I believe I've been insulted...

I went to a branch of our local library system the other day with my daughter, and decided to ask what the process was for getting my paperbacks into their catalog. I'd gladly donate a copy of each of my paperbacks (that's $75 total - eek! - when did I get so many paperbacks?) to the library system. They have something like 65 libraries, but hey, at least they'd be there if someone searched for them. I do have readers in this area. I know I do - they've contacted me. :-P

This one would be okay, since it's non-erotic.
But wait, he's shirtless & you can see his undies.
Abort! Abort!

But I digress.

Things were going swimmingly and I was encouraged that maybe my books could be part of my local library system. Then I asked about the raciness aspect. The library director put her hand down on the counter and said, "At one end of the spectrum we have those Harlequins your grandmother would read, and at the other end of the spectrum we have Fifty Shades of Grey," and moved her hand to the other side of the counter.

My head exploded. Here was my thought process as I tried to recover. "Oh my God, she thinks FSOG is at the END of the spectrum? And she's a library director?!?"

The blow job scene w/in the first 10
pages would've caused a swoon, I'm sure.

I managed to tell her I had books from about the middle of the road (I do publish some non-erotic titles) to the Fifty Shades side. I chose not to mention just how far past the FSOG line some of my work was. Here's how she responded. She pursed her lips - I don't think I've ever seen someone actually do that, and wrinkled her nose like she'd smelled something bad. Then she said, "Oh, I don't allow books with THAT KIND OF CONTENT."

Seriously? Who made you judge and jury about what types of work readers should have access to? I thought this was 2013. We can't handle a little sex with our love stories?

Apparently not. Censorship is alive and well.

But I know when to fight the battle and when to retreat, so I retreated. I'm going to contact the central library acquisition department to see if their policy reflects the archaic attitude of that library director. I hope not. I can't say I have much confidence, though.

-- Cassandra

To see more about me and my books with THAT KIND OF CONTENT, check out my website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com.

Inside the mind of a submissive man

When I asked for topics you guys wanted to see on this blog, one that came up was how a submissive man thinks/feels, etc. I thought that would be fascinating, and a friend offered to ask two of her friends who are submissive (at times -one is actually a switch) a bunch of questions. Here are the questions and the guys' answers. I want to thank both of them for their incredible candor and insight.

1. It seems like many people envision women being submissive and men being dominant. You're a male submissive. What do you think sets you apart from men who are dominant?

ANSWER: As a switch who bottoms/subs to women, I think what sets me apart from a male dominant is a willingness to accept that I don't have to be in control all the time. The times I can take control and work my will on someone are great, but that doesn't have to be all the time for me. I can give the drivers seat over and feel fine about it, in certain instances.

ANSWER: First off, I do not consider myself a "male submissive". Beyond my parents (and we have all submitted to 'them" at one time or another) I have never submitted to anyone but my one and only Mistress. I have long lived as the god of my own universe, captain of the ship of me, and as such have never sought out anyone to take over those duties and responsibilities. Yet, since the age of 8 or so, I've had sexually charged fantasies about being overwhelmed by bossy, arrogant, dominant women. 
I kept that side of myself hid for so many years, and finally had to experience it so I could keep growing as a person. I met the woman who became my Mistress my first night at a club, and we soon fell in love, and decided to form a life together. She is the only one I ever submit to, so that is an exception in my life, and remains so. I should add that my sub-ness is entirely connected to sex, and sexual energy for me. So I am very much a role player who ended up in a 24/7 D/S relationship cuz of love. 
Recently I have discovered I am a switch. A girl I know and am close to inspires this side of me, and for the first time I have been truly experimenting with being dominant, and am enjoying its reality in myself. Does this mean I am now a Dominant male? No, the fact that I do it with one person does not warrant such a broad all-encompassing term, the same way submitting to one person does not warrant calling myself "submissive". I can go to these places when the chemistry is right with the right people. 
As for a difference between myself and dominant males - my experience so far has shown me that many who identify as dominant often live with the frustration of feeling relatively impotent in other areas, disrespected, weak, having to eat other people's shit, etc. They turn to others who desire to be, or identify as submissive to help work thru these issues, and to feel a kind of power over another human being they rarely if ever can get anywhere else. So the distinguishing quality is not being dominant per se, but the NEED to feel, and be, dominant.
Many who identify as submissive, on the other hand (and this characterizes how I see myself, too) feel very much in control of their daily lives, exercise direction, responsibility, even authority, and therefore want to feel the voluptuous pleasure of laying that down, giving it to another (power exchange) and feeling it turned upon them. 
A supreme form of general confidence allows me to overcome any fear that might stand in the way of me doing this - giving power to another person. In this case, my Mistress. In a nutshell, submissives to me often seem more relaxed and confident in a general sense than many dominants, who are often concerned with questions of power and perception and having to live up to an ideal.

