Divine smut is moving

 

I'm gradually moving from this quite stagnant blog. Not sure where yet, maybe I will build an author's website, maybe somewhere else on social media. Please don't delete me from your blog rolls as I will be posting here as well, pinky promise. And I lurk regularly, checking yours!

Almost done writing the next book, will post some snippets here. That's the current state of affairs. 

Important: I'm building a new mailing list to keep in touch with my readers, and there are quite a few of you here.

If you want to be notified when the next book is available (and an occasional update on what's cooking/spicy snippets/steamy bits and bobs), sign up for my mailing list.

Mailing list sign-up

Please let me know if there are any glitches, I'm pretty new to it. Note: the confirmation email might go to your Spam folder.

FREE promo on Uncle Ar

 

I'm running a FREE book promotion on Amazon this weekend starting at midnight Pacific Time. 

Friday, July 10, 2026, 12:00 AM PDT to   Sunday, July 12, 2026, 11:59 PM PDT

You can download the Uncle Ar book totally free, for zero dollars, euros, pounds, or even yens.

If you hesitated before, download it now, read, and leave a raving review because you honestly loved it, right right?

And tell you friends, will you?

Here are the links:

US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Australia: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Germany:  https://www.amazon.de/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

France: https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Happy reading!

The three-word meme

First Ronnie did this meme, then Hermione. I guess it's my turn. It was fun!

1. Where is your cell phone?  - Very close by

2. Boyfriend/girlfriend? - I prefer men

3. Hair? - Long and messy

4. Your favorite item(s)? - Probably my phone

5. Your dream last night? - The Three Bears

6. Your favorite drink? - Jasmine green tea

7. Your dream guy/girl?  - Smart, confident, dependable

8. The room you are in? - My home office

9. Your fear? - Falling down stairs

10. What do you want to be in 10 years? - Writing more books

11. Do you have pictures of your spanked bottom - None of those

12. What's outside your window? - My lilac tree

13. One of your wish list items? - Travel travel travel

14. What time is it? - One forty five

15. What are you wearing?  - Top, yoga pants

16. Your favorite book?  - Richler's Barney's Version

17. The last thing you ate? - Tomatoes, lettuce, eggs

18. Your life? - Enjoying the summer

19. Your car? - It's very fast

20. What are you doing at this moment? - Typing, of course

21 Your summer? - Beautiful as ever

22. Travel plans? - Not during summer

23. What is on your TV screen? - TV is off

24. Last time you cried? - Watching Steel Magnolias

25. School? - Too long ago

26. Sport at school - Bit of tennis

27. Least favourite spanking implement - Big wooden paddle

28, Who did you hang out with last night - With my son

29. Favourite colour - Pink, orange, grey

30. Lake or Ocean - The ocean, please

Brand new cover for Uncle Ar: Yay or Nay?

 

Rebranding Uncle Ar as a witty and sophisticated dark romance. I am witty and sophisticated, am I? Ha ha. 

What do you think of a new cover? Yay or Nay? Any graphic designers out there? 

It's Book One of The Belt series, hence the jarring contrast of the belt cutout over the mellow Rome ruins in the background. All the pictures and design by yours truly.

Uncle Ar book: ARC readers needed and international links

Firstly, if you want to read the book but can't order it on Amazon for various reasons, like family account etc, please let me know in comments or email me. Especially if you are willing to review it on Amazon (wink wink), which can be done anonymously. Million thanks in advance!!

Second order of business. As lovely Hermione noted to me, our readers are all over the world, and hence the US Amazon link doesn't work for everyone.

Shame on me, that's a crime that earns one a spanking..

Here are the links for the different countries: 

US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Australia: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Germany:  https://www.amazon.de/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

France: https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Please let me know if yours is missing. Note that the book is free on KU. 

Happy reading!

Uncle Ar is LIVE on Amazon!!

 

Yes, it's live!! Can you feel how excited I am? And I'm counting on your help.

Here is the link to Uncle Ar on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H3PF1J6N

Read Sample includes the first three chapters: A is for Ancient, B is for Belt, and C is for Cherished. I had to remove the rest from this blog, as per Amazon rules.

