A First Glimpse at Her Cyborg Daddy!

It’s WipItUp Wednesday and I’m sharing something from my WIP, Her Cyborg Daddy!

 

So the question you should be asking is, “Is this… another 24th Century Daddies book???”

And the answer is, YES! It’s finally here! I first wrote this over a year ago, and it’s been sitting in development hell for all that time, then I did a big re-write three months ago, so I’m EXTREMELY excited to announce that 24th Century Daddies Book 3: Her Cyborg Daddy is coming out on 28th October! Think cyborgs can’t be sexy?

The. Sex. Is. On. Fire.

Like, hands down, this is my hottest book yet. Zanthia is a diplomat and she’s been sent to accompany Mark, a cyborg, on his journey around the galaxy, because his people have never seen biological life before. She has to do anything he asks. And OMG the things he makes her do! Mark even made jaded ol’ me blush at times! There are a lot of scorching scenes in this one, as well as ageplay, because it’s in the 24th Century Daddies universe which is basically set up for daddy doms and adult little girls.

 

A hotter, not safe for work (possibly too hot for home) excerpt will be going out in my newsletter, so make sure you’re signed up (and get a free story) here and ARCs are going out shortly after that! But first, here’s a little excerpt from near the start of Her Cyborg Daddy:

“Please follow me, Zanthia; you will not need your clothing on my ship.” His tone betrayed no emotion, and Zanthia followed him.

Regardless of how important this mission was, she decided it was too far to expect her to walk naked around someone else’s spaceship. Her brain, used to the idea of separate beds for married couples, decided that he must have been trying to make a joke when he said it. When they reached a particular door, he turned. Was that the hint of a glare in his eyes?

Zanthia was trying to work out how, exactly, a cyborg could glare, when she found her dress being undone, falling open to reveal her black bra and panties.

“No, you mustn’t. This is considered offensive to biological life!” she protested, but he didn’t listen. Suddenly she was afraid, less for her own safety and more that she was close to losing her shit. Diplomats had been retired from active duty for refusing to do far worse things than being bared by a cyborg. Did Mark even have a sex drive?

He slid the dress down her arms until it tumbled to the floor, then he walked behind her and examined the underwear. Something about the cold, unemotional way he went about his work seemed to fill her tummy with butterflies. What did he plan to do with her? The full reality of her situation became apparent when he slid fingers into each bra cup. His touch was surprisingly warm, and for some reason, Zanthia found that reassuring.

A second later, she heard a clipping sound, then her bra fell away. All three straps had been cut. He slid his fingers into her panties and the clipping sound happened again, then all her underwear was in shreds on the floor. She blushed furiously with the humiliation of being naked and exposed, but he wasn’t done.

He stood to the side of her and wrapped one of his big arms across her chest, stilling her. Before she made sense of the position she was in, he swatted her bottom sharply, forcing her into his other arm, which was pressed against her breasts. She gasped in shock as it hurt more than she cared to admit.

The sting quickly turned into a warm glow that made her clit come alive, and she fought hard to suppress a moan. His hand landed again several more times, filling her with the sharp, surprising sensation, which transformed into a tingling heat that penetrated her soul. Her nipples pebbled against his bracing arm. Extremely embarrassed, she tried to hide how she felt as he spoke to her.

“When I give you an instruction, you are to follow it. You are to remain naked at all times on the ship. Do you understand? Answer, “yes, daddy,” or, “no, daddy.”” His voice was still impassive, but Zanthia knew this was a warning. Would he caution her again? What would he do that was worse than baring her and spanking her bottom?

“Yes, daddy.” She stared at the floor, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

He opened the door and stood aside, saying, “I believe the custom is, ‘ladies first.’”

Zanthia held her breath as she stepped into the room. She frowned. It looked like a very advanced medical lab. There was a raised examination table in the middle of the room and some large devices rested against the metal walls. Around the sides of the examination table, restraining straps dangled ominously. The residual tingle in her bottom faded away as she considered this new information. Her stomach was suddenly full of butterflies, and it was all she could do not to show how afraid she was. Her body wanted to make her eyes pop out of her head then run far, far away in the opposite direction.

* * *

What do you think? Sign up for my newsletter for an exclusive free book and to get the newsletter-only preview of Her Cyborg Daddy!

An excerpt from Rescued by the Woodsman

So I just released a new short (long short) story, entitled Rescued by the Woodsman. It’s book one in a series called Darkholm, set in a world I’ve been hesitating over writing about for almost a year. I kept telling myself not to, because I have been categorically told there’s no market for the concept, but then this story sort of wrote itself last week, while I was in Shanghai.

I self-published Rescued by the Woodsman on Monday morning, after deliberating over expanding it out into a longer story, because it seemed to fit 12,500 words perfectly, so it’s not the right length to send to a publisher. So, instead, I made it free here on Instafreebie.

On top of that, it’s written in the same universe as my single worst-selling book to date (Sharing the Princess). There are a few things that wouldn’t work in any other story world. As well as that, the content of Rescued by the Woodsman is pretty dark, so all in all, I decided self-publishing the Darkholm series was my best plan, although it’s not the super-dark WIP that I’m currently writing; that’s also on its way. The idea for this dark fantasy series has been at the back of my mind for a while, however. I also haven’t put it on Amazon for the time being. I thought about it, and decided I’ll see how it does on Instafreebie, then I’ll maybe put it on Amazon at a later date, when the next book in the series is released. Maybe.

Sharing the Princess isn’t quite part of this series, but it’s set in another kingdom (called Dovedalethorpe. Rescued by the Woodsman, and the next book, Shared by the Beasts, take place in Darkholm) in the same world as Rescued by the Woodsman. 