2. Are there differences you can see between male and female submissives?

ANSWER: Not many. Submission is a mindset, not something that I've seen be defined more by gender. Generally, I'd say the type of play the submissive can endure, but that's not true either, because I've seen some female bottoms take beatings that some male bottoms would safe word out of right damn quick.

ANSWER: Not really, aside from societal prejudices, i.e. the way they might be treated. I know some female submissives that prefer this dynamic in any and every relationship they have, whereas all males I know who identify with the S side want it only with particular women, and are fine with being switchy or dominant in other contexts. This is just my experience so far, tho.

3. What is your favorite part of being a male submissive?

ANSWER: Knowing that, when I'm in a submissive space, someone is taking care of me, and I am making her happy because of that. Whatever that entails.

ANSWER: The sex. More specifically, the power of the play and the sex, especially when in the context of a 24/7 dynamic (and no one, male or female / dominant or submissive, can be one thing All the time) I could also say the joy of being with and serving a wonderful woman I love and admire, but I would feel that way even without the D/S. I like doing things for the ones I love, and that's not always a "submissive" thing, rather a Love and "I'm good at this particular thing" thang.

4. Do you ever encounter any negativity from people in the lifestyle because you're submissive? What about if someone who's not in the lifestyle finds out?

ANSWER: Not really, mainly because I try to avoid people who make instant judgments about a person based on their role in the lifestyle. It would be like hanging around someone who thought all Doms are arrogant assholes, or someone who thought all switches were slutty tourists. As for outside the scene, I am very private with my lifestyle. Almost no one outside the scene knows what I do or how I do it, in that regard. If someone were to find out, I think they would be more focused on WHAT I was doing (BDSM) rather than HOW I was doing it.

ANSWER: I never do, probably because I carry myself well, I'm physically big and seem imposing to some, and I'm very comfortable in myself. It just never seems to be a problem. Plus most people know and respect my Mistress as well, so it has always worked out smoothly social-ness wise. And plenty of others I know outside of the lifestyle have found out, and they have all expressed surprise that I would be submissive in this. I apparently come across quite the opposite. And that's no surprise per answer #1.

5. What kind of dominant woman turns you on the most? What turns you off?

ANSWER: Confidence, and the knowledge they can handle me when I bottom. I get very...primal when I bottom hard, and I don't bottom unless I'm going to go hard. Those are the main turn-ons for me. Turn-off...arrogance. Someone who thinks their shit doesn't stink is going to put me off right away.

ANSWER: My favorite kind of dominant woman is usually large breasted, even full figured, and can even have all the symbols of "bad girl-ness", i.e. tats and piercings, smokes, biker chick, possibly dangerous, hint of ex-con, proud to be physically hot white trash yet also cunning and ruthless. Let's go beyond the cosmetics and fantasy. My favorite kind of dominant woman is in control of her evil. How? She also has a big heart and a brain. 

She is also comfortable in her own skin and sexuality, and has found her sadism and dominance as a natural energy within her. The kind I don't like? Those that (like bad male dominants, too!) posture too much, all bombast and ego to cover up the fact that they haven't actually found it within themselves yet, and are trying too hard to SEEM dominant and commanding. With them I only see the inexperience, inauthenticity, the act. Give em time maybe they will find it later. Maybe not.

Truly, truly interesting stuff, don't you think? Again, I want to thank both of these men for taking the time to give detailed, insightful answers to my inquiries. I'd love to hear what you think of their answers and any experiences you've had, either as a male submissive, or dealing with a male submissive.

31 Flavors of Kink - Rerelease

by Cari Silverwood

This book is based on the true story of a woman who one day decided to overcome her fear of sex and explore her fantasies. She always knew she was attracted to BDSM but had never had the courage to tell her husband.


There are some things in life you have to try before you know how they will affect you.


After 5 years of awful sex, I was ready. Bondage and spanking had always featured in my fantasies, and one day, I convinced my husband to try them. That day was a turning point.
Ice cream comes in many flavors and that’s us too -- not vanilla, maybe not Rocky Road either. We can be a combination or make up our own and no one has the right to judge us.


But there will always be one question that tears at my soul: Will my husband, Nick, ever be happy with what I crave?