If you did like it, please reblog / promote (especially if you have a big account) / buy / write a review.🙏 

One-handed reading is encouraged! 😎🌶️😱 

PS You don't need a Kindle reader to read e-books. You can read them on any computer or tablet or phone. I will add instructions how or let me know in comments if you have a problem with EPUB. 

PPS All of you that read the original version during the A to Z challenge, were my inadvertent ARC readers. You can leave a review without buying a book, it will help me a lot. Just please add at the beginning. "I read an advance copy of the book." 

Thank you, all!! Without your support this book would never happen.

Uncle Ar book cover reveal

 

Blue letters or white letters? I think white letters are better, more contrast against the background. What do you think? 

This book cover is entirely my design, including the photo in the background of Roman ruins and the photo of the belt.

I'm so so close to publishing this book. Editing - check, book cover - check, blurb - check.

Oh! Here is the blurb:

Stranded in Rome at Christmastime, Arlin James, a semi-retired jazz musician and a strict disciplinarian, channels his grudges into an elaborate fantasy set in Ancient Rome. Senator Arlinus Maximus, his alter ego, rules over his Gaulish submissive Giulia, who doesn’t speak a lick of Latin, with a firm hand and a sword belt. 

As the fantasy storyline wraps up, Arlin meets Federica, a young White House lawyer on a covert mission to the Vatican, who desperately needs a trip over Santa’s knee. 

Uncle Ar, the disciplinarian, is a 17k-word spanking romance novelette, with two unabashed tales of dominance and discipline entangled but structured by the alphabet, each chapter earmarked with a letter: A is for Ancient, B is for Belt, etc. A meet-cute of twitching palms and squirming bottoms.

All characters are 18+ and not related. Please refer to the Warnings and Kinks page at the beginning of the book for the full list of themes and sensitive content.

---

Remember that once I publish, unfortunately, I will have to remove most of the chapters from the blog. 

Wish me luck and please buy the book once it's out!

B is for Belt

 

Before becoming a senator, he was known as General Arlinus Maximus, a title he cherished very much and considered much more important than any political nonsense. He remained a military man at heart and ran his household with an iron fist, using his sword belt to keep disobedient slaves in line. In fact, despite the current fashion, he always wore his sword belt over the tunic, not only as a soldier’s habit but as a constant reminder for his staff. For all but one: his dear sex slave, Giulia.

He bought Giulia at the slave market in the summer when she turned one and twenty. Dark blonde with a big mouth and narrow hips, captured in Gaul, a recent widow, spared by the soldiers to fetch a better price, and barren. The first part Arlinus could see himself; the rest of the slave merchant’s rap made his mind spin with the possibilities of what would fit and where, and in what sequence. Arlinus was a man of an admirable sex appetite with perversions and a toy chest to match, way ahead of his time.

“What’s her name?”

“She calls herself Jools,” the merchant replied.

“Jules? That’s a man’s name. I will call her Giulia.”

“But Giulia is a noble name, senator.”

“Are you telling me how to call my slave?”

The girl’s eyes darted from one man to another, who were deciding her fate, but they never reached Arlin’s face. Women from Gaul, besides having a lovely accent, received high praise as more refined and adventurous in bed, perhaps in the local brothels, because this one seemed shy and inexperienced. She kept her eyes downcast and blushed at every crude remark. More fun to break her in!

“Spin around and show me her feet,” Arlinus asked.

Feet so dirty, he couldn’t see her toes, speckles of dried-up blood on her legs from walking barefoot, bright red marks on her wrists from the ropes that she kept scratching, when she didn’t rub the matching red marks on her thighs. Quite a leper she was, but a fascinating one. Nothing that hot baths and aromatic oils won’t fix, and then he will add his own welts to mark her. Note to self: to pick up the rose petal oil from Persia, she will smell divine while writhing under him or trying to evade his belt.

“Show me the rest,” requested Arlinus, and the merchant yanked the filthy fabric that covered the young woman’s torso to show off his product.