Do you like the cover? I am really pleased with how it came out, although I can see that there’s room for improvement.

Here’s an excerpt, and the blurb and a free download link are both below it:

Emmett Hartley had watched the young redheaded witch as she made her daisy chain. Since he came out here regularly with his axe, he knew her by sight, although they had never spoken. Sometimes, he saw her crying, and wondered what an evil sorcerer possibly needed to cry over. Witches had killed his mother, and he had sworn if he ever saw a witch he would kill it.

He hadn’t gone near the girl yet, though. Something about her reminded him of the gazelle he hunted sometimes with his cousin Benadrin, when he visited him in the kingdom of Dovedale. The big, soulful, green eyes had the look of one who knew they were prey, and who saw the hunter’s arrow hurtling toward their heart. She never settled, even when she was occupied with a task. Then, every so often, she would pause, staring off into the distance, before dropping everything, waving a hand and teleporting away. He didn’t know how she did that. Now, he went to where she’d been playing with flowers, but all he found were the destroyed remnants of the daisy chain she’d been making.

There was a mystery there, and while she clearly used witchcraft and therefore was his mortal enemy, she was still so young. He knew that one day she would be older and stronger, and would probably kill him, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to take her life. She was barely an adult.

He sighed and ran his hand over the stubble on his square jaw, finding no useful information to explain where she went or why she’d been tearful. Instead, he occupied himself with looking for a good tree to fell.

A Will-O’-The-Wisp fluttered into his path. He paused, knowing they led people to their doom. It hovered near him, waiting. The creatures were fey folk who had been cast out, and now they scoured the world for remnants of fairy dust dropped by other fey. This one didn’t have the wild eyes or the shredded wings of the others Emmett had seen.

“Begone!” he grumbled.

It beckoned to him. He threw a stone at it. Hateful magical creatures, haranguing him in every direction. It continued to hover. When he stepped toward it, it moved away, but as soon as he returned to his task, it was back.

With a sigh, he heaved his axe over his shoulder and followed the Will-O’-The-Wisp. He’d never seen one behave like this before, and all things considered, it was probably something else under a spell or geas. This was why he detested magic. It confused everything and created mysteries where there didn’t need to be any.

He really hoped he didn’t need to kiss a frog.

Continuing after the Will-O’-The-Wisp, he found himself going into a part of the forest he’d never thought of as interesting. Everything in his brain told him to stay out, to turn back, that nothing good ever came of being here. The trees seemed mostly dead, and charred. The static stench of evil witchcraft filled his nostrils.

Adjusting his grip on his axe, he stepped through a wall of trees, and found an abandoned, ruined tower surrounded by a high fence. The Will-O’-The-Wisp wasn’t done, however, and it flew to the twisted iron gate, then reached out its tiny hand and touched it. The gate sparked for a moment, and the Will-O’-The-Wisp jumped back, as though shocked. Emmett stepped closer, and the creature flew through the opening in the gate.

Emmett followed, and frowned. The garden of the tower had looked like it was overgrown with ivy, nettles, dandelions and tall thistles from the outside. Green things. Now, however, he saw only twisted, dead roots, grasping out of the ground like hands trying to escape the underworld. He turned to the gate and pushed a stone against it, so it couldn’t close on him. Emmett had no intention of getting trapped in this place. Clearly, foul magic was afoot. Why the Will-O’-The-Wisp had brought him here, he had no idea, but this might be a nest of witches, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get another opportunity like this to strike a blow against them.

Tiptoeing around the side of the tower, which didn’t seem to have a door, he watched a wizened old man in a black robe being followed extremely reluctantly by the girl who’d made the daisy chain. He spoke some words, then indicated for the girl to sit in a chair. With a lurch of horror, Emmett realized it was a ducking chair, of the sort used for killing witches. Why did he care what one witch did to another, though? Surely it meant one fewer for him to deal with later.

“Do you have perfect trust, Eskara?” The man asked, grinning. He was pure evil, and Emmett didn’t think anyone in their right mind ought to trust him.

“Y-y-y-yes, master,” she stammered. Eskara. Her name was Eskara. Nothing about her reminded Emmett of any of the other witches he’d seen. Even the younger ones were usually arrogant, over-confident, fake-nice, and far too self-assured. But she was something else. Was she even a witch?

“Hmmm… we shall see, won’t we?” The old man spun the wooden beam around, and plunged Eskara into the water. Her terrified eyes met Emmett’s for a split second, and his heart wrenched.

What would fix this? He gripped his axe, and went toward the man quietly, ready to fight him. Apparently, the man had eyes in the back of his head, because he waved a hand and suddenly Emmett was thrown back twenty feet. Every time Emmett ran to the girl, he was thrown back again. It was impossible.

***

And here’s the blurb:

Darkholm 1: Rescued by the Woodsman:

Eskara has been enslaved to the evil warlock Garamond for the last three years, and tonight, on her eighteenth birthday, she is doomed to become a sacrifice for one of Garamond’s spells. She doesn’t want to die, but she is resigned to her fate.

Until Emmett steals her away, that is. The hot, gruff woodcutter doesn’t know why he’s drawn to the young witch, but when he sees an evil old man trying to kill her, he has to intervene. Emmett inadvertently claims Eskara, and he has to consummate before the sun goes down or they both die. But when Garamond uses his great power to steal Eskara away again, how can Emmett ensure Eskara is safe, permanently?

Note: This is a standalone M/F short story in the same universe as Sharing the Princess, but it’s darker. The bad guy is a complete bastard. This story contains much unpleasantness. If you prefer Katie’s softer writing, this one is probably not for you!

If you want to read the rest, it’s FREE and EXCLUSIVE to Instafreebie right now! Even if you’re already signed up to my newsletter, come on over and grab a free copy as a thank-you for all your support! 😘 Get it here!

