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Sunday 30 March 2014

Cover reveal #Corbins Bend Exile to Unity

Taaa Daaaaa

Cover Reveal : Corbin's Bend series : Exile to Unity

Finally, all those endless hours of work culminate into the finished product. You eat sleep and breathe a story for months but then the day comes when you have to let your baby grow up and make it's own way into the world.

I'm really proud of my baby, as always. But what a fitting cover. Isn't it beautiful? What I love best about this book is so beautifully captured on that wonderful cover : A fairly normal couple, greying hair for him, slouchy sweater for her. Characters you can identify with. They could be you, they could be your next door neighbour. Soon you can get to know them, and maybe revisit a couple of characters you have already come to love in Corbin's Bend.


When their preference for BDSM becomes embarrassingly public, Angela and Jim O’Brien decide to start afresh in Corbin’s Bend, a community based on a common ethos of spanking, a place where Ange hopes they can belong.  
Ange soon learns that in this new environment,  Jim is not beyond chastising her with a good sound spanking as the couple face their past demons and try to recover the closeness they once shared.  New challenges soon face the couple.  Will their difficulties destroy them or can their move be what Ange initially hoped for, an exile to unity?

Wednesday 26 March 2014

Dungeon Crawl March 25 Corbin's Bend

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Welcome back to the dungeon...be sure to check the exits are clear and unchained before you enter as there is a risk you might find yourself trapped......What? That excites you? Are you sure? Well come on in then, and take that hard pew over there and remove your clothes, the dungeon master will be along any moment.....

This week I am going to share a little from Exile To Unity, my novella in the Corbin's Bend series, due to be released in late spring. Be kind and overlook any typos as it is as yet unedited. If you're interested in finding out about the series check out Corbin's Bend Blog

"We're In".....

After a harrowing day in court, Angela O'Brien has just heard the exciting news that she and her family have been approved as residents of Corbin's Bend.

Ange had intended to be back in bed when Jim returned but she was buzzing. Finally there was something good on the horizon. And for the first time in an age, she wished he was there, beside her, to share her joy. The way they used to share things.  A long hour passed before she heard the key in the latch. Jim jumped as she said hello.
“Oh God, Ange you gave me a fright. I thought you were sleeping.”  
“I woke up and then I checked the computer, great news Jim, we’re in.” She rose from her seat and approached him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing his mouth. She knew he was stunned as he hadn’t even asked what we’re in meant; she had spurned all his advances of late. But he didn’t reject her out of spite or pettiness. She could feel him pull her close, savoring a rekindling of a flame that had almost been extinguished by circumstances. Ange could feel a vaguely familiar twitch in her clit as his tongue probed her mouth and his hands ran through her hair, tugging lightly on it. She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be possessed by her man.
His hard cock pressing against her thigh was a delight instead of the nuisance she had lately come to see it as. She wanted to feel it, taste it and better still, be fucked by it. What she really wanted was for him to just take her, there and then, but in light of her recent refusals, she knew he couldn’t so she took the lead.
“Jim, would you mind spanking me?” she asked feeling her cheeks blush. God it was like the early days. She felt mortified but she really needed a good hard session to wash the tension out of her.
“Are you sure, we haven’t done it since…”
“Since Jack was born,” she continued for him. “I know, I couldn’t but now I need to, if you can bear it.”
“Bear it? Shit Ange, I’ve been praying for it. Do you remember our safe word?”
“Course I do, it was copper, for Copperface Jacks, where we met, why the hell do you think I wanted Jack’s name, silly.”
Ange saw the smile spread across his face at that. How the hell had things gone so bad that it took her three years to explain why she had been insistent on the name? Where the hell had Jim and Ange, the unit, together against the world, gone? She felt guilty as sin. It wasn’t Jim who had shut down, she knew that. It was totally her doing.
“I’d like over the knee,” he said timidly. “It’s intimate, think you can handle that?”
“Don’t ask, tell. Take over like you used to. Please?”
She saw him look at her and appraise her expression. All of a sudden he seemed taller, younger and stronger. She didn’t notice his paunched belly or his greying temples, peppering his once black hair. She just saw her man.
“Come here,” he ordered as he sat on the sofa. Ange approached him slowly, nerves kicking in as they always did. Normally he had expected her to be naked from the waist down so she reached behind to open her skirt.
“Leave it,” he ordered, growing taller and more formidable by the second. Ange cautiously positioned her clothed body across his knee and felt him bunch her skirt up above her hips. His hand softly caressed her rounded buttocks as he bared her.
“Mm, hot, I always liked it better clothed.” That was news to Ange; the bareness must have been to satisfy her not him. She felt his fingers slip under the waistband of her panties. He didn’t remove them just pulled them down to mid-thigh.
“That is the fucking sexiest picture a man could ever want,” he said as her garments were positioned to his liking. Ange, aroused from the outset was now dripping. She felt his hand come down on her arse, softly, almost reverently; and again the same on the other cheek. This continued to the count of ten. Ange was just about ready to give up and get the fucking over with; things were not going according to plan. He was being too tender and he just wasn’t pushing her buttons. As she tried to rise, his other hand locked her in position.
“Not so fast, Ms. O’Brien. I’m in control here,” he warned, bringing his hand down hard.  A rain of hard, stinging thwacks fell rapidly all over her bottom. Ange wriggled to try to escape the deluge.

“Lie still unless you want to be tied,” he said and she could feel moisture pool in her pussy. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed dominant Jim. Automatically, she gave herself over to him, her body opening like petals in the early morning light.

