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 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.

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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.