Stevie MacFarlane's Blog, page 20

J Is For Johnny

Johnny Hastings managed to do a few things right in his life and that was to produce sons.  Five hunky, dominant sons whose stories are told by five amazing authors in The Sons of Johnny Hastings

The new releases from Blushing Books are available as a boxed set or individually.

Great reviews are already starting to pour in so grab yourself some western fun and hang on for the ride!
The Blacksmith’s Bride by Patricia Green

Sunny Winslow knows exactly what she wants in a man. When she meets the blacksmith, Abel Armstrong, in her new home she's immediately hooked. Unfortunately, her mother has other plans for her that do not include a blacksmith. She is determined to tie Sunny to a rich town counselor. Sunny is desperate to escape the counselor, so she embarks on a series of schemes to get the man she wants.

Abel Armstrong has some skeletons in his closet. In the late 1800s, it's quite the scandal to be a divorced man. Over the course of the last ten years, he's had to work very hard to get his reputation back. Meeting Sunny is like a breath of fresh air, but he can't afford to throw caution to the wind and force their joining by doing something disreputable.

Can spankings teach Sunny to have some patience and trust that Abel's way is the right way? And, can Abel deal with Sunny's impulsive scheming and keep his standing in the community intact?



The Lawman’s Lessons by Patty Devlin

Choose one of the two men, or take the return ticket and head home. It wasn’t much of a choice. Celia had worked and studied so hard to have a school of her own. And she had known that they might be a little upset. She knew exactly what they had wanted. It was stated very clearly in the advertisement and she could probably read and write better than anyone one of them.

Jackson sure never planned to marry, and how could he when his name would be a disgrace to his bride? So why had he fought so hard to keep her from marrying the other man? He could have shrugged it off and gotten out of there, but he just couldn’t do it. The new school teacher needed someone who would stay on her tail and teach her a lesson or else she’d run right into danger.

But, he’d have to be honest with her and tell her about that no good scoundrel who had sired him. She at least had a right to know he was a bas—illegitimate, that the man who fathered him had left his mother alone to fend for herself. Then if Celia could handle that, well, they could work the rest out. Besides, there weren’t any other good choices and she simply couldn’t be without a husband.

The Juniper Bride by Maddie Taylor

Emmalee Gray watches in frustration as her fiancé, Clinton Ryan, boards a train heading west. Told to stay behind and prepare for their wedding as Clint embarks on a mysterious errand, Em has other ideas. She doesn’t want to remain home without him, especially with her witch of a stepmother and a father who barely knows she exists. She’d much rather risk Clint’s wrath and follow him, planning to stay hidden until she gets so far away from Boston he wouldn’t dare send her back alone. Then she can enjoy some private time and maybe a little adventure with her gorgeous fiancé, in advance of their nuptials.

Unfortunately, Emmalee is a magnet for trouble and finds herself in one scrape after another. To keep her safe, Clint lays down the law: obey his orders or suffer the consequences over his knee.

Can they make it to their destination in one piece? When they do, and Clint’s past is revealed, how will Emmalee react, and will she ever find out why people keep calling her a "juniper bride?" With danger and intrigue swirling around them at every turn, can their passionate love survive?

To Have and To Scold by Mary Wehr

Annie’s sweet on her neighbor, Matthew Caine, but the stern rancher treats her like a bratty child instead of a woman. Each encounter always ends with a trip over his knee.

Matthew’s fed up with Annie’s childish behavior. Her latest prank ruined a brand new pair of boots! While he sets her britches on fire, he refers to her as a nuisance and warns her to leave him alone. For once in her life, Annie obeys.

 ‘Bratty’ Annie has grown into a beautiful woman and Matthew realizes that he’s fallen in love with her, but she’s unsure of his feelings. When he learns about her stepmother’s evil plan to marry her off to a man Annie despises in order to settle a debt, he steps in and takes her to wife.

Annie’s happy to be married to the man of her dreams and learns that no matter what her age, her disobedience and sass will be dealt with an old-fashioned spanking.

The Outlaw’s Bride by Renee Rose

Mabelle Lawson had been managing her dead sister’s ranch without help for three months. The last thing she needs is a band of outlaws showing up and pushing her around. The Curly James gang members have no patience for her sass, and when their leader attempts to strike her with his fist, one of his men volunteers to spank her instead. She wants to hate the good-looking outlaw, but he seems to have her well-being at heart, even risking his life to protect her from the other men.

