Saturday, 29 April 2017

Jaye Peaches ~ New Release & FREE Book!

A disciplined mind. A disciplined body.

I'm thrilled to host Jaye Peaches on my blog today sharing her scorching hot new BDSM erotic romance - Book 2 in the Trust Me series: To Own You.

Special offer!
Trust Me book 1 – To Know You – available for free until May 2.  
Snatch it up now! Amazon - To Know You


Married to Jason Lucas, Gemma is handling how to be the wife of a millionaire. In a moment of foolishness, she makes an error of judgement; an act she regrets and she must face the consequences that tumble on afterwards.
Jason married for love, but will he be able to give his wife the romance she desires? His passion to be her Dominant remains strong but can he find a way to meld romance and dominance? After an event leaves him worried for Gemma's safety, he has the idea to take her to New York City. He asks her to submit to a week of escapism involving domination and submission, bondage and kinky sex. Will she agree to trust him and will she survive his style of domination for the duration?
Most importantly - will their love survive the retribution that awaits them upon their return?
Both characters are sexy and know what they want. Neither are novices. One takes control and the other yields. In the bedroom, there are the erotic scenes of BDSM, discipline and romance.  The dynamic can be intoxicating—and dangerous.

Sexy Excerpt:

She slipped on the crimson dress—short, tight and with skimpy straps. He’d selected it from the wardrobe. She couldn’t complain since she’d chosen to bring it on vacation. The bust support was adequate for dancing. Black high heels completed the outfit and she arranged her hair in a twirling bun.
“I look so modest; nobody will fancy me,” she said a little too sarcastically. Jason responded to the sarcasm by giving her a hard swipe across her backside.
“Best behaviour. Understood?”
“Sor-ry,” she sang back.
Jason cheeks were unusually flushed. “I’m sorely tempted to skip the nightclub and rip your clothes off.” He backed away from her as if she was bait, clenching and unclenching his fists. She understood the effect she was having on him; she pushed his buttons just by strutting around the bedroom. Part of her wanted his self-control to crumble.
Gemma sashayed her hips and nibbled on her lower lip.
“I’m going to make that cunt wet,” he snarled and it only made her grin even more.
“Such sweet talk, Sir,” she said, rocking on her heels. “All I’ve done is get dressed. What will you do when I start dancing?”
Gemma blatantly provoked Jason; he was uncharacteristically impatient and hot for her. The danger was he would satisfy himself and not her. Pushing her towards the bed, Jason spun her around then bent her over the edge. With her skirt moved out of the way, he raised his hand and spanked her bottom, hard. Hip jarring smacks. She’d not anticipated the force and the echoes resounded against the glass walls and mirrors. She cried out and reached forward to claw at the silk sheets, grappling with the fabric and drawing it towards her until she’d bunched it up under her arms. Hugging the sheets, she held the position, trying hard not to kick back. She was so turned on and super excited by the impromptu spanking. He’d lit a fire in her belly.
“You want to come?” he asked, aiming for her sit spots with a rapid string of smacks.
“Fuck, yes!” She attempted to rub her clit against the firm edge of the mattress.
“No way are you to come,” he said. “I want you needy, desperate and wet all fucking evening, understood?”
She groaned and eased off rubbing. It wasn’t worth arguing with him. His tone of voice was unyielding.
“Now on the other hand,” he said, and stopped spanking. “I intend to be comfortable. On your knees and suck me dry.”

Author Bio:
I'm an author of erotic D/s romances including Amazon bestsellers. All my books contain an element of BDSM, spankings or erotic games of sensual exploration. If you desire a little thrill, something to entice, then please take the time to read one of my books. Thank you!
When not writing, I’m busy spending time with family, enjoying music, sometimes drawing and if the weather allows, gardening.

Author Links:

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

The Black-Edged Letter: An ANZAC Day Short Story

In commemoration of ANZAC Day here in New Zealand, I wrote this short story.

