked to: wp.me/p3vEjb-1dD
3. Shelly Douglas: Linked to: shellydouglas.blogspot.com/2015/11/you-better-not-lie-to-mewipitupwednesday.html
4. Jennifer Reynolds: Linked to: jennifer-reynolds-thzu.squarespace.com/new-blog/2015/11/17/wip-it-up-wednesday-excerpt-from-sayinggoodbye-a-paranormal-lovestory
5. Ashe Barker: Linked to: ashebarker.com/2015/11/18/wipitup-welcome-back-to-the-dark-side/
6. Maggie Carpenter – D/S ROMANCE Linked to: http://www.maggiecarpenter.com/blog
7. Megan Michaels: Linked to: meganmichaels.blogspot.com/2015/11/the-nanny-and-vibrating-anal-beads-bdsm.html
8. Thianna DurstonL Linked to. Thianna Durstonog.thiannad.com/2015/11/wipitup-11-18.html
Winter is upon is. The cold air tickled my skin when I stepped out this morning. In January of 2014 I posted this, and feeling the chill in the air, and watching the rain, the spirit has moved to post it again
Made visible by her breath, the frost’s cold hung in the air. She didn’t want to be there but she’d promised she would meet him, and at the time she’d wanted to, but now…!
A shuddering ripple cascaded down her spine. The park was desolate and forbidding, but it shared its eerie stillness with its beauty, and sighing heavily, she allowed herself to fall under the spell of the glacial grandeur that surrounded her.
Reflecting the full moon’s silver glaze, the icy shards clinging to the trees twinkled as brightly as the canopy of sparkling stars overhead, The bench where they had first kissed suggested she should sit, but it didn’t seem right without him, and as much as her feet hurt in the too-small boots, she couldn’t bring herself to accept its silent invitation.
“I’m so glad you came.”
His voice, deep and comforting, sent the much missed, familiar fluttering through her belly, and she turned to see him sauntering towards her, his hands stuffed in his overcoat pockets.
“I said I would,” she replied, immediately wishing she hadn’t sounded so defensive. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
He smiled, and the dimples that once had charmed her worked their magic again. She wanted to sink against his soft wool jacket, feel his engulfing bear hug, smell the rich aroma of his-
“Let’s sit,” he said, interrupting her thoughts as he moved confidently towards the bench.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, attempting to appear nonchalant as she perched on the edge of the wooden seat. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll sit here with a brave face, pretend I’m fine, then go home and end up crying with my dog.
“Do you remember the promise I made you this time last year?”
The glint in his eye set her butterflies wildly flapping making it impossible to concentrate.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked, rising from the depths of his gaze.
“I asked if you remember the promise I made you last New Year’s Eve. You were sick, too sick to go out.”
She swallowed hard and glanced across the icy lawns. Of course she remembered the promise. She remembered it every hour of every day, sometimes as a fuzzy shadow, other times with crushing clarity.
“Yes,” she sighed, “but like you said, that was last year, before we…before you…”
“Before I was an idiot,” he finished.
“I didn’t say that,” she retorted.
“No, but you could have, and you would have been right.”
Her heart did a quick step, and as she caught her breath she felt her teeth clench. This was not what she’d expected, but then, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected, and she realized she was there because every part of her had ached to share his space, even if only for a few minutes.
“I’ve figured something out,” he continued. “There’s a problem being a Dominant. No, that’s not right. There’s a problem I used to have, being a Dominant, or at least your Dominant.”
“I don’t understand?” she muttered, unable to make her voice work properly.
“I thought I was supposed to be smart all the time, infallible, have all the answers,” he frowned, “but I’m just a human being, with all the flaws and weaknesses of any other human being. I’m sorry, Beth, I let you down. I tried so hard to be perfect, and all I did was make an absolute mess of things.”,
Her hands balled into fists. Was this just an apology, or…?
“If you want me to,” he said slowly, “I’d like to keep that promise.”
Heart thumping, her eyes searched his, seeking the glow of love behind his words.
“I want to spank you right here, now, on our bench, in the freezing cold,” he said softly, locking her gaze, “just as I promised.”
A hot lump began forming in her throat. She wanted it…she wanted him…
“And then what?” she managed.
“And then I’ll take you home, and kiss every single inch of you.”
She brought her gloved hands to her face, covering her eyes.
Take a leap of faith. You miss him like crazy. Be brave, Beth, go on, do it.
Wordlessly, tremulously, haltingly, she crawled across his lap, and sighing deeply, sank into her surrender. As she felt the comfortable familiarity of his lap she sighed heavily, relinquishing her fears. She was home.