Unjustly accused of murder, Sam Pride is on the run and his luck worsens when he tangles with the Curly James gang. The only bright spot is the little spitfire rancher who steals his heart with her courage and spunk. When the two set off together for Cheyenne and then Denver, sparks fly and their magnetic connection grows.

Still, Mabelle is not sure if Sam will commit and even if he does, can he clear his name before a bounty hunter shoots him or brings him in?

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Inspire

One of the most important jobs we can do as writers is inspire others.  It doesn't matter whether you're on the best sellers list making millions or struggling through your first novel, as long as you're moving toward your dream you can be an inspiration.

I wrote my first novel in 1991. My husband was very ill, I worked full-time and we were raising five children.  Harlequin was running a promotion, something like "So you think you can write" and I sent away for the free tapes.  I borrowed my friends word processor and jumped in, often staying up until 3 or 4 in the morning at my little desk in our bedroom.  Times were tough, stress was immeasurable and my characters took my mind off my own problems.  At that time, everything was hard copy, so I printed off my manuscript and sent it of to Ontario with return postage.

While I waited for a reply, my husband had heart surgery to have a mechanical valve put into his aorta, my life returned to semi-normal and I kept writing, listening to him tick like a clock in the dark hours before dawn.  I was about half way through with my second book when I got a reply from an editor.  It was a personal letter, somewhat unusual for you first submission, or so I've been told. She said the reader like it, but she (the editor) thought it was "too episodic".  Even today, I have no idea what that means, and I've asked many authors.  She suggested some changes, but I really didn't know what to change, so I packed up my books, sent them to the attic, returned the word processor and buried my dreams.  A few weeks later I received another letter asking if I was working on anything else. I wasn't, not anymore.  It was over and I figured writing got me through some pretty dark days so I was thankful for that.

My kids grew up, got married, had kids of their own and I retired.  It wasn't until 2012 that I thought about those books and wondered if now that I had more time I might be able to do something with them.  I asked my sons to go up and see if they were still there, and lo and behold they were.  Now I have eight book out and another ready to go. 

I often wonder if I would have given up so easily, if I had someone to cheer me on, or where I might be today had I kept writing.  I'll never know, but one thing is certain, I will always encourage and support other writers in any way that I can.  No one should give up on their dreams.  I haven't 'made' it.  I'll never be rich in anything but pride and the personal satisfaction of knowing that I'm finally doing something I've always dreamed of.

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H is for Happy Dance

I'm not really doing the happy dance, I'm to damn tired to do a waltz, but it's 'H' day and I may as well take advantage of it. 

Book 4 in my Sugar Babies, Inc , series is done and off to my beta readers.  Hurray!!!.  Hope that's enough enthusiasm for today.

I wanted to have it done by the end of May, so I'm not to far off schedule, but it's been difficult concentrating with all that's going on in my personal life. Nevertheless, I'm thrilled to have it moving along toward publication.  I haven't decided on a title yet, but here's a short excerpt:

    “Red, I suggest you spit out whatever is stuck in your craw,” he said narrowing his eyes.

      “There’s nothing stuck in me, anywhere,” she replied, beginning to load the dishwasher.

      “Then what is it?  You’ve been acting strangely for days.”

      “Maybe I’m just strange,” she suggested sarcastically.  “In fact I think you’ve hit the nail right on the head,” she snapped, tossing down her cloth and stomping out of the kitchen.

      “Come back here,” he ordered, getting to his feet.

      “Kiss my ass,” she called over her shoulder as she ran for the stairs.

      He was on her in seconds, his long legs eating up the distance despite her head start.  Taking her firmly by the arm he escorted her back to the kitchen, pulled out a chair and sat her down.

    His eyes dared her to get up as he took his seat and she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

      “You have until I finish eating to tell me what you’re problem is,” he informed her, taking a bite of his omelet.

      “Or what?” she demanded.

      “Or I will get a wooden spoon out of the drawer, flip you over the breakfast bar and proceed to decorate your pristine ass with dozens of lovely red ovals,” he promised.