31 Flavors of Kink is a rerelease of 31 Flavors with some minor editing changes.

This is an early excerpt and also a sad one. There are many 'hot' kinky scenes in this book, but I feel it's the sadness and the struggles that make the story. This is a long excerpt. Feel free to read as much or as little as you like.  :)

It's on Amazon here 

On All Romance Ebooks (ARE) here


Loose Id also has it but their website is still being repaired so you can only get pdf right now. It is here.
I'm not sure but I think it is 25% off there right now as well as at ARE


It’s Thursday night, and Nick and I watch our comedy lineup together in bed. I lay my head on his chest. His little bit of curly black hair chafes the skin on my cheek. I glance up. Firm, manly lips, a jaw that’s pretty square but not perfect. A scar where he fell over as a kid and hit a shovel blade. He often has a simple hairstyle with mostly, like now, buzz-cut hair. If he were Fabio or Jimmy, he’d have long, flowing locks. I grin at that thought. I’ll never be able to run my fingers through his hair, but I don’t care.

I snuggle closer. His body is always a slightly higher temperature than mine. And he smells like love and comfort.

He strokes my hair as we laugh together through the shows. Humor is a big part of our relationship. In fact, I’m convinced he married me because I make him laugh. I remember my dream. Nick—serious and full of authority. I snort out loud. Never gonna happen. Even Mistress Helvetica can’t save us.

The TV goes off at ten p.m. sharp, and I roll over, tucking myself under the heavy white comforter. Before the light goes off, I trace the cherry blossom design. When we bought our little two-story, two-bedroom cottage a year ago, Nick gave me free rein in decorating. In turn, I don’t question his remodeling projects. That’s how our relationship works. We’re each in charge of separate little compartments of our lives. We’re like a business. The cherry blossom quilt, the bonsai tree on the dresser, the elegant bamboo window blinds are my ideas. The hand-built patio outside, right next to where the yard runs down to a little park—that was Nick’s.

I take a deep breath and process my day. Work too damn early, lunch, work, dinner, dishes, TV, bed. This is my life. I’m not complaining. We have our health. We have job security. We have the house with the dog and the white picket fence, minus the two-point-five children. Maybe someday we’ll even have that. We’re just like every other red-blooded American family. Except most couples probably have sex more than once every few months. And most women actually enjoy it.

But we have a strong relationship. Internally I pump my fist in the air to accentuate it. We don’t need sex. We have love, a foundation, commitment.

But no orgasms, my libido is quick to point out.

I sigh and briefly wonder if there’s a section in the phone book for “Dom Trainer.”

A hand snakes under my shirt and around my waist, warm against my bare skin. Nick’s breath sifts across my ear. Every muscle in my body tenses. I know what he wants. His cues are not so subtle.

I am in a constant state of guilt for always denying him. Tonight I will give it the old college try. His hand reaches my breasts and kneads one gently. I feel a tingle between my legs. Yes, that’s good. I can do this.

His fingers tweak my nipple, stimulating me in an uncomfortable way. I stiffen, then squirm a bit, reflexively, before forcing myself to remain still. Nick takes this as excitement. He kisses my neck. I melt into the mattress, looking up at him as he turns me onto my back. My neck, my ears, my collarbone—those are my erogenous zones. I wish he’d bite me. Just the thought of it makes my thighs clench. For some reason, I think the pinch of pain will help somehow. That’s based on instinct, not logic. How could pain make me relax?

He pulls my nipples again, and all I can think of is a cow being milked. I groan, but not in bliss. It’s really more of an irritated growl. But I can’t find it in me to say no. Everything from that point on makes me more and more uncomfortable. I’m ticklish and sensitive. It doesn’t feel like my husband’s loving hands on me but grating sandpaper. I want to crawl out of my skin. I tense at every touch, every kiss. I can’t help it. My body is a ball of anxiety. I will it to calm down. This is my husband, I yell in my head. He won’t hurt me!

No, but you want him to, a voice inside me yells back, smirking.

Ugh! This is so frustrating, I want to cry. And the worst part…it isn’t just me who’s suffering. It’s Nick, the man I love.

He enters me, and I fight to keep my thighs open. My face scrunches in pain. He stops and looks down—so much love and concern in his eyes that I choke on my guilt. I wish I could beat myself with a paddle. I’d deserve it.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.” I give a shaky smile.

He ponders me for a moment. “I know what you need. Lube.”

I sigh as he reaches under the bed to get it. Yes, I am that woman—the one who’s as dry as a desert. Cold. Impassionate.