The Black-Edged Letter: An ANZAC Day Short Story by Kelly Dawson

Ripping the stitches off the needle, Elizabeth hurled the sock she was knitting at the wall. It was the third stitch she’d dropped in as many rows, and already, the sock was so misshapen and holey it was unrecognisable as a sock. She kicked the table in front of her and sighed; she was wasting her time. Jack would have to be content with a letter instead; the war would be over if she waited until she’d finished knitting the socks, before she wrote to him.

Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of Jack. They’d only been married a few weeks before he’d been cruelly snatched away – gone to fight a war she’d wanted no part of, but a war they had been dragged into anyway.

Running into the bedroom she’d shared with him for such a short time, she picked up the shirt he’d slept in and brought it to her nose, breathing deeply of the scent of him. Already, the smell of him on his belongings was fading. She could still remember him with vivid clarity – she could still feel the touch of his strong arms as they wrapped around her, she could imagine the rough scratch of his whiskers against her cheek as he rubbed his face against hers when he kissed her. She could still taste his salty lips. And she could still remember the way he smelled – a musky, masculine scent mixed with his tobacco. She could picture his murky blue eyes, the way she’d lost herself in the piercing depths when he’d smiled at her with his crooked toothed grin.

Returning the shirt to its spot on the bed, she fingered the locket she wore around her neck. She kept a lock of his hair inside, but the few short strands she’d gathered and stuffed into the pendant didn’t do justice to the gorgeous mane of golden hair that had flopped foppishly over his eyes and curled against his collar at the nape of his neck.  She’d reached up behind him and tangled her fingers in it when they’d kissed, tugging at his hair, using it to pull him closer, so she could kiss him deeper. He was a good kisser. Just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of tongue, his soft lips were magical against hers.

He’d been so tall, so handsome, so strong. He’d leaned right out the window of the train, waving to her, as she’d ran along the platform as far as she could go, blowing him kisses, missing him already, before the train had even left. Many women had been at the train station that day – most of them saying goodbye to their men: mothers to sons, sisters to brothers, wives to husbands, girlfriends to boyfriends. There had been many tears; she hadn’t been alone in crying. There’d been pride that day, too, but mostly there’d been pain. So much pain. She knew, without really understanding, that she might never see him again; many soldiers never returned from war. Every day, another black-edged letter would arrive somewhere on the street, bringing tragic news to another grieving family.

Wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, Elizabeth sniffed, took a deep breath, and returned to her chair by the fire. She picked up her knitting once more and painstakingly returned all the stitches to the needle, carefully going through and fixing all the mistakes she’d made. Jack deserved warm socks – the trenches would be muddy, wet and cold. She knew, from letters others on her street had received already, that there was a water shortage there, food rations were boring, and the awful square biscuits, a staple in their lacklustre diet, made better emergency paper than food.

She hated the idea of Jack living in the trenches, contending with those atrocious living conditions, the lice and flies. The idea of him being shot at, terrified her. Her heart broke when she sat in the rocking chair he’d liked. Would he ever get to sit in it again? Counting the stitches carefully, she concentrated on her knitting with a single-minded determination.  Right now, knitting socks was the only thing she could do for her husband.


The letter had been unfolded and refolded so many times the paper was starting to tear along the creases. She knew every word off by heart. Jack hadn’t seen any fighting yet, his time at war so far, had mostly been digging trenches; miles upon miles of trench. She smiled upon seeing his familiar cursive script, the lettering all different sizes, the writing sloping the wrong way, smudged ink splotches in the middle of the paper. Only Jack could write such a letter. The last paragraph embedded itself in her heart so deeply she knew she would always remember the words: “My dearest Elizabeth, how I long to hold you in my arms again. Until we meet again, know I love you, forever.”