      Susan blanched.  She counted a wooden spoon in the top three of her least favorite implements of discipline, just under a switch and her heavy wooden hairbrush.  Looking out the glass door at the lake she managed to keep one eye on Marcus’s progress, jumping up as soon as he was finished and reaching for his plate.

      “I’m waiting, but my patience is wearing thin, Red,” he said, wiping his mouth before snagging her wrist and pulling her onto his lap. “You’ve got a pissy attitude and I want to know why?  I can spank if out of you, but I’d prefer to know what I’m up against.”

      “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she sulked.  “I’m antsy and irritated, that’s all.  Just let me be; I’ll work it out by myself.”

      “That’s not acceptable,” he replied.  “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life playing guessing games with you every time you’re in a bad mood.  Now you can either talk to me or we’ll try a different approach, your choice,” he warned.

      Damn, she’d wanted a little attention and now that she had it, she wished she could start the whole day over.  What was she supposed to say, ‘when you don’t spank me or pay attention to my behavior I feel like you don’t love me?’  She’d sooner super glue her own lips together!

Copyright 2014 Stevie MacFarlane
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G is for GTO, The Troublemaker

This sweet looking little baby got me in a lot of trouble.  I know it's hard to believe, but this car was  responsible for my very first spanking, ever!

Oh, it was a sweet ride. 1968 Gto convertible, canary yellow, black interior, bucket seats with wood grain trim, sigh. It had a 400 engine, four speed, on the floor with a Hurst shifter, (way cool), triple deuce carb and Thrush mufflers, blub, blub, blub.  The posi-traction meant I could burn rubber for a half a block without even trying, and it was fast, very fast. God, I loved that car!

It was my husbands, (then boyfriend) and after a lot of begging he taught me to drive it when I was seventeen. He even taught me to power shift, which is shifting from one gear to another without using the clutch, just going by the Rpm's and the sound of the engine.   Usually I drove my mother's 1966 Chevy Impala, which was okay, but nothing like the Gto.  No way, that car was a man/boy magnet.  I was pretty cute in those days, long blonde hair, 5'2" about 100 lbs of girly girl and I got plenty of attention when I was driving that car.  The really bad thing about it was my need for speed.  Seriously, I loved to race and at seventeen you're practically immortal, right?  It didn't matter if it was stoplight to stoplight on the boulevard or out of town on the four lane highway, I had a thing for dusting doors.

One day, I asked if I could take him to work and use the car and he agreed.  I drove him the thirty miles or so and dropped him off at the moving company he worked for, promising to be back by 5pm to pick him up.  I was ecstatic!  I had the car for the whole day. I had a blast. My best-friend and I spent most of the day just cruising around, taking on a few hot shots and generally enjoying ourselves.  After I dropped her off, about two in the afternoon, I was idling at a stoplight on the blvd, top down, tunes cranked when a sweet little Z 28 pulled up next to me and started gunning his engine. A challenge if I ever heard one, so I smiled, gave him the eye and nodded my head.  As soon as the light changed, I took off like a rocket.  I don't think he was expecting me to be able to hold my own, but I blew him off three lights in a row.  It was great!  Turning around, I was headed back down the blvd feeling pretty proud of myself when I heard a piercing two-fingered whistle.  Now that wasn't too unusual in those days and I ignored it at first, but when it happened again, I started looking around. 

There, standing next to a service road was my husband.  It was pretty obvious he'd witnessed the whole thing because from my vantage point he looked like  6'2", 210 lbs of royally pissed off male.  I was literally shaking in my short shorts.  He never said a word, just pointed to the road in front of him and walked back into the building.  You see he was moving a new business in there that day, lucky me. I circled the block and parked where he pointed, figuring I was already in enough trouble.  Two minutes later he came out and walked to the drivers side of the goat as I hopped over the console. 

