Wednesday, May 27, 2015

His Rebellious Queen~ WIP it Up!

I'm excited to be participating in WIP It Up today, I feel like I haven't done a WIP It Up post in ages and ages! I haven't had a new release since December, so it has been ages and ages I suppose.

Thanks to Melody Parks for hosting this fine blog hop, I always like to read the posts even when I'm not participating.

Today I have a snippet from an upcoming release called His Rebellious Queen. It's my first sci fi novel and I am pretty excited about it. I'm still working on the blurb but the basic rundown is Lyra is trying to settle into her new life on the planet of Dendera. She's also trying to settle into her new role as queen of a colony. Astor is trying to find the right blend of giving her her space, but also claiming her as his wife.

In this scene Lyra and Astor have just been arguing and she admits that she doesn't quite trust him yet, he is undeterred.

Walking over he switched the faucet on over the large porcelain tub in the corner of the spacious bathroom. As it filled he added lavender oil, she eyed him suspiciously, but sat where he had left her watching his every move. He pulled off his tunic and began shucking his pants. 
“Undress,” he told her.

Tucking her hands under her legs, she shook her head, “I don't feel like a bath. I need to get that device—”

“Undress,” he repeated, not in an unkind way, but he raised his eyebrows and held her stare until her hands moved to the fastenings on her dress. Once disrobed he beckoned her forward, his eyes lingering on her breasts. Her nipples hardened as if sensing his predatory gaze.

Guiding her into the tub he sat behind her and drew her back to lean against his naked chest. She folded her arms across her chest, covering herself as if she wished to cocoon herself away. Pulling at her arms he placed her hands on either side of the tub's ledge. Picking up a soft sponge, he squeezed some soap onto it and began at her breast bone, he left a path of bubbles as he trailed across her chest, then dipping lower to caress her breasts.

They were silent for some time as he worked over her in a figure eight pattern, softly skating over each breast, leaving trails of tiny bubbles in his wake. She finally relaxed against him as he continued caressing her front under the guise of washing her. Losing the sponge altogether, he let it drift into the tub as his hand dipped below the water line. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and she let out a moan as his fingers skated over the light dusting of hair that decorated her sex. He was unused to the hair in this area. Cassian women did not have hair below their waists, at first he feared it was a neglect of hygiene. But Lyra kept herself neatly trimmed and groomed and he found he quite liked the friction the short stubble built up between them.

Now he scraped his fingernails against the hair growth and she crooned into his neck, lifting herself up from the bottom of the tub. He couldn't tell if she liked the action or if she was protesting his teasing of touching her everywhere but where she really ached for him. Bending her legs, she pressed her knees into either side of the tub and tried to thrust down on his fingers. He evaded her movements with a chuckle, giving her inner thigh a quick pinch for her trouble.

His laughter deepened when she let out a growl, that quickly became a pleading moan. “Please, Astor,” she whispered.

His Rebellious Queen will be available for purchase in the coming weeks so stay tuned and don't forget to visit all the other WIP It Uppers today :)

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Being a Good Girl

The thing about my kink is I love a Dominant man, I want my husband to be in charge and tell me what to do. It's an on switch. Does that mean I am submissive? To a point, I would say so. 

But in delving into this theory for the last handful of years I think we could both safely say that our Dominant/submissive relationship does not extend much past our bedroom walls. Or bathroom, or couch—as the case may be.

It works for us. Once in a while he would switch into Dom mode in a fairly public setting and as long as it had that joking, not quite serious tone to it then it would make me swoony. But other than that, just be my partner in crime. I am a fiercely independent girl and if you step on that I will get bent out of shape.

Then last week I suffered an injury at roller derby practice. Nothing major. At first I thought it was a twisted ankle, a bad sprain maybe. My teammates helped get me to a bench and got me ice and I called Mr. McKay.

Up until then I had been cool as a cucumber. It barely hurt. I was all brave face, I got this, no big thing. But once the probing questions started from my husband and I could sense his panic even through the phone—I burst into tears.

What is it about that? Like when little kids fall and they're completely fine until they look around to see if anyone is alarmed.

I heard just a hint of concern in his voice and it broke me. If he was worried, I should definitely be worried.

It turned out I broke my ankle in two places. I had a soft cast and splint on the first few days. I have these crutches that I was speeding around the house on. The first day I one crutched it out to the kitchen, made myself coffee, cleaned the living room, and spruced up the bathroom.

The look of horror on my husband's face when I told him later on would have made me laugh in normal circumstances. But I tried to think of it in reverse, if he was hobbling around like a mad man on one leg and possibly hurting himself further, yeah, I would be worried too.

So I surrendered a bit. If he told me to stay put, I did. If he gave me ice to put on the swelling I iced it. If he wanted to know what I wanted to eat I told him. 

It's been a give and take. I am trying not to be a hero and do everything myself. He's not getting crazy when I sit for a few hours at my desk instead of on the couch with pillows propping up my lame ankle.

I guess I am learning to let someone take care of me and that's a weird role for me. I also feel guilty.

We've always divided up the household duties. Nothing written in stone, but roles we had slipped into. Mr. McKay cooks a lot, and I would always clean up the kitchen. Now he's stuck with both and the first few nights he looked exhausted. Pile on that the litter boxes to clean (normally my thing) and last night he had to do a load of laundry (he knows how, I just normally do it). 

I offered to do the dishes. I can stand on one foot long enough to wash a couple plates and glasses. He almost looked swayed as I upped my game, "I'll tell you if I'm getting tired. I'll stop the minute I need to sit!"

In the end I was denied the freedom of doing the dishes (someone remind me why I was begging to do them in the first place?).