The URL is here, if you want to share it: https://www.instafreebie.com/free/fatFm

The Last Rancher Will Lasso Your Heart

The Last Rancher was released into the wilderness of Amazon on Saturday. I’m so excited to share this book with you, after all my excerpts and jokes about dead bodies. For WipItUp Wednesday, here’s one final excerpt from the book, when Ember realizes how she feels during her first spanking:

“If you’re getting turned on, I clearly need to spank you harder.” He brought his hand down across my upturned cheeks again, and at that moment he might have been a world-renowned tennis player whacking the ball straight across the court to catch out his opponent. When he spanked me again, I took a sharp breath. Over the top of my stiff glutes, this was really starting to hurt.

A dozen or more of these harder strokes and tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. The emotional wreckage from the last two days suddenly exploded into the air around me as I let out all my breath in one loud scream. Loss of my entire world. Death all around me. Shame at my failures. Anger with myself and the men who brought me out here. Betrayal of my trust in the system. Fear for the future. Desperation that I had to stop the hunt. Everything mingled together while my soul tore itself open and spewed angst in every direction.

He paid no mind to the bone-chilling noise while I emptied my lungs into the room, drowning out the sound of his hand striking my bottom, until there was no more air inside me. My stomach was still clenched so it was a second or two before I took another breath, during which the only noise was him spanking me. When I was able to get more air, it came out again straight away in a strangled sob, then another, until the tears tumbled across my face.

The sting in my bottom burrowed deep into my haunches, and it uprooted all my anger, my fear, and my sadness, casting it up to the surface and letting it all evaporate, until eventually I felt nothing anymore, just the distant burning of his hand as it continued to collide with my cheeks.

I was still crying when he stopped spanking me. Long after he finished, my rear burned. He let me lie over his knee as my tears kept flowing, and eventually the negativity finished working its way out. Now, I was calm, not because I was forcing my emotions down to survive, but because they simply weren’t there. They would return, I was certain, but for now they had receded.

“That helped?” he asked.

I recognized distantly that I should be angry at him. It wasn’t normal for someone to just throw another person over their knee and spank them. But I wasn’t angry. I felt better.

I had never, in all my life, thought about someone taking me over their knee and spanking me before. Punishment didn’t exist in Novara. When people disagreed, they separated. It wasn’t common for people to talk about their feelings. Emotions were for ball games and sports bars. It was the shared elation of a home win, or the devastation of a missed touchdown. Between people, feelings weren’t aired until someone decided they’d had enough and then they broke up. I could probably count on one hand the times when one of my friends had actually told someone why it was over. Or that it was over. Most times, they just froze them out.

When the sting subsided, all that was left was the warm glow, and my calmness was replaced by an overwhelming desire to be taken by this strong man. My clit throbbed, a reminder that it wanted to be touched, and my nipples pointed out that my pussy would have to get in line. Unwilling to tell him how much I needed him right now, I startled a little when his fingers lightly trailed along my bottom and ignited little sparks of need all over my body. A moan betrayed my desire, and he chuckled at my predicament.

“Are you going to ask me, or will I make you wait?” he prompted.

I shook my head fervently and decided I was innocent until proven guilty. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retorted thickly, but my voice had dropped an octave and my lips struggled to form the words coherently.

The Last Rancher is available here on Amazon!

The beautiful book cover for The Last Rancher was designed by Korey Mae Johnson.
The beautiful book cover for The Last Rancher was designed by Korey Mae Johnson.

The Last Rancher is Nearly Here!

For WipItUp Wednesday, here’s another excerpt from The Last Rancher. This one is darker than the one I shared last week, but I hope it’s a good taste for the side of this story that’s not all cow-milking and sexytimes (you HAVE been warned lol):

 

Ember:

“Ember, do you think it’s just the Brotherhood that are involved in this?” His question surprised me.

“Regular people don’t have an interest in crap like that, they’re far too busy with football player exchanges or the latest music.” It was inconceivable that regular people would be involved in this.

All regular people?”

“Sure, I mean… that stuff’s pretty all-consuming. Even my companion-doll used to think sports were important.” I remembered her voice fondly. She had been my best friend growing up. My parents even used her as a babysitter regularly.

“Companion doll?” Hadley looked baffled. I realized he probably never got one out here.

“When I was a kid, I was sent a little talking doll. Every child got one when they turned three. I called mine Sherry. She had a touchscreen in her stomach, and she taught me to read and write, how to do a bit of math, and every day, she reminded me at the right time to do dance-along with the big purple cartoon dinosaur on the TV. Sherry would do the exercise with me so I was never lonely.” At my words, the expression on Hadley’s face grew darker. “When I got older, she used to find other robot dolls nearby to wirelessly connect to. She would always seem to connect to robots with owners who shared my exact interests. That’s how I met three of the girls on the skating team, before I joined. Sherry even had a camera in her eyes so I could make videos of my day.”

Hadley sighed. “Novara just gets more fucked up every time you open your mouth.”

“Hey! She was my best friend growing up. I guess those dolls were everyone’s best friend until they were old enough to go and meet people. I shared everything with her.” I was eager to defend her. Sherry had left me with nothing but good memories.

“Why?” His question irked me.

“She wanted to know. She asked me questions about my day, what my parents had been up to, that sort of thing.” It had been nice. She had been the only thing in my life that had ever taken an interest in how I was doing.

“Holy fuck.” He ran his hands through his hair; a sure sign he was stressing.

“What?” I didn’t understand his reaction.

“You had a talking doll that spied on you and trained you to do exercise and vetted your friends before you ever met them.”