“Better?” he asks, rubbing his erection at my opening after lubing up.

I nod. I hate lying, but I’ve ruined this too many times before. I’m petrified he’ll cheat on me if I don’t put out. So I grit my teeth and take it. The lube doesn’t help the pain much, but it keeps me from tearing. I stare at the ceiling and wait for it to be over. He finishes inside me. I am blank. Numb.

He rolls off me, then goes to clean himself.

I turn on my side and curl up in a ball under the blanket, hiding this horrible wrongness clawing at my soul. He climbs in beside me. If he hugs me, I’ll cry.

“I love you, honey,” he whispers in my ear.

I hate myself.

I fall asleep with the salty taste of tears in my mouth.

* * * *

Bethany Morris is doing far better than I. Bethany is twenty-three and having the time of her life with Mike and Mistress Helvetica. I’m just past thirty, and I’ve never had an orgasm with my husband. Bethany is a size zero with long blonde shiny hair and bright blue eyes. Lucky bitch. I’m a too-curvy plain Jane with unmanageable brown hair I keep cut in a bob and dull brown eyes. Though I used to be cute and perky, now my boobs sag, and I found a few gray hairs in the mirror the other day.

It’s nine at night, and I’m in bed reading Training the Dom. I hate Bethany Morris. I hate her and I admire her. My lips are pursed as I read. Sure, the Kate Moss look-alike can get her man to go Dom. I sigh in frustration and click to a different book. Nick comes upstairs and sits on the bed.

“Whatcha reading?”

I open my mouth to spout a generic answer I know he won’t question—romance—but Bethany Morris screams in my head. Do it!she says. Tell him the truth!

I consider it a moment. What would he say if I told him I’m reading a naughty book? It’s only a book. If he looks at me in disgust, I’ll just say I didn’t know what the book was about when I bought it. Yeah. That’ll work. This will be a test. An experiment. Like when Bethany told Mike her friends were going to a BDSM club to see what he’d say.

I look up. “Um, an erotic novel.”

His brows pop up to his hairline. “Really?”

Figures he’d be interested. He is a guy after all. “Yeah. It’s about…” Does he know what BDSM is? “Bondage and stuff.”

I stop breathing as I study his face. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. My fingers shake as I clutch my Kindle. It all comes down to this.

“Hmm.” He lies back against the pillows and grabs the TV remote. “That’s hot.”

I’m reeling. Hot? Did he say hot?

We’ve been married for five years—five years of bad sex. Half the time I end up in tears. Nick comforts me, always, but I can hear his frustration. I can see his disappointment. It isn’t easy for me to talk about. Sex is shameful. I know it’s supposed to be joyous and beautiful and magnificent, but I only ever feel pain, shame, and guilt.

Nick’s frustration has gotten the better of him in the past. We went on a romantic weekend getaway a couple years ago. It was dark in the bedroom of the hotel. He was on top of me. I started to moan, loudly. He covered my mouth and shushed me. I panicked. Tears welled in my eyes and sobs escaped my throat, even though I tried to contain them. Nothing like a crying lump beneath you to kill the mood.

“How long do I have to keep living with your trauma?” he asked.

It was a valid question. One I had no answer to. I was just as tired of it as he was. The rape happened when I was thirteen, yet it felt as though I were living with it every day. The endless therapy sessions had helped me get on with life, but this, my sex life, was still in ruins.

I give my head a shake, leaving those memories behind. He just told me my erotic bondage book was hot. I have to go with this while I can. I scoot closer to him.

“You think it’s hot?” I ask.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen when he answers casually, “Yeah.”

“Well, what else do you think is hot? Do you have fantasies?” Maybe if I do one for him, he’ll do one for me. It’s a good strategy, I praise myself.

He shrugs and looks down at me. “I don’t know.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. He’s never been the creative type. Why did I expect him to divulge some dark, sensual fantasy?

No, I’m the imaginative one, as evidenced by my habitual kinky dreams.

Still, I urge, “Nothing? There’s absolutely nothing you’ve dreamed of that you’d like me to do?”

He pauses the TV and turns to regard me quizzically. “I’d be happy if regular sex pleased you.”

My gaze drops to my hands that are fumbling with the elastic on my Kindle cover. Regular sex. What does that even mean? But yeah, I’d be happy with that too. I have no answer for him. Again. But I’m desperate to please him. I’d do anything. Maybe if I tried harder.