The woman, unaware of the slave market’s tradition, pulled the fabric back to preserve her modesty, for which the trader reprimanded her with a whip across her ass.

“No,” motioned Arlinus, “don’t touch my property.”

“Not yours yet,” scowled the slave merchant.

“I beg to differ,” smirked Arlinus, as he handed over the leather bag with coins. “Twenty thousand denarii and my belt on her arse say she’s mine.”

With that, he unbuckled his sword belt, upended the befuddled Giulia and bent her over the edge of the platform she had been showcased on a moment ago. Twelve rapid-fire strikes of the belt covered whatever fading whip marks she had with twelve angry crimson stripes.

And thus, the education of Giulia had begun.

A is for Ancient

Ancient. That’s how Arlin felt today, walking the streets of the eternal city. Everything was fine and dandy yesterday: the sun was shining, the famous Roman sandwiches were plentiful and full of truffle cream, children’s laughter didn’t transform into screams, and the hordes of tourists didn’t cross his path.

But today everything rubbed him the wrong way. Must be the weather, the glum skies, and the never-ending rain that reminded him of London, which he hadn’t visited for too long, or that he forgot his trusty umbrella in the hotel, and the abomination, he bought at the first kiosk when the rain started, was twisted inside out by the first blow of wind from Tiber River. What kind of Londoner, even a former Londoner, leaves the hotel without an umbrella on a cloudy day in December, hmm?

Must be the age, Arlin thought. He has never been bothered by the weather before, but today he felt like the oldest living man in Rome. Which could not be true, he reasoned with himself, and by far, as in any European city with its aging population, pushing sixty puts him right on the median or such. Math was never his forte, but music was. After his performing career was over, the esteemed professor settled into teaching piano jazz in a small university town in a lesser-known part of New England, and never felt old, despite being surrounded by youth day and night. Not just taught, he turned gifted kids into geniuses, into the next generation to fill the concert halls of the world with divine sounds followed by loud bravos. Or bravi, if one wishes to be grammatically correct.

But nothing deserved a single bravo today, starting from his morning coffee, served unacceptably warm, or his toast, served exceptionally dry, or butter, improbably cold and impossible to spread. The boutique hotel near Via Margutta, praised for its exceptional service, was having a one-off day, as the chatty receptionist later gossiped to Arlin. The morning cook had a family emergency and left for Tuscany with the first train, and Giulia, his less capable replacement, managed to screw up even the simplest tasks. Oh bother, tsked Arlin over the lukewarm coffee, as he eyed Giulia’s ample arse, bouncing underneath her long floral skirt. That bottom belonged over his knee for all the morning mishaps.

The rainy day only dampened his spirits further. Arlin attempted to cheer himself up with a long hot bath and a dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, but the flick of the familiar floral skirt by the kitchen door hinted that the same Giulia, exhausted and frustrated, was working her second shift. Arlin braced himself for the worst and ordered the most classic Spaghetti alla Carbonara. Besides Giulia’s usual problems with the temperature control, the result was finger-licking good, with crunchy and flavorful guanciale and abundant Pecorino Romano. With that, Arlin’s thoughts wandered into a different kind of fantasy: a good girl spanking.

When in Rome, such fantasy called for an original setting: in ancient Rome, a gray-bearded Senator Arlinus Maximus summons his female slave Giulia to strip naked and kneel at his feet, waiting for her evening punishment. By Jupiter, this luscious arse won’t stay pale for long!

It's A to Z time of the year!

 

PSA for those who visit this blog for the very first time. This blog is strictly 18+ and contains plenty of kink/BDSM references and focuses on consensual adult spanking. Consider it a blanket trigger warning.

Hey everyone! Yes, I've been away from here for way too long. But you know what date it is today? It's March 31 or April 1, depending on how long I will be writing this post.

Yes,  I signed up for A to Z blogging challenge yet again. Nothing like a structured challenge to push me and keep me motivated! Reminds you of something else that keeps you on track and motivated? Yep, there will be plenty of those. SPANKINGS.

Long awaited (mostly by me) Uncle Ar spanking story never materialized, so I thought nothing like A to Z to make it happen. Please remember that this story is only dedicated to Uncle Dev but is a work of fiction, through and through.  