Now it was my turn to stare at him. Bile rose in my throat and the ground seemed to sway beneath me. I shook my head. “No. That’s not fair. Not Sherry. You can’t take Sherry away from me. She was my friend!” I began to cry because I realized what he said was true.

He put his arm around me and reassured me. I just wanted one thing to be real from my whole life before I met Hadley.

“It’s going to be okay, Ember. I’m going to fix this, I promise. I’m sorry I asked. If they controlled everyone that much, I don’t think they trusted them enough to let anyone else in on what they were doing to people.”

“Hadley?” I was still sniffling. I felt so despondent.

“Yeah?”

“How can we fight a secretive boys’ club who can do that to twelve million people? There’s only two of us!” It seemed like such an impossibly huge undertaking, and we weren’t anything special. We were both honest and hardworking, neither of us were especially smart, and we didn’t fully understand everything about our opponents. They, on the other hand, were smart enough to enslave a whole city, they understood everything about both of us, they knew exactly how everything in the city worked, and they didn’t play fair.

“I don’t know, babe, but we’ll think of something.” He kissed me on the forehead and his determination warmed me a little. “I promise you, we’ll think of something.”

* * *

That’s all for this week’s, but The Last Rancher is out on Saturday, and I am fizzing with excitement to share it with everyone!! In the meantime, I made this:

Do you like this picture I made?

Lots of love,
Katie xxxx

A First Look At The Last Rancher…

Hi Guys it feels like forever since I last participated in WipItUp Wednesday, the blog hop for sharing works in progress!

This week I want to give everyone a little teaser for my upcoming futuristic dystopian western erotic romance, The Last Rancher. If you’d like to get your hands on a bigger excerpt, sign up for my newsletter here:

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScdDyIOpXzv9tEghSG8wE1euaaZINdxlEsRF03lomIlGV2MNg/viewform

Spoiler alert… there’s a longer, steamier preview going out in my very first newsletter on Friday 15th September, and it’s exclusive for newsletter subscribers, so don’t miss out!

I do not own this image, I found it on Pinterest.

This story is dark. I’ve been joking a lot on Facebook that the heroine is the only person in this book with a higher body count than the hero by the end of the first chapter. But it also has its less dark moments. Here’s one of them. After nearly being killed, Ember is trying to get back to her city to warn everyone that the city’s leaders are kidnapping women and hunting them for sport on live TV (everyone thinks the contestants for this “game show” are picked at random and just leave the city after). Hadley, however, wants to keep her safe because she’s badly injured and the city is 200 miles away, and there’s no roads any more because no-one ever leaves the city:

Ember:

The moment Hadley left the house, I went to the window and watched him. He sauntered toward a big shed, then emerged with a large bucket of something. It looked like he’d be gone for some time. I decided to seize my chance and, knotting the sheet above my breasts, I stepped outside.

Blinking in the sunlight, I looked in every direction. There was a little patch of trees opposite the porch, and beside it, there was a big wooden shed. The cowshed beside it was even larger, and there was also a huge, rusty vehicle with eight-feet-high wheels. The deflated tires were cracked and covered in green moss. Further down, I saw the first field, with a neat wooden fence and an open metal gate. Beyond, there was green grass and those stout black and white animals like the one I’d seen in the forest. In the opposite direction from where I stood, the forest pressed in on the clearing where the house was.

Everything was so big out here, and yet, the surroundings were all so short and flat. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen so much sky; it seemed to cover the entire world like a big dome, with flat-bottomed clouds floating between the sky and the fields. When I breathed the air, it seemed softer, and filled my lungs more than I’d ever experienced before. I never expected the countryside to be so nice. On the TV, they always showed it as a vast wilderness where only the few remaining species of wild animals lived. It was beautiful, and I wished I could stay here and take my fill of the natural beauty. Would I ever tire of it?

It smelled so strongly of things, too. I only had to walk a few steps to sniff something different. There was the food scent from the kitchen, the horrible bathroom-like stink coming from one of the sheds, a creamy scent from another shed, the smell of petrol from the enormous rusty vehicle, and a sort of woody odor from the forest. I couldn’t even recognize some of the other things my nose had discovered.

It would be amazing to run through the open fields, toward the distant blue mountains. Before today, I’d only seen such things on the TV. If there wasn’t such an important reason to get home quickly, this would be a tranquil place to be. Unless I warned everyone about what The Brotherhood were doing, though, they would hunt someone else down soon. They ruled the city, maybe even the continent, and they weren’t worthy of that.

I remembered my cousin with another stab of fury. No-one else should have to go through what she and I went through, and no-one else should have to die like that. Those men were so evil. I was still more than a little horrified by the fact I’d killed them, but there had been no-other choice, and part of me was disturbed by the fact I didn’t feel as bad as I ought to about what I’d done.

All over, my body ached, and pain seared across my wounds. Tuning out the soreness and the anguish, I watched Hadley walk across the field with his bucket. When I turned to go in the opposite direction, I realized I wasn’t sure which way the city was. Ploughing on anyway, I shakily climbed the fence toward the forest and tried to run, but my limbs wouldn’t do what I wanted them to. My legs were still too stiff to take my weight at that speed. When my left knee buckled, I stumbled, crashing loudly onto a fallen tree branch which cracked with an ominous snapping sound.

Not to be deterred, I scrambled to my feet and continued moving. I traveled about two hundred yards from the house before something wrapped around my arms, between my elbows and, on one side, the gauze covering a bullet graze. Constricting my body, it tightened around me; at first, I thought it was a snake, as I’d seen plenty of movies where snakes did this to people.

Looking down, I saw a rope. I tried to struggle out of it, but some pressure was steadily pulling me backwards. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Hadley holding the other end of the rope. Patiently but firmly, he reeled me in.