I sigh. I know these thoughts are useless. I can’t make myself enjoy something so carnal, so intimate, despite it being attached to what should be feelings of safety and love. But I’m not ready to give up. I recall my mother telling me men hit their sexual peak in their early twenties; women do in their early thirties. I turned thirty a few months ago. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

I put my Kindle down and snuggle in close to Nick. I bury my face in his chest, unable to look him in the eye. Inhaling a breath of courage, I mutter softly, “What if I want more?”

I close my eyes and wait.

He shifts underneath me. “More?”

I nod.

“Sit up so I can see you.”

I shake my head.

He sighs. “What do you want more of? Sex?”

No, I want you to order me around, tie me up, and beat me. That will not go over well. One step at a time, I tell myself. “Well, maybe we could try some bondage?” It comes out as a meek question—strange for me because usually I don’t do meek.

I wait with bated breath for his response. Worst-case scenario—he makes a noise of disgust and calls me a freak. But that’s not Nick. And I am kind of a freak.

“Okay,” he says.

My eyes fly open, and I look up at him. “Okay?”

He shrugs. “Sure, we can try it.”

Inside, I am grinning. Outside, I take his cue and shrug. “Okay.”

Real People Real BDSM - take your time, be patient, be safe, discover your kinks

By Mercy

My brain has been a twisted place for a very long time. As a child I had fantasies of being spanked by storybook giants. I loved games where friends were bad guys who kidnapped me, tied me with skipping ropes and menaced me with plastic daggers. My Barbies were sex trade workers and my ken dolls had sexual relations with each other.  As I got older my fantasies got darker.

When I was 14, I discovered John Norman books at the public library. I read every one that they had. Gor convinced me that I wanted to be a slave. The thought of being used – being owned – resonated with me.  For years the guys I dated were surprisingly unenthusiastic about the idea, and were untrainable as potential masters. I had a few close friends that knew how I felt, but the concept perplexed them.

My first sex partner was physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually abusive. For the year we were together I couldn’t figure out why being abused in real life didn’t turn me on. The rape scenarios I had in my head were hot; the real thing was painful and downright boring after the first few times. I started keeping the remote close at hand so that I could at least watch something interesting on TV until he was done with me.  The way he hurt me didn’t do a thing for me. At first I wondered if my fantasies were only good in my head but fizzled in real life. Eventually I figured out that abuse and BDSM were entirely different. This was back before the internet, so I had no way of knowing that until I worked it out in my head.

After that I found ways to make my vanilla relationships work. Sex was painful for me, so I would imagine my partner was hurting me on purpose. I would read things that turned me on all the time and then leave myself that way. Burning and cutting myself became commonplace, and various friends were concerned about me until they discovered I just did it because it felt good. I was a walking bundle of repressed sexuality – something that intrigued men and got me attention I didn’t necessarily want.

Except for this one guy.

I met him through a group I belonged to. The first time I saw him, he turned to look at me and my mouth went dry. Such a beautiful, self-confident man. All that, and he was funny, too. But we were both dating other people. Despite that inconvenient fact, for seven years this man acted like he owned me. He would brush his fingers across my ass as he walked past. He would find ways to fondle me in a roomful of people without anyone noticing. One night at a party we ended up alone and he slammed me up against the door and kissed me hard, shoving his thigh between my legs, and torturing my nipples through my shirt while he ground up against me. Now this was a guy who knew how to treat a girl. A girl like me, anyway. I was submissive to him, I couldn’t help it. I fantasized about him all the time, while I muddled through a messy relationship with a man who never had sex with me, no matter what I did.

Eventually we both ended up single, and I knew I had to have him – even if it was just once. I e-mailed him to tell him I was sorry to hear that he and his girlfriend had broken up. I didn’t fool either of us.  Apparently, he wasn’t sorry I was single, either.

He lived out of town. We talked incessantly by e-mail and phone, and I eventually took a chance and told him about my interest in BDSM. He had never gotten into it because his ex was very vanilla, but he was interested. The man had an evil brain. Even though I was shy about discussing it, he eventually made me confess all sorts of my twisted fantasies. He had a collar custom made for me and started using it.  He had been well-trained in the “no means no” mantra of polite sex, so even though he knew what I wanted we had to work on that. I started taunting him to make me do things, and he dropped the civilized facade pretty quickly.

In the middle of a hilarious conversation that neither of us can recall, we picked a safeword.

One day when I was being sassy, he laughed and picked up his belt and threatened to hit me with it if I didn’t behave. I dared him to do it. The man can’t resist my dares, I was pleased to discover. He hit me with the belt a few times and we had hot nasty sex. There’s nothing like positive reinforcement to teach a guy what you like.

