Her ass feels good to him, under his hand. He hopes his hand feels good to her.
He pays close attention to simple actions, and a complex woman, that he loves.
I finished four novels in 2018. That’s two erotic novels and two “mainstream, literary” novels.
It involved working like a bastard all day, practically every day, from morning to night.
I was thinking I was going to calm down a bit this year, and achieve a wiser work/life balance.
Maybe I will, but I realise that next year I intend to finish the erotic post-apocalypse science fiction novel I’m working on at the moment: That Oceanic Feeling.
And Volume Two of the sexy Bdsm rom-com, “The Tale of the Tawse“. That’s from scratch. Not a word of it has been written yet.
And Volume Two of “Probation“, a fairly serious bdsm novel about an inter-racial love triangle set mostly in LA. Cops, a corrupt judicial system, racism and drugs figure. Fortunately, about two-thirds of that is already written, and I have the rest sketched out in my head, so that shouldn’t be so hard.
Ands there’s a non-erotic novel that I think it likely to outsell all the erotica combined. So I’ll start work on that in about February. Not a word of that is written either, though I have the plot sketched out.
So… work/life balance may have to wait. Stop this man before he types again!
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It’s Christmas Day in the mountains. I’ve mostly been ignoring it, though I bought presents for my loved ones, as a gentleman should.
I’ve really appreciated that the supermarkets, and most shops I’ve been to, haven’t been piping bloody hymns and carols at me.
I hate “The Little Drummer Boy” with the fire and fury of 10,000,000 suns, and I can’t stay in the same room as “God rest ye, merry gentlemen.” So silence has been golden.
But carollers came to the supermarket while was I doing the last food shopping and sang Christmas songs at me, and I really didn’t want them. I felt the urge to say something piss-offy, though I didn’t. They’re probably nice people.
Anyway, I don’t feel my usual relaxed self about Christmas this year, because too many lunar right Christians are behaving badly.
So, for example, Sydney’s Catholic archbishop Fisher came out and did a spray – it was his Christmas message! – about wanting the right to discriminate against gays and lesbians, and force kids to go to church, and to continue to protect pedophile priests: if they say in confession that they’ve raped some kid, then the duty to report them won’t apply. He calls this fucked-up agenda “religious freedom.”
So far-right Christians are making Xmas a cultural war zone, where what they’re fighting for is evil. It makes it harder to feel an unconflicted goodwill vibe. And there’s the whole pretence that there’s a war on Christmas, which is just an angry, arrogant exclusion of non-Christians.
All that has got my back up. I usually say, “Merry Christmas” and don’t give a fuck, but some Christians are trying to turn it into the equivalent of a Trump slogan. So, without thinking it matters or affects anything, I’ve been saying “Happy solstice”, or “Good Yule.” Not angrily. Just don’t want to take part.
Anyway, the reason for the season is this planet’s orbit, and in the Northern Hemisphere it means, “Happy Hump Day; the weather gets better now until Spring.” And lots of cultures have turned it into a time of celebrating each other, being alive, being kind, feeling hope.
It’s the people who bang on about this time of year being ONLY about Christianity who don’t understand Christmas.
All that said, this is as good a day as any to celebrate the spirit of hope, warmth in cold times, renewal, love and tolerance, I wish everybody a wonderful loving time.
Please keep warm – other people help. If you’re lonely reach out to someone, or else give yourself delicious food and a good book in the bath.
Look after each other, and remember to let other people look after you, too. Those are the best gifts.
Warmth and happiness to all!
I’d just said to Emily, “You’ll do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You obey orders, and you accept punishment when I say you deserve it. The final say is mine. That’s how we are, now.”
She’d frowned, considering. My heart was thudding. She had every right to say no, since it was a hell of a lot to ask. Still, I’d be devastated if she did.
So now I was worried. “Yes?”
“This is totally not normal, this.”
“No. It’s perverse.”
“And I’m thinking of agreeing to it. I even think it’s hot, for god’s sake. We’re so strange. Does this feel right to you?”
“Oh absolutely. Yes. Completely right.”
“Actually it does sort of feel right to me too. But it’s a bit scary, Jaime.”
“Well. Jump and I’ll catch you, my love.”
“I love you too. Will you really catch me? Always?”
“Yeah, actually I will.” We were solemn together. I stroked her cunt gently, and unfairly, since I knew it interfered with her thinking, then slipped a finger into her ass. Emily sighed. She liked that.
She said, “Then. I jump. I’ll do as I’m told, from now on. I’m yours.”
“So. Emily Maria Viviani, under new management. You’ve changed hands.”
“Jaime, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. It is so not normal. I’m absolutely terrified. But happy. I seem to be ridiculously happy. Well, so far.”
“I love you. I’m not scared at all,” I lied, “and I’m happy. You’re mine. And it is ridiculous.”
That the most amazing gift I have ever been given. It was considerably better than Christmas.
SECOND VOICE Willy Nilly, postman, asleep up street, walks fourteen miles to deliver the post as he does every day of the night, and rat-a-tats hard and sharp on Mrs Willy Nilly. MRS WILLY NILLY Don't spank me, please, teacher, SECOND VOICE whimpers his wife at his side, but every night of her married life she has been late for school. Dylan Thomas, Under Milkwood
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After making omelettes and warming bread I put the tray in front of Emily, who lay on our bed, on her front. I sat beside her, my back against the headboard. Emily demolished her omelette at speed, and helped herself to some of mine. Healing is hungry work.
She passed me her plate, for me to put on the floor beside the bed. “So. I’m supposed to obey you. Like take orders, from now on. But what happens if you tell me to do something really stupid?”
“Well, I’ll try not to. I don’t want to do you harm.”
I put my hand on her well-welted left buttock and squeezed.
“Yeech! Well, all right: mostly it is, come to think of it. But not always, Jaime.”
“That’s true. I can say really stupid things.”
Emily nodded. “How about if sometimes I say, ‘excuse me, but what you just told me to do, um, putting this nicely, was stupid and it would do me harm because’. And then I’d explain that it’s a bad idea because of whatever it is.”
“That’d be fine. Except you have to be even nicer than that. I’d suggest speaking respectfully. Or.” I put pressure on the hot skin under my hand.
“But if I tell you to do something that would actually be bad for you, then you can trust that I’ve made a mistake. So if I give you an order that seems stupid, tell me. I’ll listen to what you say. Always.”
“Okay. You’ll always listen to me. Then what?”
“Then I re-consider it. Then I decide.”
“I don’t know, Jaime. I want you to be in charge. But if there’s a risk, it’s to me. I know you don’t want to harm me, but what if you told me to do something that would fuck me up at work or something?”
“Well, I’m going to be careful. And I’ll never mind you telling me when I’m wrong. Ever. And I’ll hear you and decide. Carefully. I know what you’re worried about, but I’m asking you to trust me. I have to have the final say, or this doesn’t work.”
“Trust you? You sure? You seen the state of my arse lately?”
“Feels warm. Makes me feel horny. Which is weird, I know. Glad it looks good.”
“Oh fuck. Emily, that ass looks fantastic.”
“This is good.”
“But we were talking. You can trust that I’ll only overrule you when I know you’re wrong. Like if you’re trying to get out of doing something you really need to do. That’s when you’ll do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You obey orders, and you accept punishment when I say you deserve it. The final say is mine. That’s how we are, now.”
I watched her face carefully. She was frowning.