“Never lassoed a lady before,” he told me with a twinkle in his eye. I didn’t know why he looked so amused, there was nothing funny about this. I glared at him and tried again to free myself.

“Get the fuck off me! I have to get back. Don’t you understand? I have to!”

“Nope.” He stood his ground.

Heaving on the rope with all my might, all I succeeded in doing was unbalancing myself. I landed unceremoniously on my bottom and felt my face getting hot. It was mortifying.

Hadley held out a hand for me to take. I shook my head and got up by myself.

“Such a gentleman,” I grumbled sarcastically.

“Suit yourself. You’re still coming with me. Will you walk, or do I have to carry you?”

“Go and fuck yourself,” I growled, wanting him to understand that he was getting in the way of me doing something really important. The lasso had been humiliating, and I was now in a thoroughly bad mood and ready to go thermonuclear on his ass.

“I’d much rather fuck a pretty young lady such as yourself, but what’s that got to do with getting your pert butt back to my ranch?” He was acting like I hadn’t explained this problem enough already, or maybe he just didn’t care.

He was still so unflustered, it was infuriating. I growled and tried to get out of the rope again. He tutted and shook his head. When he stepped forward, I lashed out at him with my semi-restrained arms. I had been so close to escaping that the disappointment burned at the back of my throat as he hoisted me in a fireman’s lift, still lassoed. He wrapped the spare rope around his left shoulder and ambled back to the ranch as if he wasn’t carrying a one-hundred-twenty-pound woman in his right arm.

My legs would barely obey me, but still I kicked them, fighting against him with everything I had. It was pathetic that I lacked the energy or strength to fight him off, and every time I tried, pain surged through my wounds and stiff muscles. He swatted my ass several times, hard, filling my body with a searing fire. It was similar to the incredibly delicious sensation that made my muscles tingle when I got a second wind after I thought I had run as hard as I could. My sore glutes gave up and I accepted that he was in control for the time being.

* * *

 Now, what might a strong rancher do with a naughty city girl who won’t listen to old-fashioned good sense? Hmm… I wonder… Actually, I know exactly what comes next and it took a lot of self-control not to post the next 2000 words or so here, because OMG I’m just itching to share this story with you all!!

Lots of love,
Katie xxxx

A Little Update :(

Stormy Night Publications are having a 5th Anniversary Giveaway of over 40 books, including Her Daddy and Her Master, which is available here (you may have to scroll). Sadly, Instafreebie won’t let me download any of their books from where I am, so this came three days too late for me to get any free books.

We arrived in China last Saturday. Since then, we’ve been trying to get everything set up for living here but mostly got railroaded by my husband’s new job, which comes with a huge gamut of mandatory social engagements.

I got offered a job as a librarian based on a random conversation one evening, and started working a couple of days later.

My husband’s job is pretty intense, which we knew it would be, and my job involves some on-call work because I got employed based on my tech skills.

The main problem with moving here has been this: I knew it was going to be the arse end of the world, but everything’s so much harder to do and some really simple things are impossible.

My YouTube channel, for example, has had to go on hold because I can access their search page, but I can’t access my own channel to manage my videos or upload new ones. Sorry.

The new time difference makes it EVEN MORE difficult to be online when everyone else is, because the Internet in China frequently goes down in the afternoon/evening due to so many people being online. Many sites in China are blocked by their government and free speech is heavily censored. Even using means to get around the Great Firewall of China, so many websites are precious (yes, including some of the places hosting author websites), and won’t let me access their sites because they’re racist or xenophobic something. Luckily my site is self-hosted so I can still get to it.

Then there’s the problem with mailing lists compiled through MailerLite, who won’t let me view their site at all or unsubscribe from people’s mailing lists. Not only can I not use their site to manage/design my own mailing list (which I was sorta counting on), but I also get all these emails I can’t read from authors about new releases I can’t buy (I suspect I’m also not receiving a bunch of emails because I was signed up for some ARCs that never materialized; not that I can download them any more since Instafreebie won’t let me get books from them).

So I’m using MailChimp for my own mailing list and am extremely glad that SNP does their own emails because I can still get the free serialized novels. If you sign up for their big Instafreebie giveaway, you can access this stuff too!

Amazon China doesn’t sell any books with even slightly racy content and anyway, I can’t buy any Kindle books from any Amazon site, because the billing address for my card no longer matches with a country where I could buy books. Amazon is really precious about who can buy Kindle books from which sites, which you might not know if you’re American and used to being able to buy books from every buy link you see. If I get my card and Kindle account relocated elsewhere, I won’t be able to access all my old Kindle books from UK Amazon.

Mostly, though, I’ve been feeling a bit depressed the past few days. I don’t know if it’s because the sun has gone in (this is the rainy season but it’s not really rained much… thanks global warming), or something to do with jet lag, or because the full reality of my situation has finally sunk in, but my mood plummeted quickly since Friday when I was quite happy. I literally have no energy to do anything today and I just want to go back to bed and cry.

I’m living in a foreign country with no local currency or means of getting any. I’m working here without a visa so I won’t even get my own salary paid to me. I still don’t have a tax identifier for my writing, and without it, I will eventually have to stop writing. I miss my rabbits. The food is hit and miss. There’s no chocolate here and crisps come in weird flavors like squid (you can also get fried squid flavor. I don’t really care to find out if its different, I’m still not eating it). They have things that look like donuts but they’re chewy and I’ve eaten sweeter bagels than these “donuts”. I’ve only been to a shop once, however, since I got here, because we’re in a ginormous industrial district. I don’t know how to get to an ATM to get money out because virtually nowhere accepts western cards and banks don’t have ATMs. And, after making the decision 2 years ago that it was in the best interest of my mental health to not have an in-person sort of job ever again, I went and took a job. Admittedly, it’s an interesting job, but it comes with a raft of regular overtime work. So I now feel very pressured and after a week of all this, it’s really getting me down.