Elizabeth finished the socks and packaged them up and sent them off with a letter she’d sealed with a kiss. They hadn’t looked too bad in the end, the socks. Once she’d fixed the holes and stretched them out a bit it was obvious what they were meant to be and despite being a bit of an odd shape for a sock, they would work okay. She knew Jack would wear them proudly – he was always proud of everything she made for him, even if it didn’t quite turn out the way she’d hoped it would. But Jack had never minded if the end result had been a bit wonky; he was happy that she’d tried. That was the kind of man that he was. He was sweet and he was kind. Elizabeth paced the porch. She missed him.

Weeks went by. She was on her third pair of socks now, her knitting getting better, the stitches more even, the finished socks actually starting to look something like socks now, and not just a knitted blob. This was a stripy pair – she was getting fancy. It was so wrong that instead of cooking her husband’s meals, mending his pants, tending to his house, all she could do was knit him socks. She could write letters, send him care packages from home … and knit socks. Her heart ached. She longed to do so much more.


She was in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour making bread when the distinctive, dreaded, black-edged envelope arrived. With hands covered in dough she sank to the floor, her body like lead. Her heart stopped momentarily, and when it started beating again it thumped erratically, a crazy tempo that matched her distress. She’d tried to scream but she couldn’t get enough air. When she’d opened her mouth to suck in a breath it had got caught in her throat and nearly suffocated her and she’d thought she was dying. Not that dying would be a bad thing; she could be with Jack, then. She didn’t even want to live anymore, not without him. Her shoulder shook in silent sobs as the tears pooled on the floor under her face. She couldn’t move, her body was too heavy. And what was the point of moving anyway, if Jack was dead? There was no point to life, if Jack wasn’t sharing it with her.

For hours she stayed there on the floor, too distraught to pick herself up. The envelope remained unopened. But there was no point opening it – she knew what it said. Not the precise wording, obviously, but the general gist of it – the “sorry Jack is dead” part – she knew that bit. But she couldn’t bring herself to read the words. Reading the words would make it real, and it couldn’t be real. She didn’t want it to be real; she wouldn’t let it be real.  Jack could not be dead – he wasn’t allowed to be – she needed him.

For two weeks the envelope stayed there, on the mantle, just watching her. She was aware of its existence; she saw it out of the corner of her eye every time she went near it. But she refused to open it. She couldn’t face reading those words. She wanted to throw it away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that, either. The letter, even bearing such tragic news, was her final link to Jack. Even if she never opened it, she needed to keep it.

Elizabeth opened the letter, eventually. Carefully, she slid a knife under the seal, prising the black-edged envelope open gently, so as not to damage it more than necessary. She slid out the paper, holding it between trembling fingers, her hand shaking so badly she could barely read it.

“Killed” jumped off the page at her. How many other women had read those same words? How many other men’s lives had been tragically cut so short due to this war? How many other bodies would be buried where Jack lay, in a mass, unmarked grave behind the trenches somewhere in Anzac Cove?  Her tears dropped onto the paper, blurring her vision, smudging the ink. She folded it back up again, the folds precise, perfect, and slid it back into the envelope, the black stripe around the edges not letting her forget that the information within was devastating.

Elizabeth went through the motions of living, but inside she was numb. Every smile was forced, every emotion felt dull, clouded by her sadness. They’d just been newlyweds, they’d been meant to have their whole lives together to look forward to. And now, just like that, he was gone. His life snuffed out like a candle in the wind, prey to … what? A sniper’s bullet? A bayonet in a charge?  She would probably never know.

The looks of sympathy from the ladies she met in the street only served to increase her pain, despite the kind way they were intended.

Every time the train left from the station with another consignment of young men on board to fight for their mother country and their freedom, her heart broke a little bit more. How many of those young men would come back? As she watched the women left behind, dabbing at their eyes with embroidered handkerchiefs, she hoped for them, that the men would return. Wounded in body and in mind, perhaps, but she hoped they would return. Not like Jack. She would never see Jack again.


The writing on the envelope was an unfamiliar, wobbly script, like it had been written with an unpractised hand. It was smeared with dirt and creased; its journey from the sender to her had likely been an arduous one.