I didn't say much as he drove me home, I mean what could I say?  Pulling in my drive way, I jumped from the car and hurried into the house, but he was hot on my tail, in more ways than one.  While I was trying to think of something brilliant, he was pulling me into the living room, sitting on the couch and yanking me over his knees.  He scolded, I screamed!  Seriously, it was horrifying from the moment he pulled my shorts down.  His hand was like a machine and for my first spanking ever, it was Hellascious!  I swear, sometimes I don't know why I married that man.  No, wait, I kinda do.
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Fly Your Freak Flag

We all have one, some of us just fly them higher and prouder than others.  For me, the freak comes out in my writing.  My heroines can and will do anything my little mind conjures up.  I can't tell you how many movies I've watched where the heroine is being a perfect bitch and I just want to shout. "Oh my God, spank her, you ass!"  The beauty of writing is, I can make that happen.  I can take that poor, bedeviled, clueless man and show him how to grab life by the ass.  As my girl bends to his will, he develops confidence and, well, balls.  Something every man needs and to often can't find. So in my stories I let them use mine for a few chapters.  Can you tell I'm a little testy today? 

On a totally weird side note, today while I was searching on Google images for spanking/freak flag images, all of my book covers came up, lmao!

Anyway, in The O'Malley Brides , my girl Bridget meets a promising young lawyer, Delbert Bertram Winston the 4th and makes it her mission to get under his skin. It's not until much later that Bridget finds out taHere's a scene with Bridget at her best, or worst, depending on how you look at it:
      Dell sighed in relief while walking up the sidewalk to the office.  Bridget was waiting for him to let her in and today she wore a long black skirt.  Thank God she decided to dress appropriately.  Ridiculously high heels aside, at least he would not spend the day trying to avoid looking at her ass in a mini skirt.  Her long heavy jacket covered the rest of her nicely, and Dell wished there was a way he could force her to wear it all day; it would certainly make his life easier.

      “Morning Winston,” Bridget greeted him cheerfully.  “No tickets today, I see,” she continued with a grin.

      “Certainly not, Ms. O’Malley,” Dell replied crisply unlocking the door.  Entering the office, Dell set his briefcase and umbrella down, turning to help her with her coat.  Her perfume wafted gently to him and he tried not to breathe through his nose.  Damn, she smelled good.

Moving to the closet, he hung up both their coats.  Bridget’s back was still towards him as she put her travel mug and purse on the desk before turning around.

      “You’re still coming for Thanksgiving Dinner next week?” she asked.  “My Mother is delighted and looking forward to meeting you.”

      Dell was speechless.  Oh, she had worn a long skirt alright.  He believed it was called a pencil skirt or some such nonsensical name, and it hugged her figure from her waist to calf.  The blouse she wore was sheer ivory silk with an ivory lace corset clearly visible underneath that was trying very hard to push her delectable breasts up and over the low neckline.  Long sheer sleeves ended in cascading lace that dripped over her hands.  Her hair was up; little tendrils escaped, making her neck look long and inviting.  Bright red lips matched her painted nails reminding Dell of the pin-up pictures from the 40’s.  Holy hell, Dell thought; and I thought yesterday was bad.

      A small smile played around Bridget’s lips and she watched Winston begin to sweat, tugging impatiently on the tie that frequently seemed to be choking him.  Didn’t it just do a girl’s heart good to have this kind of reaction from a straight-laced man?   Approaching him in feigned concern, Bridget rested her dainty hand on his chest.

      “Is anything wrong, Winston?  You don’t look so good,” she observed sweetly.

      “Good grief, Ms. O’Malley.  Do you own any clothing that isn’t suggestive of…?”

      “What are you implying, Winston?  I hope you’re not thinking I dressed this way for you?  This clothing is perfectly acceptable attire,” Bridget insisted, planting her hands on her hips.

      “In what parallel universe do you live, Ms. O’Malley?” Dell responded angrily, taking a step back lest her scent push him over the edge.  “You better be careful before someone gives you what you’re so obviously asking for.”

      Uh oh; for a moment Bridget felt butterflies in her tummy.  That statement was eerily similar to statements she heard from her Da and brothers.  Could he be implying she was asking for a spanking?  Impossible!  Winston was not that type of man.  Mild mannered, nerdy Winston used words to get his point across, and though his hands were quite large, she was sure they would be used for other, more pleasurable pursuits once she had him wrapped around her finger.   It was just her mind playing nasty tricks on her. 

      “Rest assured Winston, I don’t hint about what I want.  I’m the kind of girl who has no problem going after it with everything in her arsenal,” she fired back, stepping closer and placing her other hand on his chest.

      “Of that I have no doubt,” he answered.  “However, some men still prefer to do the chasing Ms. O’Malley,” Dell scolded.