It’s also not helping that I can’t use Facebook Messenger very easily and sometimes Facebook itself doesn’t load at all, and people don’t like writing emails. So I’m now getting left out of 90% of the conversations I was previously a part of. 🙁 Thanks, guys.

Also, my phone hasn’t worked since I got here and I can’t talk to anyone I knew IRL in the UK, including the person who has my rabbits. I got given a new sim card for China Mobile but I don’t know how to set up the payments for it, because I don’t have a Chinese bank account, so it doesn’t work either.

Then there was the saga with the washing machine which I detailed on Facebook. That got me down a lot.

I sent back the edited version of the Last Rancher this weekend and I was filling out the cover form when I realized it was fundamentally pointless trying to give the amount of detail I usually provide. 4-6 hours of work gathering images etc has become 12+ hours. For every book. I just don’t feel like I’m listened to so it’s not worth it. In fact, a lot of the times I try to help people are completely wasted because no-one listens to me until something goes so badly wrong that it’s a ballache to fix. And sometimes not even then. I guess this was the work-from-home version of that time I just got up and walked out of my job.

I finished another project this weekend, too. Now I only have one more project to finish of the ones people were expecting and which had deadlines, then I can… do what? Tick off the empty days stretching before me as they fill up with doing stuff for other people, while I get further away from the things I wanted to do. None of my story planning is working out at the moment, I’m getting about 30% through each of the books I need to plan, and thinking, ‘now what?’ then changing to something else. I just can’t see the shape they should be right now, if that makes sense.

I feel like I’m constantly wrapped up in this cellophane of obligations for other people, constantly trying to break through it to reach out and touch the things I wanted to do, and every time I tear a hole in the cellophane, a new layer gets wrapped around me.

I should be happy. A lot of things are still going to plan with my writing, and yet, I actually feel like a large chapter in my life is closing before I’m ready for it to go. I feel like something inside me is tearing apart, and I’m not sure I actually want to write any more. I’m not sure I want to do anything. I hate getting hit in the face with depression.

A Brutally Honest Review of Brutally Honest Review

We need to talk about a site called “Brutally Honest Review.” To be brutally honest, they’re brutal, but not that honest. I also want to talk about trash-reviews in general. It’s a misconception that every piece of negative criticism is accurate, and they’re trying to cash in on the fact that people love drama and negativity. I love my reviewers and my editors, and I treasure their constructive criticism even when I don’t want to hear it, but this website’s MO is ridiculous.

who reviews the reviewers meme

This website gets its jollies from tearing down other authors. Unfortunately, anyone can start a website and attempt to establish authority by reviewing books. Their criticism is mostly unconstructive, and they copy-and-paste sections of reviews. It’s like they only know three things to complain about, but they keep reiterating them like the apocryphal loudly rattling empty can. My book got off lightly compared to other people’s, and perhaps I should be glad of that. Generally, I don’t dignify shitty reviews with a response because I’m too lazy to care, but when I saw the reviews they had given to two of the best authors I know, I decided this was worth talking about. I’m a Gryffindor at heart, and it gets me into all sorts of trouble. Hold onto your knickers, because I give as good as I get.

This website is a scam. First off, their whole schtick is someone’s idea of a clever affiliate marketing business concept. There are so many websites out there which make bread-and-butter from mindlessly giving five star reviews to every book that comes their way, so why not go in the opposite direction? One star virtually everything! That’ll get readers. I would imagine most of their site’s hits come from the authors whose books they reviewed. I’m not linking to them here because I don’t want to improve their Google Page Rank (how high they come in search results; determined by how many people link to their site from other sites).

Something I never talk about on my author site is the fact I also run a successful beauty blog that uses Amazon Associates, a special Amazon scheme that lets you make a commission from pointing readers in the direction of products that you recommend. Beauty blogging is sorta like authoring only with a lot of fake-nice and more cutthroat bitchyness. It’s also highly competitive and oversaturated. To stand out in beauty blogging you have to work hard. It took me 2 years to get my blog to where it’s currently at, and most people quit beauty blogging after the first month, very few last more than 6 months. It’s not easy and making money off it is nearly impossible.

“I hate beauty products” is a concept that newbie, inexperienced beauty bloggers occasionally come up with. “I hate beauty so much, but everyone always tells me how beautiful I am, so I’m going to deign to tell you all about beauty. It’s such a chore. Sponsor me on Patreon or send me free products to review!!!” Funnily enough, they fail to understand that their biggest audience base are other beauty bloggers, and that by pissing them off,  and by dismissing the most important thing in most beauty bloggers’ lives, they’re dooming their business to fail.

This is exactly what Brutally Honest Book Review is doing. There are lots of websites like it out there. They also offer a manuscript appraisal service and, perhaps I’m cynical, but I would suspect that any glowing reviews on their website are written for authors who paid to use their services. It’s interesting that someone can put themselves in a position where they think they can establish authority by alienating any and all of their potential customer base. It’s a shame, because I’m always looking for ways to improve my writing and I work damn hard to make each book better than the last, but this person doesn’t know what they’re talking about when it came to other people’s books I’ve read.

A lot of their criticism seems to center around things that erotic romance readers don’t actually want. High plot tension is a no-no in sweet/light erotic romance Over-complicated plot is also a faux pas. They fail to understand the difference between light and dark ER, and how the tension and emotional journey of the reader are different in both cases. If they don’t understand that, how can they accurately appraise a manuscript?