We married.

The collar, the belt, his use of force and my unspoken submission were our sex life for several years. But after years of delicious sex and violence I wanted... more. There were things I hadn’t told him and I was worried that the next level of intensity would be the one that scared him off or disgusted him. Eventually I decided to bring it up. Over the years he had proven himself to be an open minded guy, so why was I being so chicken? After that conversation he put the o-ring up in the doorframe in our room. He and I both bought things for him to hit me with. At first he was leery of beating me as hard as I wanted, but I goaded him into it, and he realized he loved it as much as I did. When I ask him now what his favourite part of BDSM is, he says it’s two things: knowing I’m his and making me scream... in one way or another.

Considering the level we do things at now, sometimes I worry about where we’re going. I wear a public collar 24/7. His dominance has leeched out of the bedroom and into our vanilla life. I fantasize about him leaving permanent marks or branding me. I have my submissive barcode tattooed on my shoulder and the collared submissive symbol on my shoulder blade. Luckily, even when I start getting greedy for more he keeps things safe, sane and consensual.

As I kneel at his feet with his hand in my hair, I feel the ache of fresh bruises and know that he loves me.
                                                                     *****

Cari Silverwood:

Remember everyone is different. No one is you. What turns someone else on may mean zero to you. BDSM is a very broad envelope term which covers many different kinks. Which is why you should never assume your partner will like the same things as you.


Rushing into things with your partner can be a disastrous thing to do. But if you're patient, you may give them enough time to understand you.


For those who are puzzled by BDSM – yes, Mercy and her husband love each other deeply and yes, the pain to her is pleasureable and the screaming is just as likely to be from orgasms as from being flogged, hit with a belt, or whatever. I cannot stress enough that her partner is a caring man and that this is, as Mercy says, safe, sane and consensual.

A link to more information

: http://www.xeromag.com/fvbdsm.html

31 Flavors has been contracted to Loose Id

31 Flavors, the book about a real life couple's journey along the almightily potholed road through BDSM land has been contracted to Loose Id. Being a curious book which has stirred some readers to jumping up and down on our heads telling us how wonderful it is, we really want to get it promoted in the best way.

It doesn't quite fit with my normal niche (BDSM in fantasy settings) or Leia's (semi-erotic PNR) so we're going with a publisher with a good name in erotic romances. Because that's what 31 Flavors is -- a wonderful erotic romance that happens to have sexy bits and BDSM in the story.

The title may change a little so that it's not the Baskin Robbins slogan, and the cover may change also. We hope to keep Flavors in there somewhere. The release date is yet to be decided.

The contract is printed and signed to send to Leia but I can't post it. The roads are so dangerous here in Queensland due to exceptional rains that I'm stuck. Tomorrow may be better. I only have a widdle car -- a Japanese toy thing which hits anything that's higher than an ant's ass above the road surface.

But soon we'll be putting our book to bed and tucking it in for a few months until the re-release.

Love is what makes us human

One of the wonderful things about people is our capacity for love. 31 Flavors is story that explores the depths and heights of where love can lead us. Sometimes love is unconventional; sometimes though we love our partners, life throws us a curve ball and that is when the relationship is truly put to the test. How far would your partner go if you asked them to tie you up and spank you?

31 Flavors is heavily based on a true story but it is fiction. The ending is a little more manufactured than happened in real life. The angst and the agonies happened, but more as a series of heart-to-heart talks between Sid and Nick. Talking is so important when you want to introduce BDSM to a relationship. Sid did fear that Nick would leave her if she asked too much.

But when two people have stuck with each other for five years, and are still in love despite their sex life being scraped from the bottom of the Pit of Doom, the only way left…is up.

We have a website devoted to 31 Flavors if you want to explore some of the hows and whys of our writing process. Leia Shaw was a wonderful writing partner, and even if we both like throwing insults, we’re also pretty darn silly.

http://thirtyoneflavors.weebly.com/

Sid forgot to take notes on the sex scenes :) However many of them are based on reality - the ‘shibari’, the big ‘O’, the ‘icy nipples’ scene, the first time they tried BDSM, and so on.

Some early heart-felt reader comments:

Trish Dechant from Goodreads.

“31 Flavors is a short, funny, sexy read that I absolutely adored. The fact that Sidney and Nick have problems, struggle through them, and have fun during sex is just the cherry on top of my sundae. It also shows the reader that no one else has the right to label your sex life, tell you that you're 'doing it wrong', or that you aren't a true Dom/sub. It is how you and your lover define it--the rest doesn't matter.”