Don't forget to see what else awaits you in the dungeon... A wicked Wednesday and and torturous Thursday await

Monday 24 March 2014

A totally unsexy bondage....Nicotine addiction

Hello, my name is Tara and I am a nicotine addict. I smoke a pack a day and I disgust myself. Not because of the fact that I smoke but because I have allowed myself become a slave to tobacco.
I'm one of those smokers that has to check her pockets before she leaves the house - I can't go anywhere without my asthma inhaler in one pocket and my cigarettes and lighter in the other.

I've been farting about with quitting since even before I met my husband and yet here I am 20 years later, writing this post. Pathetic huh? I'm not getting any younger either,and the asthma is certainly not getting any better with twenty eight years of toxins being pumped into my lungs twenty times a day.

Honestly I wish the bloody things were illegal, just so the ability to buy them was taken away from me. That my feeble weak willed efforts to say STOP wasn't all I had to rely on. Hey, I'd even consider begging the other half to lock me in the house for a few weeks until I got it out of my system. I really, really am that desperate.

I don't even remember a life before smokes, they were my constant companion from the age of 17. They were there when I had a broken heart, job interviews, every moment of stress and/or  elation I have experienced has been accompanied by a cigarette. But not because they were my friend...Oh no, they were my tormentor, my captor, my master.

Please don't get me wrong, I am not saying every smoker is the same. Some people have no problem "Social Smoking" ie having a smoke only when they go out for a drink. or maybe one or two a week or something like that. Others might smoke a pack a day or more, and still be able to turn round and stop it tomorrow. This is not a witch hunt to drag out all the smokers in the world and shame them and call them silly.
This is entirely about my feelings about my own smoking. I hate me for doing it, I hate me for HAVING to do it, for not having a choice, for being too pathetic to exercise that free will that supposedly God gave me.

So today I am going to try to change all that. Today I am taking control (I hope :D )
Wish me luck, I don't want to be a slave anymore.

Wednesday 19 March 2014

My First Dungeon Crawl


It's the name that caught me - some days the demon in me definitely should be chained away from humanity safely out of sight in a dark dungeon. So, just for the craic, I decided to sign up. Maybe they'll never let me out again.

I'm sharing something I am currently working on, a shifter novella, which as no name as yet...so far the file is simply called "Shifter WIP" - what a testament to my great imagination. No wonder I write. This is the opening of the book, so no lead in is necessary as yet.

Cuan looked compassionately at the anxious woman as she willingly offered her hands for chaining. The trust in her eyes was heart wrenching. She depended on him to keep her safe. More than that, to keep her unsullied, untainted.
“Are sure this is what you want?” he asked. All she did was nod her agreement as a solitary tear fell down her cheek. She turned round on her tummy so her arms could be placed in the cuffs. He snapped two more cuffs around her ankles even as he heard her sob, but it was when he attached the collar that she finally protested.
“No,” she shouted.
“Without it, the cuffs might be useless, I don’t know if you’ll be able to slip them if you change,” he said softly and Jenny again nodded her agreement.

“It’s funny how quickly you’ve gone from the enemy to my only friend” she said as she accepted his bindings. “Take care of me. Please. I’m scared.”

Thank you for coming along and taking the time to read my offering. Comments good bad and indifferent are all really welcome.   I'm probably last on the list and hopefully you'll have already called to all the other entries, but if not, please do follow all on the linky list for a dark and dangerous RTK Dungeon Crawl...

Saturday 15 March 2014

Spanky St Patrick's Day

Happy St Patrick’s Day

I know I have been the worst blogger lately. Sometimes real life gets in the way, other times I haven’t a clue what to say to the great unknown world of blogland, but I couldn’t let St Patrick’s Day pass without a post.
So what does it mean to be Irish on St Patrick’s Day? Well I guess it’s fair to say that totally depends on where you are living!
For me, it’s just a bank holiday weekend, but a busy one, as this year the parades are split out over Sunday and Monday and different family members have different commitments each day. If the weather is good, I’ll go to parades both days but if its wet and miserable, it will just be tomorrow. But whatever I’m at I know I won’t get this huge sense of national identity or pride that we’re supposed to be filled with. In small town Ireland, most of the parades have more trucks and tractors with a few measly ribbons thrown on than colourful floats. There’s usually a few imaginative floats, but no more than three or four, the rest are just noisy and annoying. There’ll be pipe bands leading the parades and my writing friend Emily Tilton will envy me the sight of many kilt wearing, knobbly knee bearing white legged men in skirts :D Maybe I’ll pluck up the courage to go and defrock one to see what do men really wear under their kilts!
There were many St Patrick’s days in the past that meant a lot more to me. When I was living in London, it was a great event. No parade of course but a great piss up and mighty craic in one of the Irish pubs. Anyone with even the teeniest drop of Irish blood in their veins donned the green, and we ate poor excuses for Irish stew made with beef instead of the more correct muttonand drank copious glasses of Guinness while listening to often badly played Irish music (which I have to admit I really don’t like) But by God I was proud to be there, to identify with my fellow paddies and to belong.
I had one St Patrick’s Day in Dublin. I worked in financial services at the time and as the NYSE was open, so too was the company I worked for. We all took an extended lunch break to watch the street carnival and it was just amazing, unlike anything else I’ve ever seen, and that includes Mayday festivals and Chinese New Year festivals in London. That day I was definitely proud to be Irish, especially as so many of the people I was working with were American and they were totally swept away by the event.
But the reality is, here and now, being proud to be Irish isn’t a one day thing, and for that reason it won’t much matter to me on Monday. Being proud to be Irish is an every day thing. The sense of self and identity won’t just happen on the 17th of March…it is part of who I am, what I am and has made and moulded me. Sure I’ll go out and wear the green, but it’s not the important thing. The important thing is living it…every day.