From an educator’s point of view, it’s also bad teaching practice to critique something in such a destructive manner, without providing anything constructive, particularly when phrases of their reviews are simply copied and pasted. In particular, I don’t think publicly shaming people is the way to encourage customers to get their manuscripts appraised. I suspect that they trash-review books as padding for their otherwise dull website, because they don’t have enough people paying them for a manuscript appraisal, so they don’t have enough books to say nice things about. Also, when you’ve registered the name “brutally honest review . com” I would imagine that compels you to not see the positive in anything.

Tony Robbins has an interesting object lesson in this. He tells clients, “Look out of your window and pay attention to every single brown thing you can see. Really focus on all of the brown.” Then, a minute or two later, he asks people to name all the red things they saw. When you only look for brown, that’s what you see, to the exclusion of all else.

After reading their reviews of other people’s books (books I have read and enjoyed) I certainly won’t be sending them my work. Not that I need to, when I have a fantastic group of people around me who tell it like it is, and who don’t go out of their way to bring me down. I have three books currently in the bestseller charts, and one of my books has been in the top 5 on UK Amazon for 3 months. I wrote a number 1 bestseller in May. I’m not trying to be arrogant, I’m trying to explain why I don’t trust this reviewer’s opinion. They’re out of touch with what readers want and they don’t understand the erotic romance audience. And that doesn’t make me trust them to accurately appraise my manuscript with commercial acumen.

One particular thing they seem confused about is that they apply very over-simplified literary criticism (the sort reserved for undergrad essays on works such as The Great Gatsby, Ulysses, and Kafka) to genre fiction. It is incredibly rare for literary criticism to be a useful tool when reviewing erotic romance. I reviewed The Wild yesterday (the book that got banned from Amazon and Smashwords), and I remarked on how extremely unusual it is that literary criticism works for erotic romance. Of all the books I’ve ever reviewed, The Wild is the only one I’ve applied any heavy literary criticism to. Literary criticism is for the next Great American Novel. You know what doesn’t sell? The next Great American Novel. You know why? Most people don’t like it.

Here’s why: When you’re doing your weekly grocery shopping, are you more likely to buy orange juice and cheese or caviar and lobster? Even if those things were cheaper, would you want to eat them all the time? I wouldn’t. Give me the orange juice! And I’m okay with the fact that I usually write orange juice. I love it, in fact. It’s what I want to do. I want to write the best damn orange juice in town. I’d much rather write orange juice than caviar, because orange juice brings joy and happiness to so many more people, and nourishes their heart in a way those books with “layered, too-broken” type characters (who don’t have sex because it interferes with all the existential ennui) never will. These sort of reviews are as silly as someone complaining that orange juice doesn’t taste like caviar. If they want caviar, they’re in the wrong aisle of the supermarket. Orange juice sells more because it’s what people want. Even people who do enjoy caviar probably drink more orange juice than they eat caviar.

You know who I trust to know whether I’ve written something good? My publisher. It’s in their best interests to publish work that sells, and I know they’ll always tell me if I’ve written something that’s below par, and they’ll offer me constructive suggestions on how to improve it. My fantastic editors Jamie Miles and James Johnson at Stormy Night Publications have worked with me to develop and improve my books into the bestsellers that they are. My second book? They turned it down. It hurt like hell at the time because I really believed in that story. But that tells me they have high standards that are specific to erotic romance, and I trust their opinion.

Interestingly, “Brutally Honest Book Review” also provide Amazon affiliate links for every book they pour hate upon. They get a commission on anything you buy within 24 hours of clicking an Amazon link on their site. I’ve worked with Amazon Associates for long enough to know what those affiliate links look like. When I dislike a beauty product, and feel compelled to write a bad review (which I do when it’s true), I don’t provide a buy link, unless I feel people need to see the thing I’m talking about (placenta face masks, for example… that fell into the ‘OMG look at this gross thing’ category), at which point, if I hated a product or never tried it, I provide a non-affiliate Amazon link. This is because I want buyers to know that I only want to make a commission by helping them find something they will like, which I believe in, and which is worth selling.

Steve Jobs said “don’t sell crap” and that’s my entire philosophy both with authoring and beauty blogging, and when I worked for Avon that was my philosophy too. People trust me, buy from me, and work with me because I don’t abuse that trust. If you 1-star hate a book, why would you then try to sell it to people? The entire site is a money-making scam, and if I wanted a manuscript appraisal outside of my bubble, I’d rather get in touch with any of the amazing editors I’ve met on Facebook, because I’ve seen the books they’ve edited, and I know that they know what they’re talking about, than this vitriolic person who fundamentally doesn’t understand or seem to enjoy erotic romance.

The thing that gets me the most about intentionally bad reviews is that they negatively impact on good authors, and I’ve seen this before when I used to work in entertainment (yeah, all the bitchy games in the author world are NOTHING compared to working in the commercial entertainment industry). When reviewers, ticket holders, directors or stage managers treat performers like a mindless object with no feelings (and no need for sleep), it can leave performers at the point where they can’t actually perform any more. It breaks my heart to watch this happening to people and I hate that some people feel the need to hurt people like this. I suspect some people simply revel in doing this to other human beings. I would argue that those of us writing BDSM erotic romance get it more than other people, as I have a hunch that a lot of people make the assumption that we’re fair game because we write submissive women. Of course, fundamentally not understanding BDSM or spanking is not becoming in a reviewer of BDSM erotic spanking romance. Yes, that was a bastardization of a Gor quote. Sorry, couldn’t help myself.

Authors, like performers, are necessarily more sensitive than other people, because to produce an authentic experience, we plunge into the entire spectrum of human emotions. If we don’t know how our characters will react to a situation, how can we write that? With the exception of people who have learned about human behavioural patterns such as psychologists, we have to empathize and emote with our characters. That makes us a little more sensitive to criticism, especially when we put our heart and soul into a book.