I'm trying my best to be a good patient and at some points he gets so deliciously Dommy I am hoping the swelling and throbbing stops soon so he can really Dom me.

I worry about the spanking though and the all out kinkiness—our initial problem in the beginning was that he treated me as if I were made of glass. We just got to a good point in my opinion and now he is back to treating me as fragile.

I actually asked him yesterday when he thought we would get back to spanking and he raised his eyebrows at me.

"I mean not now, obviously," I said, as I writhed in pain on the couch. "But once I'm not in pain, we can do it with this cast on, right?"

"No." He dismissed me and went back to his laptop.

"Yes!" I yelled from my prone position.

"Maybe eight weeks," he said in a mocking tone. "How about, when you can walk again?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Be good, or it will be a diet of steamed broccoli for you," he replied.

I barely kept myself from sticking my tongue out at him. But inside I was all fluttery. At least he cares enough for my well being.

So baby steps, maybe one night this week I can wash some dishes, and then surely I'll have earned a spanking!

Monday, May 4, 2015

The Thing About Spanking

The thing about being married (maybe not even married, but a long term relationship), sometimes we schedule sex. I'm not talking like 9:45 every Tuesday or something, but sometimes we just make sure we are on the same page. Life is busy, we're always running somewhere and sometimes our needs are not lined up with our time allotment. 

So this weekend we scheduled some sexy time, it is not uncommon around these parts, and I don't feel like it's a bad thing, what's so wrong about being on the same schedule?

The thing is, yes, I was horny. But I will share a secret with all of you, I masturbate a lot. I mean, I guess it's subjective what "a lot" is, but in speaking with friends (even my online kinky friends) it may be more than the average person. I would call it a hazard of the trade— writing sexy things and reading sexy things, but I have always been this way.

Once we moved in together and I was having sex on the regular, you know, we were no longer sneaking around catching stolen moments— I realized masturbating became a lot less fulfilling. I told Mr. McKay he ruined me. Jokingly of course, because really, I could still achieve orgasm on my own, it just seemed very... blah.

Maybe it's the predictability. I know exactly what to do and how to do it, so I just do it, there is no anticipation, no guessing or excitement.

Needless to say, I much prefer the release I get when I orgasm with my husband. It is nice to have someone to hold you afterwards. Give you a cuddle. Tell you you're pretty. Or that he likes your tits (hey, it always gets me to smile).

But I have been starting to wonder if the reason why sometimes my masturbatory orgasms seem unfulfilling is because I am not really just wanting an orgasm. I am craving something else. Sometimes I think I just need to be spanked and my brain mis-fires and thinks I am horny.

It's a frustrating realization. And one you cannot fix on your own.

But in came the scheduled sexy time. We were planning on some spontaneous sex (yes, you read that right, and sure, it is such a thing— a planned spontaneous affair), but then we put it off too long and both got sleepy. Apparently that happens when you're old. So we both decided tomorrow, tomorrow is our night! First things first, before dinner, before drinks, before we can get full or sleepy or disinterested.

So we did, we got to it! Mr. McKay always takes care of me first, so I came and with gusto. It was dark in the room, which disappointed me a little because how could he see to spank me? He still did, sharp smacks as I straddled him. We were kissing and fondling, there were fingers and tongues and moans in the darkness. All the while he was smacking me. A smattering of smacks. It was a nice sting, but then things progressed, we moved onto the main event. There were fingers in places and double penetration and I am not sorry to say I had a mind numbing orgasm. 

We lay in the dark, my head on his chest. Light touches and giggles. Someone's stomach growls (maybe mine, but I will not admit to anything) and Mr. McKay tells me he will cooks us some dinner. But the thing is. I am not done. And I start to feel guilty, but I am not as sated and relieved as I should be. And why aren't I? Something is wrong with me, right?

Will he think I am a needy annoyance? Will he sigh and begrudgingly comply with my demands? I don't want that. I don't want to need this. But the thing is I had been building up the spanking in my head. I was worked up for it. I was ready. And then it was... lacking. It was still there and I should be happy for that, right?

So there in the dark I utter, "I just..." and then my nerve is lost. Why did I start? Ugh, I want the floor to swallow me.

"You just, what?" he asks.

"Nothing, nothing, nevermind."

I guess when you start something and then stop and admit you are scared to say, you freak out your partner a bit. So now I feel guilty that he thinks I was going to confess some sort of life altering confession. It should be old hat by now. I need to be spanked.

"Well, the things is. I just. Maybe we could... uh, I just wanted more. Spanking. You know?"

"Okay," he laughs. "Is that all?" The lights flip on. "You scared me. But this? This I can handle." He motions me to the end of the bed and picks up the cane leaning against the wall. 

"Oh, we're using that?"

"Yeah we are. You want something more? I got it!" He smiles at me, and really, how the hell did I get so lucky?

I'm gasping and squirming by the time he is finished. I have neat lines of stripes and don't even feel funny about looking at them in the mirror with him standing there. "I feel better. I needed this," I say.

He smiles again and tells me he's going to make dinner.

Over dinner we talk about the night and he admits that he was worried when I got so nervous when we were upstairs. Why would I be nervous about telling him that? I joke around that maybe he was scared I wanted to try pegging or something. He admits that crossed his mind, and something like that would scare him. But tells me if I felt that strongly about trying it, then he would. For me. Because he loves me.

I am not ashamed to admit I teared up. Some girls get jewelry. I got a man not afraid to dip into the kinky side of life, even if it freaks him out a bit.

For that I am grateful.

I hope everyone had a great weekend! Do you get the Baronet Press newsletter? Sign up today! Our free story for April is coming out later today (yes, I know it's May, but better late than never- and now you will get two in one month!). Click here to sign up and it will be sent to your inbox later today!