Taking a seat in the rocking chair Jack had preferred, she slid her fingernail under the seal fixing the envelope closed and pulled out a single sheet of paper, filled with scrawl that was difficult to read at first, with capital letters thrown in randomly and very little punctuation. She had to read it over several times before it made sense.

You don’t know me, the letter had read.
But I know quite a bit about you. I fought with Jack on
the front and he talked of you all the time.
I want you to know that he died a hero – he saved the lives
of six of our comrades and he died in my arms, a hero.
We will never forget his bravery and courage under fire.
His dying words were to you: Tell Elizabeth I love her, forever.

Of course he was a hero. That just the kind of man Jack was. She smiled sadly, appreciating the man who had taken the time to write to her, hoping his luck held out better than Jack’s had.

She pressed the paper against her skirts to dry the tears that had dropped there, smudging the ink, then carefully folded it in half and slipped it back inside the envelope. She kissed the seal.

“I love you, too, Jack,” she whispered. “Forever.”

~ The end. ~

Friday, 21 April 2017

A Taste of Wonderland ~ Allison West

I'm thrilled to have Allison West on my blog today sharing her contemporary age-play spanky romance. Check out this disclaimer! (It will make you want to read the book 😊)

DISCLAIMER: A Taste of Wonderland is a modern romantic contemporary adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, and is intended only for adults. This novel features the spanking of adult women, elements of age play, including anal play, and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase this book.

Alice Hall is a thirty-two-year-old writer at The Daily Chronicle. When Mr. White pays a visit to her boss and insists she visit Wonderland on assignment, Alice believes it to be a cruel joke. She soon discovers that Wonderland is nothing like what she read as a child. The owner of the Queen of Tarts invites Alice inside, feeding her delightful sweets in hopes that Alice’s article will focus on her pastry shop. It is not only dessert that the owner of the Queen of Tarts feeds her but also stories of Baylor, the owner of the local pastry competitor, The Mad Batter. He may be hot and single, but he also has a reputation for having a secret club catering to special “Littles” hidden within town.
Will Alice be able to get an invite to the secretive club and find the story that she desires to write? Despite the dangers, Alice is determined to satisfy her curiosity. Will her investigative skills be enough to keep her out of trouble or will she find her bottom bared?

“What will I write about, Bay?” Alice asked. She flipped over her half-written page, revealing a fresh piece of paper that had no writing.
“You’re the reporter,” Bay said and smiled. He was trying not to force his ideas on her.
She leaned forward, her pen once again in her grip as she stared intently at him, her gaze never wavering. “How about you tell me about your underground sex club.”
Sipping from his coffee, Bay choked on her words. “Did Tara tell you about that?” He shook his head. What he did in his private time with clients who asked for an invitation was none of Alice’s business. It would do nothing to help the town’s problem regarding tourism.
“She may have mentioned it after I ate the tart,” Alice said. “I remember everything that was expressed that night, including her attitude regarding the club. She’s jealous of you.”
Baylor placed the mug on the counter, folding his arms across his chest. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable giving Alice any further information or ideas for writing her story. “Maybe you should go.”

About the Author
Allison West is a #1 International Best-Selling Author in Erotica, BDSM, Romantic Erotica, Sci-Fi, Victorian, and Historical Erotica. She also writes young adult novels under the name Ruth Silver.
Allison West has been inventing worlds and writing stories for years. Her favorite novels are those that leave a lasting impression, long after the final page is read. You can find more about Allison on Facebook and Twitter.
Visit her website here:

Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Allysa Hart ~ Re-release

😊 I'm so thrilled to have Allysa Hart on my blog today sharing her two awesome books that she's just re-released as an indie author! 😊  

Adopting Katie and A Rose in Bloom are both available now on Amazon and FREE with Kindle Unlimited! 

Sales Blurb:

“If you ever put yourself in danger like that again, I will take you over my knee and spank your little bottom until I am convinced you have learned your lesson… How does that promise make you feel? Because make no mistake about it, Baby, it is definitely a promise.” 