I know that I'm competing only with myself, but unfortunately myself delivered quite a tangible work of fiction during the past A to Z's and I set the bar for myself pretty high. Did my writing change since then? It's up for you to tell. From what I see, in the past I heavily relied on dialogue and built everything else around it, while now I really enjoy to wax poetic with no dialogue in sight. 

It will be a multi-chaptered spanking story set in Rome, which happened around Christmas time. Can you imagine? I've been mulling it over since December. That's some serious procrastination! I also blame real life that takes up a lot of my time and energy these days.

Please visit often and cheer me up in comments, writing with no readers is a lonely business. I promise to reciprocate and delurk. Too many of the fellow blogs bit the dust  but there is always hope that seemingly dormant blogs one day will come back to life, just like mine...

And a shameless plug, if you haven't done it yet, please check out my first book Birching Bordello. Yep, I revamped that story and self-published it on Amazon. Link in the top right corner.

In memory of Uncle Devlin

Gentleman, blogger, soldier, and spanker
Generous always, never cantankerous
Uncle to many but father to none
Disciplined all, ​maids, miladies​, ​and nuns

Boisterous smile and romantic at heart
Turned punishing bottoms into an art
Crimson and ​scarlet and cherry and pink
Parallel lines are not painted with ink

​Paddles and strops ​will ​deliver perfection
Wannabe nieces ​f​lock for correction
Stern words that arouse, firm hand that heals
The journey is long but that's the appeal 

Weaving the story or lacing the flesh
Don't mess with ​the count​, or he starts afresh
E​a​ch ​stinging lash ​will speak straight to her soul
Begging won't help, as it's always his call

 
Decades of practice, impeccable aim
​Dispens​ing his kindness through​ dreadful pain
​From naughty girls into chastised young ladies​ 
A story as old as Persephone and Hades
​
Red Riding Hood left her drawers in a hurry
Over his lap to abandon her worries
For unwavering hand, undeniable wit ​
Willing bottoms had sought blue-eyed charming Brit

Spanking on camera, telling his stories
​Filled us​ with ​awe of his grandeur and glory​ 
​Naughty angels​ aren't sinners, who made it to heaven​ 
​Please greet​'em with the soundest​,​ best best of seven​!​ 
​
I added an extra, or is that a crime?
Am I a good girl for making this rhyme?

PS I didn't know Devlin O'Neill, joined the party too late, but you know me, it never stopped me from writing a poem. May his memory lives on!

Uncle Ar, the Disciplinarian

 

"When asked in numerous interviews on podcasts, blogs, and whatnot, or in private conversations with fellow spankers, what are the qualities he looks for in women bottoms, Arlin James, or Uncle Ar as he was known to the most, had one unwavering response: willing."

Uncle Ar, the older English gentleman that Izzie met at the bar, is getting his own story. It's work in progress, and the paragraph above is an opening sentence. Yay or nay??

And of course, the character was originally based on Devlin O'Neill (may he rest in peace), lovingly called Uncle Dev by many.  I know very little about him, except that he was well known in the community as a disciplinarian and the author of many books, you can find them on Amazon, and a famous blog that sadly disappeared, the domain name wasn't renewed after he passed away.

In any case, I consider this new upcoming story as a tribute to him. If any of you reading this knew Devlin, please share some details in the comments, and I will try to weave them into the story.

For those of you who never heard of him, here is my old post about his vanished website: PSA: Devlin O'Neill's old blog

Birching Bordello is LIVE on Amazon!!!

 

EDIT: fixed the link

Birching Bordello on Amazon

Izzie likes to play. Nick likes to oblige. Yet, for the love of all things pain and pleasure, he can’t recall what she had planned for tonight. Until he sees her dress, plus the thornless rose, which suspiciously resembles a cane, and will sting on her bare bottom “like the dickens”.

Birching Bordello is a short story about one night of Victorian roleplay, a calling card for my upcoming full-length novel. Hush, it's a secret!

For the full list of accoutrements, consult your local adult store. Regard this as your blanket warning.