Credit where credit is due. I have borrowed the title for this post from a book that was originally published in 1993. I have a first edition copy. Amazingly, it’s still available.
From the first moment I read it, the title intrigued me. The Art Of Spanking. It speaks of so much. There are the literal interpretations, such as illustrations…
and of course, photographs.
There there is prose.
The Art of Spanking described so vividly in many wonderful D/s novels. We can enjoy snippets and excerpts every day, and the same is true of short stories.
Here’s a clip from my work in progress, a medical BDSM romance.
His hand was hot and carried a significant sting, and Sybil gasped as he whisked his palm across her sit spot, but even as she wriggled in both joy and pain, she was very aware that her glistening dew would soon be evident against the satin gusset of her panties. He would know she was totally turned on. What would he do then?
But when I ponder the phrase, The Art of Spanking, I don’t think of photographs, illustrations, or even that which brings me so much pleasure and satisfaction, the written word. I think about the talent and imagination of the spanker. Spanking, in all its crimson glory, is an art form in itself.
The delicate lifting of her skirt and lowering of her panties. The whisper of his fingertips across her naked skin. His few first, light slaps, slowly increasing in pace and gusto.
The sudden, unexpected jerk across his knee, the skirt up, the underwear unceremoniously pulled down, left dangling around her ankles. A series of sharp stinging swats that leave her gasping in a matter of seconds.
The instruction to strip, place the waiting blindfold over her eyes, then lay over the mound of pillows and wait. Every sound stirs her butterflies, then she hears what she craves as much as she dreads. His footsteps walking down the hall.
A candlelit dinner, holding hands across a table.
“I’m going to put you over my knee when we get home.”
The line, though delivered in a soft sweet whisper, sends a swath of delicious trepidation down her spine, and she sits, wriggling, through the remainder of the agonizingly long meal.
Innuendo, promises, a look, a shake of the head, the crossing of arms, the languid rolling up of the sleeve. Whatever form it takes, spanking, in the hands of one who is creative and caring, is Art.
A SNIPPET FROM MY LATEST COWBOY NOVEL
Can a city girl find love in the arms of a take-charge country cowboy
in the small town of Whitefish, Montana?
Slipping off her stool she walked over to him put her arms around his neck.
“I can’t wait to experience my first white winter. Will you keep me warm?”
“I’ll keep your butt warm,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her.
“Butterflies,” she whispered.
“That’s always a good sign,” he replied, then fisting her hair he yanked back her head and gazed down at her. “Ya know there’s two kinds of spankin’.”
“There are?” she breathed, thinking if he let go of her hair her knees would buckle.
“Sure. There’s good, old-fashioned punishment, then there’s slow, sensuous spankin’. Maybe I’ll introduce you to that later. You’re stayin’ over, right?”
Thanks for visiting, and listed below are the other wonderfully wicked contributors to this week’s sexy hop.
A SEXY SPANKING COWBOY ROMANCE
Available Amazon/Nook 10/14/2015
Can a feisty, fun-loving girl from San Francisco find love in the arms of a square-jawed, take-charge cowboy in Montana?
Crystal Morrison, a free-spirited aspiring novelist is on an adventure. Just graduated from college, she is traveling through the country on a working holiday. Finding herself in Whitefish, Montana, she is captivated by it’s stunning lake and majestic mountains.
Never having lived through a white winter she decides it’s the perfect place to hang her hat until spring, but when she meets a ruggedly handsome rancher by the name of Clay Parker, her stay in the picturesque town suddenly takes an erotic and exciting twist.
Clay finds the spunky city girl quite the handful, and after several weeks he shows the young woman that certain lines cannot be crossed. To her shock he pulls her over his knee and delivers a quick, stinging spanking, but after he kisses her fervently then marches from her house, she discovers he has left her with more than a hot bottom.
His astonishing attention has stirred something inside her, something that will not let her sleep, and though it’s late she calls him to apologize for her bad behavior. He invites her to his lakeside cottage, and though she has refused his invitation in the past, she accepts, and the following morning, filled with anticipation, she sets off to meet him.
Waiting in his cottage, Clay becomes concerned. A storm has rolled in, the rain is torrential, and she’s late, very late. The bell finally chimes, but when he opens the door he is astonished to see her completely drenched. She has arrived with a startling surprise, a surprise that bonds them. Their exploration into the world of dark sexual thrills begins, and their passionate love deepens.
Little do they know, trouble is brewing.
Clay, the oldest of three brothers, is a member of the Parker clan, a family that spans three generations. His Cattle Baron father is none too pleased that his brilliant son has taken up with a city girl who knows nothing of ranch life, and fears she might lure him away to the bright lights and glamorous world from which she comes.