A successful CEO by day, Katelyn looks forward to the minute she crosses the threshold to shed all of her adulthood stress and worries and become a carefree, mischievous little mess maker. Her husband and Daddy, Mark, is one of the most beautiful people, inside and out, that she has ever met. His dominance turns all of her switches, but she learns quickly that he means what he says and testing Daddy is not in her backside’s best interest.
            Mark is not alone in his endeavor to create a safe and loving environment for Katie. His best friends, Keith and Rose, round out their little family. Being intimately familiar with alternative lifestyles, the couple love and spoil Katie in abundance, but never think twice about turning her bottom red if she steps out of line.
            Surrounded by her loving Daddy and adoring Auntie and Uncle, Katie learns that the love, safety, and guidance of this family are what help to make her feel complete. Exploring the little girl who lives inside, the one that she has hidden for far too long, she spends her time building elaborate Lego structures and playing in her special tree house that Mark built by hand.
            When tragedy strikes, Katie's idyllic life is shattered and it takes all of the love, support, and discipline of her family to pick up the pieces and put them back together. However, will love and spankings be enough? Katie is not convinced. She doesn’t believe anything will ever be okay again.

Cute excerpt:

“What? Why?” Katie’s stunned expression expressed her confusion.   
“We’ve already had this conversation. Five minutes in the corner. Now go.”
“Six minutes.”
“Ten minutes.”
With a very unladylike noise, Katie stomped to the corner where she crossed her arms and seethed with anger. Engulfed in total immersion of the dynamic allowed her vulnerability to surface, and gave Rose the chance to prove that Mark’s death had not changed who Katie was or the commitment she and Keith offered her.
Approaching the fuming little corner dweller, Rose gently uncrossed Katie’s arms and guided them to their proper place behind her back. “This is how we stand in the corner. Next time I have to remind you, you will also stand with your naughty bare bottom on display.”
Katie wisely stayed silent.

Sales Blurb:

“You are not just my wife, you are my world.”

Keith and Rose have been happily married for years, but when they begin their journey to build a family they are thrown into a tailspin of disappointment and they begin to lose each other and themselves.
After months of growing apart, Keith makes the decision to reclaim his wife and whisks her off to an exclusive BDSM resort. Rawhide Ranch had come highly recommended as a place for lifestyle couples to congregate and play out their fantasies. But upon arrival, they realize there is a lot more to the ranch than meets the eye.
Keith and Rose aren’t quite sure what to do about their discovery, but a vacation is a vacation and they decide to embrace the experience and all it has to offer. What they find opens up a whole new world and a journey they could have never foretold.

Spanky Excerpt:

We're going back to being Keith and Rose. Husband and wife. Dominant and submissive. We're going to reclaim this relationship before there is nothing left to salvage.”
            He didn’t wait for her to respond. Rose was a strong independent woman. She had her own thoughts and opinions and was not afraid to share them when necessary. She loved to submit to her husband, and he knew she wouldn’t want their relationship any other way, but even if it led to punishment, she never failed to make herself heard. Her silence was enough to assure him that she was in agreement.
            His next strikes landed lighter than the first few. Not having been spanked in a while, the skin was already turning pink. A long steady session would help her to unwind. Harsh discipline would get her to break to the place she needed to be, which would build her back into the woman he knew and loved as her held her snugly and securely. He needed to bring her to tears, but that would come later. He had time—and the spoon.
            Rose wiggled on his lap as his hand began to fall harder and harder. Lengthening the time between swats, he let each settle before laying the next one down. There was no pattern and no cadence. It was as if each swat existed all on its own with no memory of what came before and no guide as to what was coming next. The pink transformed, turning to a brilliant shade of red. With that, the wiggling grew increasingly desperate, but she still didn't voice any objections.
            Keith rubbed her back as he picked up the spoon. “This could have been over if you would have obeyed, my love. But since you didn’t, I’m going to use this spoon to bring some much-needed tears to the surface. You know this needs to be done for both our sakes.”
Her little whimper made him smile.