* * *

Kicking and screaming, Izzie dragged Nick into her world. Not only metaphorically, they had to soundproof this room for their loud shenanigans. Never in a thousand years did he imagine meeting a new love, he was not seeking one, and that his beloved would demand this unbearable amount of pain brought upon her in the most humiliating manner. Alpha male of the boardrooms and town halls, Nick preferred to lay back in the bedroom, his time to get away from the intensity of his real world, but not with Izzie. She handed him the reins, which he took, hesitant at first. No baby steps—it was all or nothing, and through horrendous mistakes and burning bridges, they survived and built this, which no label could encompass. His hand became firm and unwavering, but his heart raced each time, and his mind waited for reassurance, which she never hesitated to provide.

* * *

P.S. My lovely readers, without you, those stories would never see the light of day.

Your reviews will be the best form of support and greatly appreciated.

Book cover reveal for Birching Bordello

 

EDIT: It's now LIVE - Birching Bordello on Amazon

Sounds familiar?? Yep, I put together all the Birching Bordello stories, worked my magic, and made it into a book. My very very very first book with my very very very own book cover. Isn't it amazing? Aren't you all proud of me?

I clicked on the Publish button and nothing happened. Now I'm waiting while it's in review, but as you can tell, I'm overflowing with excitement. I will post the link here as soon as it will become available on Amazon.

Pinky promise, it has new content and way more fun than before. Here is the new snippet for you:

                                                        ***

“I expected a blank canvas,” Nick smirks.

Izzie’s hands fly up to cover her face while her cheeks turn the same vivid pink as her bottom. “Forgive me, milord, I had another... visitor... earlier this evening.” 

“Pray tell, was his name Duke of Brush or Viscount Spoon?” He caresses the telltale round red marks on her bum. 

“Duke of Brush, I’m sorry, I had to take the edge off,” she falters, lapsing into the present. “Why is it always so bright here?”

“Do you want me to dim the lights?” Nick motions at the switch on the opposite wall.

“No, you need the light for better aim.” And Izzie squeals into the sheets.

Nick is too familiar with this sound of embarrassment, usually accompanied by Izzie biting her lip, right after she blurted out what she shouldn’t and quite literally bit her tongue. She calls it “topping from the bottom”, and he’s not supposed to let it slide.

I tell stories, naughty or not

 

I dance

I sing

I tell stories, naughty or not

I write poems, naughty or not, rhymed or not

I lied on the beach, letting the sun to crisscross my body with tan lines,

Only pale triangles, all that's left of old me

Care to add more colour?

Maybe pink, maybe red, your choice

Thin lines to crisscross the pale triangles

Later I will give you proper thanks 

For creating a splash of colour on my monochromatic body

For morphing my body into art 

For letting it sing together with yours

For having it dance under your restless hands

For making it yours

I write poems, naughty or not

I tell stories, naughty or not, real or not

#3RHwriting

Anyone out there?? Yes, I know, I haven't been posting in a while. 

I'm on a verge of something big but first i want to publish a few short stories. Any publishing advice? Please drop me a line.

-- Sore/3RH

Z is for Zero

“My pretty zebra likes her orange zest.” Nick comments on my eating habits, as I bite the zest off the last candied orange slice before finishing the rest. “Not too much sugar for a nightcap? Or tea, for that matter?” 

He picks an empty teacup from my hand and gestures for me to scoot over from his lap. No glass in bed is our strictest rule. He walks over to the door to deposit the empty plates on the credenza, turns around, and pauses, in all his jaw-dropping glory. 

“Eyes up here,” the bastard even smirks. Nope, nothing can stop me from staring at my favorite distraction.

Veni, vidi, vici. I came, I saw, I conquered. Or in Nick’s case, I saw, I conquered, but I didn’t come yet. And he is not in a hurry with the ‘yet’ part.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I called you a pretty zebra?” Nick yanks the orange blanket off me to pinch my butt.

“I’m always pretty.” I get a literal slap on the wrist for trying to touch my favorite toy.

“Ask first.” He is standing so close, dangling the carrot, I can smell it.

