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.

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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.

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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.

Sweeter than macarons

Nick shifts on his feet, clearly aware of his shortcomings in the gifts department. Don't get me wrong, he showered Izzie with flowers in all shades of white, her favourite colour, including lotuses from Thailand, flew in macarons from Paris, and bought even more sets of lingerie in white, pink, and lavender, granted the last part was more for him than for her. But last night, when Izzie mentioned that she wants a gift that money can't buy, it was a bit of a short notice.

Now, she was tapping her white pearl nails against an open Valentine card, with four lines in his neat, almost calligraphic handwriting.

Lotus is white
And so is Izzie's skin 
Not where it's tanned
But the parts only I can see. 

Her hand hovers over to the box of macarons in all colours of the rainbow and zooms onto the dark pink one. Nick grins, as she already ate one of those and he kissed her after, tasting of strawberries, his favourite. Now her breath will smell of strawberries again, lovely.

"Hallmark quality?" he sheepishly nods at the card.  

"Please don't quit your day job." Izzie's tongue picks out to lick off the crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

"May I?" Nick gestures at the envelope sealed with red wax that suspiciously looks like the low temperature candles they had fun with last week.

"All yours," Izzie bites her lower lip, suppressing the smug.

Nick breaks the seal, and a single sheet of handmade paper slips out of the envelope. Izzie's handwriting is not as neat as his own, but it's the lines, the burning words that make him stumble and blush.

Sweeter than rainbow macarons
Bitter than darkest chocolate 
Sound that makes me swoon 
Sting that causes to choke on it

Redder than any roses
Thorns peeling layers away
Wonderful metamorphosis 
It's the only way

Laughing at silly jokes
Or biting on pretty please
Squirming under the strokes
Down on hands and knees

Spending the day in harmony
Melting the stubborn guilt
Ruin me, mark me, pound me
This day stays, roses wilt

And without saying a word, Nick obliges. All. Day. Long.

Thick Brown Leather

Here we go, a brand spanking new poem, partially inspired by Erica's recent post, and I threw in some Valentine's vibes. Also with a mini-challenge to write an Ode to Belt without mentioning the word.

Red thornless roses, petals drop
From sheer force of sweetest torture 
The sting, the bite, old chestnut trope
So many other ways to scorch her

The whitest shirt with rolled up sleeves
The snaking through and buckle sound
The darkest eyes that never leave
My face, my heart,  once lost and found

Of all the things that turn me on
The doubled over all-time winner
Thick brown leather, thanks a ton
Turns us into eternal sinners

The watch is ticking on his wrist
As loud as my heart is leaping 
Competing with the other beast
His arm will yield in nearing whipping

Of all the things that count more
The only one that really matters
To clean the slate, to set the score
And chocolate for quiet after