Amazon’s been having some issues with their Kindle publisher’s platform, more specifically, their Author Central pages, where some books are in a sort of un-editable limbo. This won’t affect 99% of pretty much anybody, but having them deal with the issue, or rather, not so much deal with the issue has put me in mind of a certain Clarke and Dawe sketch…
Author: “This issue with this book I’m having…”
Amazon: “You mean the one where you can’t change any of the details in Author Central? That’s not very typical, I’d like to make that quite clear.”
Author: “How isn’t it typical?”
Amazon: “Well, there’s a lot of these books being published all the time, and very seldom does anything like this happen. We don’t want people thinking our platform is unreliable and broken.”
Author: “Was it reliable on this occasion?”
Amazon: “I was more talking about the other occasions.”
Author: “The occasions where it works.”
Amazon: “Yes. The ones where it works.”
Author: “But why didn’t it work on this occasion?
Amazon: “Well, we’ve been trying new code, and the code broke the site.”
Author: “Is that unusual?”
Amazon: “Oh yeah. Pushing code to a live site without warning causing issues? Chance in a million!”
Author: “So the accusations that you’re breaking your site without regard for authors and publishers are ludicrous.”
Amazon: “Oh, absolutely ludicrous. This is a very reliable publishing platform.”
Author: “So what happened on this occasion?”
Amazon: “Well, it didn’t work on this occasion, by all means – but it’s very unusual.”
Author: “What are you doing to prevent further issues?”
Amazon: “We have very strict standards as to how code is implemented on our site.”
Author: “What kind of standards?”
Amazon: “Well, it has to be computer code, for starters. No Morse code, for instance. That’s right out. No smoke signals. No pigeon post. We’re very stringent.”
Author: “So when will this issue be fixed?”
Amazon: “One to two days at most. Four days. Maybe a week. Or two. In the meantime, your book has been towed outside the environment.”
The walls of Englred were coming into view when Lady Varys hissed a curse word and pulled her mount to the side of the road. There were plenty of people and horses and carts milling around the outer bridges, but out of their number came a man on a black horse, riding like an arrow toward them with an intentionality that was apparent even over the mile or so between them.
Kelsie was sure that the rider was about to receive a bolt of lighting or some such elemental punishment, but instead Victoria allowed him to ride up to them without question, his horse skidding to a halt on four hooves with a well practiced quick stop.
“Madame Varys,” the man growled.
Victoria raised a delicately shaped brow at “Madame”.
“Leo Falkroy,” she said. “What do you want, boy?”
Kelsie had never seen anyone less like a boy than Leo Falkroy. He was a man, a tall broad man with steel gray eyes and thick black hair shorn close to his head. There was a light touch of gray at his temples, but he was not old by any means. He was in the prime of life. He wore toughened black leather armor studded with plate across the arms and shoulders, leggings to match, and tall plated boots that rose up to his knee. There was a tattoo on the back of his left hand, a regent’s falcon, wings spread. She couldn’t help but stare at it and wonder if he had any other markings on his strong body. The very thought made her blush and avert her eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here, Victoria.”
“There is nowhere I should not be,” the lady replied haughtily. “A sorceress does not ask permission to enter her own city.”
“Maybe not at the best of times, but this isn’t the best of times. There’s a warrant for your arrest and a bounty on your head.”
He shifted in his seat and rested his arm on the pommel, leaning forward to look her dead in the eyes with his steel gaze. When he spoke his voice was gruff.
“King Eldroy and his Queen Annabelle are furious with you. Especially Annabelle.”
“Ah? That is all you have to say, Victoria?”
“Do not lecture me, Leo,” she said waspishly. “We will go on to Velderton and I will attend to matters there.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said. “There are riders out looking for you. I’d turn back.”
“There’s nothing but shanties and wrecks from where we’ve come. And plenty of creatures I’d rather not subject myself to twice.”
“Annabelle has said she will have your head.”
Victoria made an annoyed sound. “I will go and speak with her.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Did I ask what you thought? Come with me if you are so concerned, and lend your sword if necessary. Otherwise, go on your way after whatever criminal you seek.”
His horse nickered and stepped in place, tail swishing with impatience. “You’re not understanding me, Victoria. You’re the criminal I seek.”
“You will not arrest me, Leo.”
“I will,” he said. “But I’ll give you a head start before I do.”
A playful smile appeared on Victoria’s lips. “I don’t have time for one of our games, Leo. Can’t you see I have a charge to attend to?”
He hadn’t seen Kelsie, any more than he had seen the broken fence post or the muddy ditch. She was part of the dirty background of the world, nothing compared to the beauty on horseback. Kelsie lowered her head so she couldn’t see him looking at her, if that’s what he was doing.