      For a moment Bridget doubted her tactics.  She really was very attracted to Winston and not a bit disappointed that he was a little more experienced than she’d previously thought.  Yesterday she would have given him her body right on top of his desk if they hadn’t been interrupted.  Today he was back to being stiff, arrogant and judgmental.  It was a little annoying.  Maybe she should back off just a touch and let him chase her; until she caught him as her mother always said.  It wouldn’t hurt to add a little mystery.  Sniffing, she turned her head away as though he’d hurt her feelings.  If she had a hanky, she would have dabbed it to her eyes.

      Dell immediately caved.  “I’m sorry if I have offended you Ms. O’Malley,” he stated, flustered.  “It was not my intention to insult you in any way, rather instruct…”

      Now her hackles were really up.  Did he think for one moment she needed instruction from him.  She probably knew more about the male species than he did for God’s sake.

      Seeking to put an end to this embarrassing conversation; Dell made an attempt to placate her.

      “Whatever is that scent you’re wearing?  It’s quite lovely,” Dell offered as an olive branch.

      “It’s called, ‘Catch Me, Fuck Me’,” Bridget replied silkily, enjoying the dumbfounded expression on his face.  Chucking him gently under his chin she closed his mouth and walked away just as Nick came in the door.

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Elegant Gentlemen

I know that bad boys are all the rage now, along with cowboys, military men, law enforcement and tough guys in general.  All of those men are hot, for sure, but no one can replace the elegant gentleman as a leading man.  Maybe it's because I grew up watching Cary Grant. A calm unflappable man, determined and firm, yet always a gentleman.  His articulate way of speaking, impeccable manners, dry humor and perfectly groomed persona, got to me every time.  I like a well-spoken hero.  Sure he can get down and dirty if need be, but he must also have class, a certain savoir-faire.  I don't believe Mr. Grant ever spanked his co-star in a movie, but it is rumored he spanked his 4th wife, Dyan Cannon.  While most us would say, lucky girl, somehow I don't think she'd agree. 
In book two of my Sugar Babies, Inc. series,  Match Me If You Dare, all the men are classy, well-educated gentlemen.  In this excerpt Susan and Marcus and Ty and Kelsey are at a restaurant and the wife of Susan's ex-boss spots them:

“Susan,” she drawled silkily, “I see you’ve found other employment.  I wasn’t aware there was a high-end call girl service in this city.”

      Marcus felt Susan tense and slipped his arm firmly around her waist, keeping her securely in her seat.  He saw her hands clench and jumped in quickly.  He knew a cat fight when he saw one and this had all the makings.

      “On the contrary madam; Miss Shaughnessy is the research and development specialist for McCarthy Inc.  I’m Marcus McCarthy, and this is my brother, Dr. Tyrone McCarthy.  This is Miss Reed, his fiancée and you already know Susan.  Was there something you needed?” he inquired coldly.

      “Marcus McCarthy, the author?” she gushed.  “Oh, I’m a big fan, Mr. McCarthy.  I’ve read all your books.”

      “That’s very nice,” he replied icily.  “I always enjoy hearing from a fan.  Now if you’ll excuse us, we were just leaving.” He helped Susan rise and tucked her arm through his.  He nodded once as the dragon lady backed up as if making way for royalty and escorted Susan from the restaurant, leaving money on the table for the check.  Ty and Kelsey followed behind, Kelsey pointedly ignoring the woman, her little nose in the air. 

      As soon as they got outside, the girls burst into laughter.

      “I must admit, you did that far better than I ever could,” Susan giggled, wiping the tears from her eyes.  “I would have just ripped that wig off her head and made her eat it.”

      “Good grief,” Marcus responded.  “You mean someone actually paid for that hair, on purpose?”



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Delicious Destiny

Do you believe in destiny? Reincarnation? Is there truly a matched set of souls, destined to be together for all time?   Is there a 'knowing' when you connect, a feeling of the inevitable?  Do you believe?