About Allysa Hart
I am a full-time mom to a sassy, strong-willed, loveable little girl. Okay, so she is all me. I am on the wrong side of 30, and I have been married to my best friend for over eight years. Like most couples, we have our ups and downs, but I could not imagine doing life with anyone else by my side. We are Southern California transplants, currently residing in a very rural part of the east coast. I have two crazy dogs that I adore, even though they drive me out of my ever-loving mind, most days.
            I have recently rediscovered my love of words and decided to become a writer. My first story is my heart and soul, and it reaches into the depths of all that is me. I also create covers, promos, and logos for  authors. I have met some amazing friends on this journey that I now happily call family. Without my family members, whether biological or chosen, I would not be half the person I am today. Their constant love and support keep me afloat.

Stalk Ally at:


Sunday, 16 April 2017

Marriage, Mobsters & the Marine ~ by Kryssie Fortunre

I'm thrilled to have Kryssie Fortune on my blog today with Book 1 in the Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge series.

Abigail and Jared marry for mutual convenience, each unaware of the other’s BDSM lifestyle.
Can love blossom despite extortion threats, kidnapping, and attempted murder?

Abigail Montgomery, a small town schoolteacher with zero self-confidence, dreams of the Dickensian Christmas her family never enjoyed. Each month she attends a masked BDSM club, but her next visit will be her last. If she doesn’t marry within the next year, her brother won’t inherit Montgomery Hall. Desperate, she advertises for a husband.

Jared Armstrong, a former Marine sharpshooter and occasional Dom needs to $125,000 to get his family out of a hole. His solution—to marry Abigail Montgomery for her money. His only regret is his wife won’t accept his spanking lifestyle.

Gradually, Abigail comes to dream of making their marriage real, but she promised Jared a divorce two years after their wedding. Can they share some Christmas magic as their relationship faces extortion threats, a kidnapping, and an attempted murder? Or will Jared break her heart when he walks away?

He held her a moment longer than necessary, then dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. When he released her, she perched on the edge of the bed. The way she stared at him reminded him of a startled fawn about to run. Stepping back, he closed the door and checked it had locked behind him. “First, we’ll address your disobedience and how you put yourself in danger. After I’ve spanked some sense into you, we’ll talk about what happened.”
He hadn’t meant to unleash his dominant side on his unsuspecting wife, but if those creeps in the car park had gotten another shot off, she might have bled out on the bedroom floor. He refused to think about his Abigail wounded and bleeding because those idiots had come after him. Leaning against the door, he folded his arms across his chest. “Take off your robe.”
Abigail’s gaze darted about the room. “You’re going to spank me? When I tried to help you?”
He pictured her bare assed and laid over his knee. “Hell yeah. You put yourself in danger. I’d never have forgiven myself if those bastards had put a bullet in you. Why are you still wearing your robe?”
He knew this pushed her boundaries, but he needed to make her understand how much he needed her to stay safe. Okay, he suspected no one had spanked her even when she’d been a child, so he’d go easy on her virgin ass. Afterward, he’d screw her, if she still wanted him. “Normally I’d blister your bare butt with a paddle or spank it until you couldn’t sit for a week. For the first time, I’ll limit your punishment to five bare-bottom slaps.”

Buy Links

Author bio
Kryssie’s a girl who loves to shopping, history, and writing. Back in 2001 disaster struck and her heart valve collapse. Even her heart specialist told her to make her will. Prognosis shocking. Outcome amazing. Ever since Kryssie’s been chasing her dreams. She’s visited the ancient Greek sites she read about as child, taken a trip to Pompeii, and visited the Orkney Islands.
Her biggest challenge was writing the book she always swore she’d get around to one day. It took a while, and being dyslexic, she lacked the confidence to self-publish. Fortunately, Loose id accepted her first book, To Wed a Werewolf, and she’s been writing ever since.
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