“This isn’t a game. The cuffs will be real this time,” he said gruffly. “Not illusions you can bat away when you decide you’re done being bound.”
At eighteen years of age, Kelsie of Kinleigh has nothing but a short and miserable life of poverty to look forward to. She is a peasant looked down on by the other peasants, clothed in rags and fed from the scraps of pigs.
Kelsie’s fortunes undergo a marked change when she is plucked from her little village by the sorceress Lady Victoria Varys. Victoria has plans for the innocent peasant girl – plans which are abruptly interrupted when an assassin named Leo Falkroy tracks them down with the intention of arresting Lady Victoria.
Lord Falkroy is a dangerous man. With a sword in his hand, he is second to none. He leads a life of rigorous discipline, leaving nothing to chance and ensuring that everything in his domain is firmly under control. He is educated, dominant and deadly – just as well, because Lady Varys is about to lead all of them into very big trouble.
The first newsletter of the year has just gone out, packed with newslettery goodness! The newsletter is a bit of a behind the scenes look at some of my latest books, contains exclusive excerpts and other such things.
If you’re not subscribed to receive it, you can do so here, there’s even a free ebook in it for you, a fun little college spanking story!
“You will speak respectfully,” Milo lectured as Ragnar thrashed her. “You will mind your tongue and you will accept that there are consequences for disobedience. You are ours, princess, and we have expectations that will be enforced in ways you will not enjoy.”
It was rather a redundant statement, given that her bottom was being soundly and relentlessly belabored with her own footwear by a barbarian more than twice her size.
“Naughty girl,” Ragnar added, standing erect to survey the results of his handiwork. Elizabeth didn’t know what her bottom looked like, but it felt hot and swollen and she could feel the sting somehow still singing on even though Ragnar had put the slipper down—and picked up the belt.
“No!” she squealed. “Not the belt!”
Ragnar doubled it over, snapping the leather against itself with a loud crack that made her cringe. His dark eyes were lit with purpose that would not bend to her pleas. Elizabeth reached back to cover her bottom with both hands and simultaneously squirmed up onto her knees so she could face them.
“This isn’t fair,” she said. “I mean, it’s not, is it?” She looked at the two kings with a desperation in her eyes that did not do a thing to dissuade them. “What are you punishing me for? What did I do that was so wrong? I went to the market, I returned…”
“Bend over and present your bottom,” Ragnar snapped.
She focused the entire intensity of her dismay upon him, her green eyes filling with tears. “Please… Ragnar… I have done all you asked of me.”
“You have fought us from the moment we walked in here,” Ragnar said mercilessly. “Bend over, princess.”
“Very well,” she said with a deep sigh. “I have no choice.”
She hoped her feigned obedience would earn her some mercy as she turned around and bent over so that her bottom was high and her head was low.
The first crack of the belt against her bottom took her breath away. Ragnar wielded the thing with what felt like the full force of his arm and to Elizabeth’s senses it was as if cannon fire had burst across her cheeks in a blazing salvo that made a cry burst forth from her lips.
He laid several more like it across her cheeks, striping from the top of her quivering bottom to the top of her thighs. She lost the ability to retain position within a stroke or two and thereafter simply writhed upon the bed, her legs scissoring and flailing in a futile attempt to discharge some of the heat and sting.
By the time Ragnar was done with her, her hips were dancing in desperate fashion, her pussy grinding against the bedding, not out of any arousal she was aware of, but out of necessity. The only way to escape the belt was to move away from it. The only way to move away from it was to press her squirming body against the bed.
“She’s wet,” Ragnar declared suddenly, tossing the belt to the side.
“Soaking,” Milo agreed.
After her homeland is conquered by two powerful kings, eighteen-year-old Princess Elizabeth of Ammerdale finds herself taken captive in her own castle. Rather than fight over her, the two rulers decide to form an alliance and claim Elizabeth as their shared bride, but they quickly discover that the beautiful maiden will need to be tamed.
Though they have little else in common, the sophisticated Milo Lionheart and the fierce warrior Ragnar are united by their willingness to strip Elizabeth bare and spank her soundly as often as necessary to teach her obedience. Despite her blushing protests, the stern dominance of her handsome husbands arouses the young princess deeply, and soon she is begging for more as their masterful lovemaking brings her to one shattering climax after another.
Not everyone in Ammerdale is happy with the match, however, and when a treacherous foe seeks to seize the throne for himself it puts the growing bond between Elizabeth, Milo, and Ragnar to the test. Will the two kings stand together to protect their realm and their woman?
“I’m not from here,” she said in an attempt to invoke some kind of cultural immunity. “So I, uh, didn’t know that I could… that this would…”
“You thought you’d get away with it,” he said, his lips twisting in a dark smirk. “That’s not any reason to let you.”