Stephanie.

"I just finished 31 flavors and I just wanted to say that I loved it. In a way it was kind of hard for me to read because it so closely mirrors what the last year of my life has been like. I cried my eyes out when she was drunk and said she was sorry that she was so broken. I can't tell you how many times I have felt like that. The anxiety, tears, and struggle in the book was balanced with wonderful humor and such love. It was fabulous! Thank you both for writing such a great story. :)"

There are sample chapters of 31 Flavors on both my and Leia’s website as well as on the 31 Flavors weebly site, mentioned above.

31 Flavors:

There are some things in life you have to try before you know how they will affect you.

After 5 years of awful sex, I was ready. Bondage and spanking had always featured in my fantasies, and one day, I convinced my husband to try them. That day was a turning point.

Ice cream comes in many flavors and that’s us too -- not vanilla, maybe not Rocky Road either. We can be a combination or make up our own and no one has the right to judge us.

But there will always be one question that tears at my soul: Will my husband, Nick, ever be happy with what I crave?

The Beginning - Excerpt 1

“Come here.”

His voice, low and full of authority, slides through me like a cold shiver. My breath hitches as I glide silently over our office carpet.

“On your knees.”

I immediately drop. Acutely conscious of my nudity, I sit with my ass resting on my heels and my hands on the curve of my upper thighs.

“Do you know why you are being punished?”

A lump of anticipation lodges in my throat. I keep my eyes downcast and nod.

“Good. Now, I’m going to tie you to the desk, spank you and stuff you with the vibrator. And you’re not to come without my permission, do you understand?”

My stomach lurches and I’m soaked with arousal. I can’t trust my voice so I nod again.

“Answer me.”

I clear my throat and croak a shaky, “Y-yes, sir.”

“Stand up and bend over the desk.”

My knees tremble. I can barely hold my weight as I walk to the desk. A thin rope dangles from his hands. I dare to look in his eyes. They remain impassive, foreboding. I’m a prisoner in the shadow of my executioner. Can I do this?

His brows raise a fraction of an inch. “Go on.”

I steel myself and bend over the desk. The glass top is like ice on my naked breasts. My breath quickens as he coolly and effectively ties my ankles to the desk legs, then my wrists behind my back. I twist my hands, checking the tightness. No give, at all. Suddenly I feel vulnerable. Too open, too exposed.

I notice the wooden paddle on the desk only when he reaches for it. I gasp. From fear or anticipation, I’m not sure. He moves away so I can no longer see him.

From behind me, I hear, “Count, Sidney.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, and the paddle whistles through the air –

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I wake with a start, flushed and wet. A dream. I exhale a deep breath then slam my hand on the snooze button. Nick stirs beside me, his body heating me through the blankets. My dream comes back full force, an assault on my already over-eager libido.

Nick. His eyes stern, his lips turned down in a disapproving frown. The rope, the paddle… oh. I can’t stop a sharp inhalation.

The idea is laughable. Nick wielding a paddle? He’s more likely to cross-dress and pierce his nipples than mercilessly paddle my ass. Nick is the nicest man I’ve ever met. It’s why I married him.

I sigh in frustration and push my fantasies away. The dog jumps at the door. Nick rolls over. His voice is groggy. “Honey. The dog wants to go out.”

“I know.”

Welcome to real life.

Striptease Excerpt 2

Sid has just asked Nick if he has any fantasies.

“Well, maybe you could seduce me?”

I blink. “Me?”

“Yeah, like a little lap dance or a strip tease.”

Fucking A. Of course the pain in the ass would pick something completely out of my comfort zone. A strip tease and a lap dance? I’ve never had a single dance lesson. I’m awkward and clumsy and not the least bit sexy.

Don’t be a taker, I scold myself. He tied me up. He spanked me. He stepped out of his comfort zone, I can too.

Steeling myself for humiliation, I rise from the bed. As seductively as I can manage, I raise the hem of my blouse. “Like this?” I purr.

Nick puts his arms behind his head and his gaze rakes me over. A big grin stretches across his face. He likes it. Okay, I can do this. I pull my shirt up higher, exposing my bra.

“Yeah!” Nick praises from the bed.

I give him a flirty smile then start to pull the blouse over my head. It’s a little tight and I tug harder. Buttons. The damn shirt has buttons, dummy. I bring my arms down to undo the top button, but something yanks on my ear.

Ow! Ow, ow, ow. I freeze, my arms over head, my shirt covering my face. The top button is stuck on the stupid hoop earrings I insisted on wearing to work today. I was trying to look sexy. Not so sexy now, am I?

