August 09, 2012
Oh, yes. That describes me to a tee. This Tweet made me so fucking happy. I'm feeling at loose ends right now because I'm revising, editing, revisiting, and revamping. And you know, you need special boots for that last one. (Holy fuck, are those hot, or what?)
I've been breaking a 500,000 word story into pieces. Shall we say that together? Half a million words. I'm not sure how I managed to write that many all in consecutive order, but I did. The pieces need sanding, of course, because they're a bit rough around the edges. But some make me want to sit down for awhile and try to remember which way is up, like my opening to what I believe will be Book 5. No, really. Book 5:
Panties around my ankles.
Isn’t that the way I should always be?
The perfect image of me, bent over a strong man’s sturdy lap, with my knickers down. Not off, mind you, but down. Off is different. Naked is different. My favorite way to be punished—and that is such an odd sort of sentence to write—is half-dressed. Stripped naked is too exposed, even for someone like me. Even for someone with a book out called Exposed.
No, what I want is to be clad in my costume, school girl skirt pushed up and out of the way, tee-shirt still clinging tight to my skin, garters askew, shoes on, and panties—those seriously sexy ruby-red panties, pulled down to my ankles.
Or, possibly, as the spanking starts, as I begin to squirm from the pain, possibly those panties become kicked off one leg, to remain dangling from a solitary ankle.
That’s fine, too.
Jack understood my desires. He slid those panties down, but left them on. He stroked his hand over my bare ass, using an entirely different touch than he had when he was teasing me. This was divine, the firm weight of his hand lingering before striking.
The giggles had vanished now. The need to laugh had totally disappeared.
But that didn’t mean Jack would be rushed. No, he took his time, landing one firm blow on my right cheek, then a matching one on my left. And as much as I adore being disciplined, as much as I compulsively crave climbing over the lap of a lover, that fear swam over me.
The fear of the unknown.
What else? I had other random tidbits to spill. Oh, yes. I should have author copies and payment for 69 shortly! Harlequin promises.