Can Crystal and Clay, an unlikely couple, find true love? As the first snow of the season begins to fall, will her dream of a white winter become a romantic reality, or will Clay’s powerful father try to put a stop to their passion? Is it the hand of fate that brought them together, or is another mystical force playing a part in the blossoming of their unique romance?
Publisher’s Note: Her Cowboy In Charge is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, bondage, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
He’s in charge.
There is no grey area.
They are equals, partners, lovers and best friends, but He is in charge.
“How can you be equals with him in charge?” her friend had asked.
She had smiled her reply. There was no explaining to one who had to ask.
Glancing at the clock she felt the warm, familiar, delicious shudder; he would be home soon.
He would saunter in the door, take off his jacket, hang it on the coat hook, and when he saw her He would hug her warmly and kiss her neck.
He would kiss her neck because she loved it, because it would send shivering goosebumps across her skin…every time.
Tonight, though, there would be no kiss on her neck.
The rules were the rules, and she had broken a rule.
Purposefully, deliberately and with complete awareness that there would be consequences, she had broken a rule.
Standing by the counter in the kitchen she absently swirled her wine, losing herself in the churning anticipation.
Would He spank her? Make her stand in the corner and consider her crime, or deny her…endlessly? He might do something that wasn’t even in her consciousness, something new, something He’d be saving.
Why did she break the rule?
It wasn’t a test; the testing days were far behind them.
She wasn’t being manipulative, not really, not in a bad way.
She did it because she needed to; she did it because she had been aching for the tiny dust devils now swirling through her stomach; she did it because she needed to feel the cloak of security that His Dominance gave her; she did it because the murky shadows lurking in the corners of her soul could only be exorcised by His reassuring, loving discipline.
The door opened and closed. She could hear the rustle of his coat, the sigh, he was in the hallway….
“Hi, something smells good.”
She stared across at Him, her eyes wide. He paused, tilting his head.
“What?” He asked.
“I have a confession…”
Thrilled to share a snippet from my latest release, a follow-up (though stand-alone) book to the best-selling,
His Willful Bride.
HIS PETULANT BRIDE
Indulged since childhood by a doting father and a modern-minded mother, twenty-year-old Miranda Witherspoon is accustomed to neither discipline nor disappointment, yet despite her life of privilege her greatest desire continues to elude her. She is determined to marry a man with a title, but so far no such man has taken a lasting interest in her.
When Miranda is invited to the grand country home of Lord Edward Pemberly III for a weekend, she accepts the invitation in spite of the grudge she holds against Edward’s wife, Charlotte, and it is there that she is introduced to Lord Walter Danby. From his newfangled motor car to his confident, witty charm, the tall, dashing lord is unlike any man Miranda has ever met, and though their first encounter is tempestuous, she quickly finds herself utterly captivated by him.
In spite of—or perhaps because of—her sharp tongue and fiery temper, Walter is instantly drawn to Miranda. Her obvious need of taming only increases his interest, and upon learning of Miranda’s past ill-treatment of his beloved cousin Charlotte, Walter takes it upon himself to chastise her properly. After a painful, humiliating bare-bottom spanking, Miranda is left with blushing cheeks, a burning backside, and an intense desire for Walter that has nothing to do with his title.
Charlotte is furious that Walter and Miranda are spending time together, but Edward warns her not to interfere, assuring her that he will handle the situation. When he catches her snooping in Miranda’s guest room, Charlotte faces a severe punishment, but will a well-spanked bottom be enough to convince her to let go of the past and share in her cousin’s happiness, or will her meddling bring things to a tumultuous head?
With the weight of his legs over hers, and his tight grip holding her in place over his lap, try as she might, Miranda’s strenuous efforts to escape were futile. Her bottom was on fire, his hand was raining its painful punishment with abandon, and with her arms flailing, she let out a despondent yowl.
“My lord, I am stinging and burning,” she wailed, “please, my lord, please. I am so sorry. I shall apologize to Charlotte, and I will never do anything like that ever again, I swear.”
“An apology! Finally!” he exclaimed, pausing his hand. “I think a few more where you sit and then we’ll be done.”
Swishing his flattened palm upwards, he caught the base of her cheeks several times in quick succession. Her cry was shrill but he’d expected it, and he continued unaffected until he was satisfied she had been well and truly punished.
“There! We’re done!” he said sternly. “I hope you meant what you said.”
* * *
Thank you for swinging by. Comments are always welcome. Below is a list of the other contributors to this week’s hop. I hope you’ll find time to stop in and check them out.