Molly O'Malley does. As a seer she questions why, knowing the things she does, she married a man like Patrick O'Malley, a spanker who will only put up with so much nonsense before he turns her over his knee.  Patrick is a large man compared to the ethereal Molly and he loves her with every fiber of his being, but she's been working to hard, taking on to much and now she's heading over to his mother's to try and help his sister, Bridget, who is having man problems of her own.  Patrick warns Molly that she better not be there more than a hour.  He wants her to go home and rest, and she can expect to sleep on her tummy if she doesn't mind his words. Ah, a man after my own heart, sigh.
Excerpt from The Perfectly Naughty Bride:
Why did she have to marry a man like Patrick?  She’d seen him coming of course, but he was not what she had planned for herself.  In the beginning, avoiding him had been easy; there were hundreds of students on campus. But as time went on, she found herself seeking him out, if only to gauge her strength.  Finally in a moment of confusion, she’d been caught off guard.  A girlfriend introduced them, and he took her hand before she could retreat.  It was instant and permanent. Two intricate pieces of a puzzle clicking firmly into place as she read his heart and soul.  She was lost, a small magnetic fragment attaching to a much larger and more powerful source, never to be separated.

      Smiling, she recalled the shock on his face.  He held her hand as though she were his only lifeline on a raging sea.  Lightning surged between them, and when he finally released her, he shook his hand as if suffering from an electrical shock.  Patrick retreated instantly, escaping the party as quickly as humanly possible, but she wasn’t worried.  She’d seen everything.  He would be back. He would always be back, in this life and the next and the next.

C is for Children

Welcome to the Spanking from A-Z Blogging Challenge.  For the month of June I will be posting something each day associated with the alphabet.  Today's letter is 'C' and I'm going to share my thoughts regarding children in erotic romance novels.
Children- cute,capricious, cranky  curmudgeons who can circumvent your carefully cultivated climax with chronically  choreographed caterwauling.

Oh wait, I'm talking about my children.  Excuse me while I get back on track.

I've never been a fan of children.  No, that's not right either,  I've never been a fan of children in romance novels.  I like my smut straight up and and the dirty bits I want to read about are not something you wash out in the toilet. (Oh yes I did use cloth diapers!)

As a young mother, I read to escape the realities of ear infections and projectile vomiting, not wallow in it.  Spit-up in my hair was not sexy, despite reading about the handsome young doctor who can overlook such trivialities as he rescues the hapless single mother from a life of poverty, providing her with riches untold and an enormous cock.  Please, if he'd showed up at my door, I would have handed off three babies and taken a nap.  I bet the studly doctor wouldn't be quite so amorous after an afternoon of ear-piercing cries from gas-ridden imps who pulled his hair and stuck a finger up his nose!  (Remind me to tell you sometime about the trip to the ER with a bead stuck in my daughters nose, or about what happens to nail polish when it's dumped in a bathtub  full of water with a toddler still in it.  (Ugh, still gives me chills.)
 
Anyway, to get back to what I was saying, I don't particularly care for children in romance books.  If you've read my books, you may well ask yourself how I ended up with exactly that, and I will answer, "I have no freaking clue!"

They just appeared, much like an unexpected pregnancy, uninvited yet cherished and not one child, nine!  Nine children in my O'Malley books and now Molly is pregnant with twins.  Good grief, I need a nap.

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Beauteous 'B'

Spanking A to Z Blog Challenge runs for 26 days in June. Each day I'm supposed to blog using a letter of the alphabet.  Please check out the links below to visit  other bloggers and see what they are posting.  There are no rules  so it should be interesting.  We love to hear from you do comments are welcome.  Have fun! 
Ah, beauteous 'B', bringing to mind bountiful breasts and bodacious bottoms.  Bashful blushes becoming even more brilliant with each smack on her backside, sigh.

There, that's enough of that. 

Today, B is for Baby.

I love babies, had five myself and probably would have had more if the doctor hadn't informed my husband, Bill, (woot another B, am I good or what?)  with a firm, steely gaze that there should not be anymore children for me.  Now mind you, after my third child in three years, my doctor adamantly suggested that I not return the next year except for my yearly check-up.  We waited four years.  Not bad for us, and really, I looked so good pregnant. Healthy glow, big boobs, well you get the picture.

After our forth child was born, my doctor pulled Bill aside and said, "You have two girls and two boys, that's enough."  But apparently it wasn't.

Our fifth and last child was a surprise, well not exactly a surprise but a little bit of a mishap.  I love my youngest son dearly, but had it not been for a ruptured condom, I would be short some grandchildren right now.  The whole scene went something like this.

While having some very good sex,  during which I was relaxed and not worrying about getting pregnant, there was an explosion.