“Pretty please, can I take it in my mouth?” 

“It fits in your mouth, fortunately, so you surely can. Which does not necessarily mean that you may.” 

“You and your grammar lessons,” I pout. “May I?”

“You may not, it’s showtime.” Nick bites into my lower lip and pinches my nipple at the same time. “Get on all four.”

Whatever Nicky wants, Nicky gets. And now the song is stuck in my head. I climb on the bed and assume the position: head down, ass up in the air, knees wide apart. 

“Can you take some more?” Nick rubs my ass in no hurry. I’m sure I have more stripes today than any zebra.

I blush and nod. Whatever Nicky wants, Nicky gets.

Smack! “Say it.” So bossy, so stern now.

“Yes, sir.” I reach back to rub the assaulted spot, but Nick catches my hand. “May I have some more?”

“Keep your hands away, or I will restrain you.” Nick picks me up by the waist to squeeze a big pillow underneath. 

“Yes, sir.” I shiver in anticipation. A pillow underneath means belt, my favorite. I thought we were done, but if he wants more, I will gladly take more.

“This is for me, not for you. You need to earn your stripes.” Nick chuckles at his own dad joke, his voice coming from another side of the room. And then the sound of the belt buckle against the wooden floor. “I want you to count down to zero.”

I don’t ask, I wait for the number. But instead of a number comes the first strike, across both cheeks. Oww!

“Five,” he says.

“Five,” I exhale. Five, I can manage. Even as hard as this one.

Strike two comes down on my almost virginal upper thighs, that’s so not fair. “Four!”

The next one lands on the left cheek only. I wallow in my pain and yearn for his cock. “Three!”

And another one on the right one. “Two!”

Again, across both cheeks, not as hard. “One.”

“Open up,” he taps on my crack, and I pull the cheeks apart and hold them open for a vertical strike. Please, please, just one more, and he will finally fuck me. I can’t wait for him to claim my ass.

“Zero!”

Y is for Yin and Yang

 Should I rhapsodize about yellow a bit more? I’m getting yellow nails this week, Nick chose my shellac nail polish color. Yes, you heard me right: Nick chooses a color for me every five weeks, and with pleasure. Sometimes he asks me if I have any preference, and I try to veer him away from the once I dislike. But once he chose the color, no more arguing. This time, he orders a warm yellow. I bow my head and yield.

He also chooses my panties once a week for an entire week and lays them out in order. Odd for such a busy man, innit? They say busy people avoid making unnecessary choices, the most classic example being Steve Jobs and his famous gray turtlenecks. The keyword being ‘unnecessary’, because I’m anything but that to Nick. Above all else, he said to me once, I yearn for you above all else. And he lives by these words in the tiny slivers of time he carves out for us. 

When I lie across his knees, he yearns me all the same, if not more. I am on the same pedestal he put me on, when he uttered the words: above all else. Everything he does to me, feeds us both. His urge to inflict pain, and mine to feel it from his hand.

It’s unexplainable to others, but deep within, we crave to be understood and accepted for what we are. As two parts of one circle, I am the dark feminine yin to his white masculine yang. I can be passive, introspective, and quiet. Soft and slow under his hand. He’s loud, rigid, expressive. Hot, hard, and fast. These are the actual words associated with yin and yang. Hard and fast were not invented yesterday; they’ve been there all along. Hard and fast against the pliable and willing, completing each other as only yin and yang can.

Small white and yellow flowers in my jasmine tea smell of faraway East and exotic sun. The hot liquid burns my fingers through the thin English China of yesteryear. I bite from a candied orange slice and sip more tea from the cup, wearing nothing but yellow fluffy socks and an orange blanket around my shoulders. Nick’s balancing me on his lap, being extra careful with the hot tea, waiting for me to come down. A kiss on my temple here, a graze on my earlobe there, he’s awfully patient. 

I know my life is good; I don’t need yellow sunglasses to tell me that.

X is for Xanthopia or Xylophone or X-ray

X is such a tricky letter. Probably the trickiest of the entire alphabet. You want to avoid being an arrogant show-off. Besides, who would believe that I didn’t just Google it, words starting with X, huh? And the word must connect with the story, unless I embark on a new one. Will it be a new adventure or a plausible diversion from the previous story?