His hand closed a little around her wrist, spurring Hannah into immediate, panicked action. She squirmed out of his grasp and dived away from him, every part of her body exposed to his eyes as she flailed across the bed and tried to make an escape. It did not work. If anything, she played directly into his hands, the towel falling away to leave her completely naked.
He leaned over, wrapped his strong arm around her waist and pulled her back over his thighs in one smooth motion that was not at all impeded by her wriggling and complaining.
As Hannah found herself face down against the coverlet, all she could think was that this was yet another embarrassment and indignity to add to the many she had suffered since arriving in Darkwood. She could almost have resigned herself to it, if not for the promise of pain that accompanied the undignified position.
“I don’t know what cultural significance this has for you,” she said in an attempt to be understanding, “but this wouldn’t be appropriate where I’m from.”
“Would getting blind drunk be appropriate?” Lorcan smoothed his large masculine palm over the bare curve of her bottom, and suddenly Hannah forgot all about her reservations. His touch sent a tingle racing through the very core of her, reigniting the excitement from the bath and making her forget her regrets almost immediately.
“Maybe not,” she admitted as her hips made involuntary squirming motions. Thus far Lorcan had not seemed to view her as a sexual creature. Even when naked in the bath his looks had not held a great deal in the way of observable ardor, but now Hannah was sure she could sense something between them. She was not sure of that though. In matters of love, she was something of a novice. She had never been with a man before. She’d never had to bathe herself in front of a man before either, and she’d certainly never been spanked by one.
Lorcan’s palm lifted away for a moment, then returned with a hard swat that sent a shock through her body. Hannah let out a squeal more of surprise than of pain.
“Spankings tend to,” Lorcan replied dryly.
“No, I mean, it hurts,” she whimpered. “Why would you want to hurt me?”
She sounded pitiful even to her own ears, and hoped that it would work to change his mind. Lorcan was a big man with big hands and a powerful arm. If he’d wanted to he could have smacked her bottom a lot harder than he had, but the sting she was already experiencing was more than enough.
“I don’t want to hurt you, brat,” he rumbled in his deep refined tones. “I want to teach you a lesson you’ll remember.”
A rough laugh went up among the crowd. Thanks to a torch held by the slaver, casting a circle of light beyond which darkness fell thick, Aisling could not see beyond the first row of men, but she sensed there were many dozens of people waiting to purchase female flesh.
“The bidding starts at a hundred gold pieces, which will earn you not just the virginity of Claddaugh’s only princess, but her father’s ire—and claim to his kingdom should you sire a son.”
A nasty, carnal roar emerged from the bidders.
“She’s a pretty one, nicely submissive, not inclined to give you trouble.” The slaver turned her about, lifted what remained of her skirts and exposed her behind to the crowd. “A pretty rump to boot,” he said, slapping her as if she were a filly at market. Aisling squeaked and the crowd rumbled with predatory glee like a pack of wolves waiting for her tender flesh.
“A hundred gold pieces!” A rough voice called out.
“Two hundred!” Another male voice sounded in the darkness.
The bidding was fast and furious, but it came to an abrupt end when a voice that had not spoken before rang out with a clear baritone.
The crowd fell silent. Aisling saw the slaver’s eyes glitter with greed.
“Sold!” he cried out. “Sold to Chief Rikiar Ravenblack!”
Grumbling with jealousy, the crowd parted to allow a strange party of men through. They were all tall and broad with long dark braided hair and flashing eyes, save for one whose hair was red. Each of their faces was daubed blue and gold and they wore animal hides and furs instead of cloth, which to Aisling’s tired, hysterical gaze made them seem more like beasts than men.
Aisling shrank away from them in fear, but the slaver cut his lash against her thigh and drove her forward into the arms of her new owners…
After she is kidnapped by her father’s enemies and sold to the barbarian chief Rikiar, Princess Aisling finds that life as a barbarian’s bride is quite different than the one to which she was previously accustomed. To her dismay, the once pampered princess soon learns that the barbarian chief is not to be trifled with and any disobedience will earn her a sound spanking on her bare bottom.
Her days are certainly less boring than when she was cooped up behind castle walls, and since her warrior husband’s fierce lovemaking is beyond anything the virgin princess ever imagined, her nights are far more exciting as well. Though much is expected of her—she must both satisfy Rikiar’s voracious appetites in the bedroom and train to wield a sword—Aisling perseveres and before long she feels a strength growing in her heart which makes her proud.
But when Aisling’s father demands her return and wages war against Rikiar and his people, she fears for Rikiar’s life. Can she trust her judgment and her courage to protect her newfound people, save her husband, and safeguard their love from those who wish to destroy it?