“Honey? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t need to see my face to know I’m blushing. I’m sure it covers my entire body. But I can recover. I can still pull this off. Somehow, I will make this sexy.

“Um.” My voice is muffled in my shirt. I go for a casual tone. “I’m fine. I’m just…going slow. So you can, you know, savor it.” I move my hips side to side in a seductive sway while simultaneously trying to untangle my earring.

The arm opposite the stuck earring is halfway in my shirt sleeve so I jerk my upper body to the side, trying to get it over to help. But it won’t quite reach where I need it. I’m panting with excursion and getting a bit frantic that it won’t come loose. I wriggle my arms furiously trying to get them out of the sleeves. Every few seconds I stop and shake my hips toward Nick. Or somewhere. I’m not really sure which direction I’m facing anymore.

I hear a strangled snort from behind me. I spin around and freeze. Is he laughing at me? Except for the crinkling of the shirt over my ears, the room is silent.

My arms ache and my ear hurts. I blow out a breath of air.

Nick clears his throat. “Do you need help?” The end of the sentence is choked off with a covered chuckle.

“Yes,” I say, defeated.

I hear him rise from the bed. Then his fingers are on me, unbuttoning my blouse.

“Careful,” I tell him. “My earring is stuck.”

“I got it.”

His fingers work deftly, freeing my face and arms, and just the blouse is dangling from my earring. He works on getting that loose too. I look up at him. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen from being stuck in my shirt, but he’s never looked so handsome.

“Hi,” I say sheepishly.

He smirks. “Hi.” His breath touches my lips and lingers.

Suddenly, I want to kiss him. Need to kiss him. I lean forward. “Ow!” Something tugs my earring.

“Stay still,” he orders softly. His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me against his body. Goose bumps rise along the skin on my belly and back. Am I getting turned on? I exhale a laugh.

Nick just rescued me from an utterly unsexy and quite possibly life threatening strip tease. I probably looked like one those moles with the red tendril thingys on its head, clawing its way out of the ground. I should be digging a hole into the ground and hiding in humiliation.

Finally, the blouse falls to the floor and my ear is free. I pull both hoops out and place them on the dresser. Nick steps back and looks me over. His mouth is tight with a restrained grin.

I point a finger at him. “Don’t. Laugh.”

He covers his mouth with his hand and his shoulders shake. My eyes narrow and I launch myself at him, toppling him onto the bed. I straddle his hips as his hysterical laughter fills the room.

“Shut up.” I try to cover his mouth with my hand but he blocks me.

“That was cute, Lex,” he says between roars of laughter. “It was like a sea cucumber giving birth to an anemone.”

I gasp and try to smack him but he dodges my hand.

“A sexy sea cucumber,” he adds.

This time, I go for the jugular. He catches my wrists and holds them captive. “So violent. I may be new at this, but I’m pretty sure beating up your Dom is bad form. Should I punish you now?”

“No! I’m too mad.” I pout, pulling my wrists from his hands. “I won’t fulfill anymore of your fantasies if you make fun of me.”

He smiles. “Honey, you fulfill my fantasies every day just by being you.”

I chuckle nervously. “Sure.” But I’m touched, whether it’s true or not.

We stare at each other silently for a moment, giddy smiles plastered on our faces. In a bold move I get my retribution by snaking my hand up his chest and pinching his nipple.

“Ow!” He grasps my hand to free his nipple. “You’re not a very good sub,” he teases.

“Maybe you’re not a good Dom,” I counter with a saucy grin.

“Probably.” Evil glittering in his eyes, he folds his arms around me, then yanks me down for a kiss. Our lips meet and he holds the back of my head as the kiss deepens. Not that I’m planning on leaving. The play of lips on lips, softness and hard, tongue and teeth, is a dance Nick has always done well. I snuggle closer, catch my breath when I can. My eyelids drift lower as I give in to the sensations. I sneak my hand onto his chest, palm flattened, and play with the hair above his shirt neckline. When he stops kissing me I’m breathing hard and very conscious of his body beneath mine.

His gaze is locked with mine. “So let’s just be us.”

I smile. Us. Nick and Sid. Not vanilla. Not Rocky Road. Any kind of thirty-one flavors we want to be. I bite my lip and nod.

With both hands, he grasps my ass and squeezes. “Now let me tie you up so we can fuck and feel better.”

Links:

Buy 31 Flavors on Amazon

31 Flavors site

Leia’s website

Leia’s blog

Cari’s website

Cari’s blog