X-ray is one of the obvious choices. How can anyone find an X-ray story that is even remotely titillating? And that’s where I will gladly prove you wrong with the help of the brilliant lyrics of The Girl with X-Ray Eyes, one of my most favorite songs written by Noel Gallagher, during his post-Oasis era. From one smut writer to another, an odd confession: it’s extremely hard to write a decent description of a blowjob, to make it tasteful, erotic, and poetic simultaneously. And Mr. Gallagher just nailed it, pardon my unintentional pun. Because it is the most poetic description of a BJ in the history of BJs, bar none.

As she swallowed space and time

We gathered pearls and swine

She shot me to the sun

Like a bullet from the gun

Indeed, words to live by: She swallowed space and time. Good girl!

Xylophone, on the other hand, would be another simple option, given Nick’s choice of the implement, a stingy ruler. He did play me like a xylophone, alternating between both cheeks and upper thighs, crisscrossing the marks for extra ouchiness. Low moans and high-pitched shrieks, prolonged owwws and shorter yikes, repetitive no-no-no’s and sharp ah’s—all the sounds of a very particular pain repertoire, spanned over three octaves or so—all skillfully extracted by his firm hand.

But it’s Xanthopia that has my heart. For Google-deprived and lazy ones, it’s an eye condition that makes you see the world with a yellow tint. Metaphorically, it would be a person who sees the world through yellow sunglasses: sunlit by a warm yellow light, feet drowning in a hot yellow sand, with a cold yellow umbrella drink in hand. When life gives you lemons, you put on a lemon-yellow lingerie set, grab the world by its balls, and squeeze them like lemons.

I had a lemon-yellow set ages ago; it’s still at the bottom of my lingerie drawer: a lace bralette and a thong, two sizes two small now. Who even cares, lingerie isn’t meant to stay on for long enough for anyone to notice if it’s too small. Hell, they won’t even remember the color, unless it’s red or black. And thongs cannot be too small, as they cover nothing, even if they are the right size. There!

I lie across Nick’s lap, laced by a whippy ruler, adjusting my yellow-tinted sunglasses. Life is the way you see it. I open my eyes to take in his face, so close. Oh, I missed him so much for so long, and now he’s here, next to me. Thank you, my wheel of fortune landed on yellow. I open them for long enough for Nick to drop the ruler and, with his magic fingers, to take me a bit further down the yellow brick road of redemption. As I close my eyes again, the whippy ruler flogs me along the same yellow road.

W is for Whuppin’ or Wooden or Warning

“I can’t close my eyes or what?” Bratting and squirming my way through the awkward silence. “I need to know. You know, for science.”

“I’m pretty sure you are capable and, therefore, can close your eyes,” Nick embarks onto a sidetrack lecture on English grammar. “Even more sure that you will close your eyes in due course, but—”

“But I may not?” I interrupt him with more questions. “And then what?” I’m giving Nick an easy way out: to announce the sentence, what he would do to me if I were to close my eyes, and then go back to our little roleplay.

“Uhmm…” Nick didn’t think it through so far. “You will get a whuppin’!” He goes back to his Southern folksy tone. 

“For how long?” I whisper.

“Till the cows come home, of course. Give me some sugah.” He pinches my butt and reaches for a kiss. Even in a dream, his lips smell and taste of strawberries. My summer boy loves strawberries and all things summer. My lavender and sundresses with no panties fit nicely in his realm. Second pinch brings me back to my asked and answered inquiry.

I’m totally whiplashed by all the contradictions. The giver of sugar must know, even in her befuddled state, what were the consequences of closing her eyes whilst being finger-fucked—errr receiving a massage of her nether regions.

“What if the cows are very far from home?” I ask, not sure myself what I mean by that. Am I the proverbial cow, interrupted by this entire conversation, and very far from hitting the home run? Oh God, I’m mixing all my sports metaphors today. Or am I concerned about the length of the aforementioned whuppin’ that so regrettably depends on the whereabouts of the lazy animals and the time they take to march towards their overnight abode? Phew! Wait, am I a cow, because I hold the alpine cowbell? Ugh!