Me:  "OMG", says I, bounding out of bed and jumping up and down.  "What the hell just happened?" I scream.

Bill:  "I guess it broke.  Sorry," he answers, laying back on the bed with a suspiciously satisfied expression.  (I mean he looked too satisfied, if you get my drift.)

Me:  "Shit, I'm pregnant," I shriek, flapping my arms around and stomping my feet.  "When did it break?"

Bill:  "I don't know."

Me:  "Well when did it start to feel good?" I demand through clenched teeth.

Bill:  "Right before I came," he replies smiling.

Well damn, what do you say to that?  Nine months later to the day, our son was born.  See you just can't trust anything!

Afterward my wonderful doctor had a private conversation with Bill, who proceeded to make an appointment to get what he referred to as 'sliced and diced."  I almost, but not quite, felt sorry for him,  My doctor retired soon after and we named our son after him.  True story.

Today's Post is Brought To You By The Letter 'A'

Alright, I signed up for the A-Z Spanking Blog Challenge and agreed to post 26 days in June.

Originally, I was going to go with something sweet or useful, or maybe inspiring.  Some appropriately adorable articulation, alarmingly acceptable to all. 

Alas, after attending an authors assembly, my attitude is  ambivalent and as I am attempting to arouse, awaken and appeal to readers, I acquiesce to their astute advice in admiration of their abundant accomplishments.

Whoosh, (wipes sweat from brow) And don't think I'm doing this every day cause that ain't happening. 

Anyway, in honor of my really cool author friends at Blushing Books, and around the world, I'm forcing myself to be brave.

A is for ANAL

To prove that I'm not a complete wimp, today I'm sharing an excerpt from The O'Malley Brides .  While not anal intercourse, it's still anal.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it! 
If you enjoy this sample, please visit the My Books page on my site and send yourself right on over to buy it with one click.

Tess was in a no win situation.  If she relaxed her bottom his fingers on her clit drove her crazy.  If she pulled away from that, she tensed and the plug in her bottom felt enormous.  The heated spanks were coming faster and faster as she danced on his lap.  Flames licked at her everywhere, on her clit, her cheeks, even her poor bottom hole. Every now and then Rory would pause to spin and tug on her pacifier.  Where did learn these tricks?  The only place he didn’t touch was her vagina and at this point she would have sold her fillings for a thick finger there.

Feeling his erection under her belly, it was all she could do not to beg for him to take her and there was no way she would do that.  The best possible outcome would be for Rory to believe that she did not want these things done to her.  Maybe he would become just a normal man satisfied with sex a few times a week and not this insatiable lover, determined to drive her insane with need.   She could feel her body tensing.  At any moment she would come apart in his arms and he would not even be doing the same.  He would be watching her, measuring her response to his commanding…

“Tess, do not come until I tell you,” Rory informed her firmly.  His voice was rough and hoarse, his body hard beneath her.

“What?” she asked breathlessly, totally confused by his strange demand.

“You may not come until I allow you to, Babe,” he repeated gruffly, giving her a crisp slap on her ass.

“You do this to me, to my body, and then tell me not to come?  Are you loco?” she panted.  Now that he had forbidden her to come, every cell in her body was screaming for release.  Sweat poured off her, her hair was damp, and her limbs quivering as she struggled to comprehend his order.

“I mean it, Babe.  If you come without permission, I will spank you, hard.  You will stand in the corner with your pretty little ass on fire, your pacifier in place the whole time.”  Rory could not keep the smile off his face.  It was a good thing she was bottoms up.  This woman, his woman, was a treasure.  Everything he did to her gorgeous body she loved, whether she would admit it or not.  The hand cupped around her mound was running over with her liquid tribute.  Her shivering was not from the cold, but from heat, a heat he had slowly built in her until she was a flame of need.  He could feel her struggle, feel the tightening of her limbs, as she tried to stave off her climax.  Emotion overwhelmed him.  Tess was fighting her climax as he did everything in his power to make her lose that battle.  She was his.  She would submit to him and he would make her the center of his universe. 

“Come, Babe,” he commanded and before his breath cooled in the air she screamed his name and convulsed in his hands.


Copyright 2012 by Blushing Books and Stevie MacFarlane


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Thanks, Stevie