Fortunately for me, Nick’s mind-reading abilities are back on, because he dismisses my concerns with a precise verdict. “Six with the wooden ruler and back to business.”

The evil wooden ruler, another unassuming object, disguised by the company of other office supplies, lives in the drawer of Nick’s nightstand. Light but stingy, will it get evil or not, it all depends on Nick or rather the flick of his wrist. 

“Yep, let’s start with six to get you focused and back in the mood.” Nick taps my butt with the ruler. I was so busy with my cow counting exercise that I didn’t notice when Nick got the ruler out. “No counting.”

Six quick whacks with the whippy ruler sting good and surely grab my attention. With a helper like that, I won’t have any problem with keeping my eyes open. Nick leaves the ruler on the bed, next to my cheek, as a formidable reminder. In the dim light of the Tiffany lamp, the darkness of wood pops against the white sheets. 

Two fingers slip inside me to collect the wetness, and like a light switch, I shut my eyes. 

“Watch out, girl!” Nick clears his throat with a fake sternness to cover the smirk. “Next time, no warning.”

V is for View

My view changes a few times. I first bent over Nick’s knees with my hands on the floor and my head hanging low. I didn’t get to study all the intricate details of the antique Tabriz rug underneath the blue velvet bench, as I didn’t enjoy seeing it so up close. You see, while it’s considered as one of the most popular spanking positions, I must disagree. I get woozy; I start seeing stars, not from the spanking, but from the blood rushing to my head. Not sure if it’s physical or psychological, but I panic in this position, almost right away. 

The cowbell to the rescue; after a brief mumble and a change of position, Nick profusely apologized for my discomfort, then propped my torso on the bed while my bottom remained at his disposal. At first, I twisted my head to the right and saw the edge of the same blue velvet bench, together with Nick’s clothes and my see-through blouse scattered on the floor. But Nick was unhappy with not seeing my face. Why would anyone wish to see the spankee’s face expression? A tough dilemma for most spankers, but not for unpredictable McDreamson. I see his point: it’s not a punishment but a grand finale, with a possible visit to Fairyland. He worked so hard to get me there; he wants to share it with me. Nick didn’t say any of it. He turned my head to the left, so I would face him, and gave me a forehead kiss. 

Even in a dream, Nick smells good, a mixture of his morning aftershave and his own smell. My view is graciously PG-rated, with Nick’s nakedness safely hidden underneath me, but the distinctive smell hits my nostrils every time Nick shifts. And I can still taste him on my tongue. I lick my lips and grin, and Nick returns a knowing smile. One interruption leads to another. My fingers graze the short curly hair on his belly, forgetting why I am seeing them at this peculiar angle, with my head pressed against soft white sheets. I bet Nick’s view is even better, seeing all the pretty marks from our never-ending night’s adventures. He circles my bottom and my thighs with his warm hand, the strop nowhere to be seen or felt. Nick leans over to press his lips against my neck, while his fingers unceremoniously plunge inside me to the tilt. He brings his fingers back to my lips to lick him clean, adding my own smell and taste to the delicious mix. 

“Ladies first?” are Nick’s first words since forever.

Startled, I muffle a single uh-huh into the sheets. Did Nick forget that I already came once, in the dungeon on stage, under the taps of the riding crops, guided only by his voice? He narrated every squirm of my swollen pink lips, every roll of my hips, every drop, every squirt. It seems now like eon years and thousands of miles away, but pussy never lies: I can still feel it. Which doesn’t mean I will turn down another!

I quickly add, “Yes, please.” In case he didn’t hear my uh-huh.

“New rules,” Nick announces, while he falls on the side and settles, propped on his elbow. He boops the tip of my nose with a wet finger that smells like me. “You are not allowed to close your eyes. You will see this mug,” he points at his handsome face, “as you come.”

“What a view to come to!” I quip terrified, because I cannot keep my eyes open when I come, and I am about to find out what the consequences of disobeying his orders might be.