Some of my books get 1 star reviews and I don’t even care. It’s a fair cop. I learn to write as I go along, because I learn from doing. Other books get 3 star reviews and I’m ready to stab someone. Sometimes, I care too much about my work. I have to, to write better books. I take valid criticism on board, especially when it comes from my readers and from readers of other erotic spanking romance books, but I don’t see a problem with venting about ridiculous reviews because otherwise they fester. Not everyone who reads a book is qualified to write about it, even people who also write books or appraise manuscripts. Anyone can set up that as a business without needing qualifications or professional accreditation. Full disclosure: I haven’t taken an English class since I was sixteen.

My verdict on Brutally Honest Review? One star. Would not recommend. It’s a worse business model than the authors with fake Amazon accounts who dump shitty reviews on good books (waves at the haters at the back). If they want to do better, they should take a good hard look at their intended audience and adjust their business practice accordingly, potentially registering a grammatically correct domain name whilst they’re at it. Pissing off your client base isn’t the way to build a business.

That’s the end of my ranty clapback. I said it all because it needed saying and honestly I wouldn’t have cared if Brutally Honest Review hadn’t shat upon good authors I know. Imma stop bitching now and go back to adoring puppies and unicorns and stuff.

Now for a palate cleanser courtesy of Britney and Taylor Swift:

Once again, huge shoutout to all the people who provide useful criticism of my work, like my ARC readers and Jamie Miles and James Johnson at Stormy Night Publications!*

Lots of love,
Katie xxxx

*Disclaimer: All thoughts in this opinion piece are my own and have no endorsement from my publishers.

Katie Douglas Reviews The Wild by K Webster

After all the playground-like rumors, this book is not what you think, and it’s not what I expected. I bumped this to the top of my reading list because I thought I was going to want to delete it from my Kindle for iPhone after I finished it.

I want to try and keep this review as spoiler free as possible but there’s things in here that might lead you to guess what happens in the book. The biggest spoiler I have shared is on a separate webpage that I’ve linked to in this review. It’s still not the full story. So if you currently fully intend to read this book, go read it (you can get it here) first or instead of this review. But promise me something. Finish it. If you start this book, you have to finish it or you will be left with the wrong idea. Anyone who 1-star reviewed this book and didn’t actually finish it doesn’t know what they’re talking about. If you don’t plan to read the book, or you’re unsure, read the rest of my review. Especially if you’re one of the people who heard all the rumors about what’s in this book.

The Wild K Webster review

There’s some things that color my review, and if you’re American (or not me) you might feel differently about those same details in the book. The legal age of consent in my country is 16. I left school at 16. At the time, that was pretty normal. I went back again later, but post-16 education was the exception rather than the rule. In working class Scotland, you’re basically an adult at 16. 16 for us is 18 for Americans. Linguistically, “woman” refers to anyone over 16 in Scotland. We drink at 18, not 21, btw. If you’re brainy and go to university straight from school, you usually start at 17 not 18 (although you *can* start at 18 with the English qualifications, which are different to Scottish ones, and then you often skip the first year of uni). Everything’s different here. So the main character being 17? Wasn’t weird. She was well over our age of consent and I didn’t have a problem with that. Hell, most of the women I knew from school were a long way into their second single-parent pregnancy by 17, and on the waiting list for a bigger council house. If this book had BDSM in it, I’d feel differently, because I draw the line (in the sand) at 18 for BDSM. There’s probably all sorts of arguments that can be had about that, but at the end of the day BDSM requires a higher level of emotional maturity than regular sex, and BDSM is something a lot of much older people can’t cope with.

The second thing that colored my judgement is I’m at heart, an anthropologist (I missed my true calling in life because I’m never going to train/work as an anthropologist), and when they’re presented properly, other lifeways fascinate me.

Third, I never met my father until I was 16, he died when I was 27, and my mother (died the same year) was generally out of her head for one reason or another. I have no concept of what it would be like to have a male parent who you live your whole life with, let alone what a father’s love looks like to a child, or how that transitions into how people relate to their adult children; I only know it by its absence and by what I used to wonder about what it would be like to have a dad.

Last, I withheld judgement until I’d read the entire book. And, if you choose to read this book, so should you. This book is not for the narrow-minded.

When I picked up this book I didn’t know what was in it. Normally, I won’t read the specific things it seemed to be heading towards. However, this wasn’t written like an erotic fiction, and I personally didn’t find the sex scenes sexy (it didn’t have any BDSM to speak of; there was 1 spanking scene and it wasn’t framed in BDSM. Vanilla sex doesn’t do it for me at all). I think I was more interested in the way this relationship developed. This book strongly reminded me of Berkoff’s Kafka plays, Sophocles’ Elektra/Oedipus, and other dramatic works that only the graphic novels by Alan Moore and Warren Ellis have ever rivalled for me. Unvarnished reality of human nature, catharsis, that sort of thing. Not something I regularly find in romantic fiction and not something I necessarily often want to read but I occasionally like being stretched. I hate quoting from my own books but I think this quote from His Little Earthling kinda sums up how I feel about books like The Wild:

“…reading the book was like being hit in the face with a door[…]for some reason, she’d really enjoyed reading his story anyway.”

See, on one hand, it seems like you’re reading a story about a man who is willing to risk everything for love (like, even more everything than everything) and outside the cultural norms of our society that’s kinda sweet. And on the other hand you’ve got the internal destruction of a man who knows that what he’s doing is wrong.

Or does he?

And at the same time you’ve got this willing Lolita character who drives forward the story and single-mindedly goes after what she wants, consequences be damned. And she definitely fully believes that this isn’t right. My brain constantly shut down during the sex scenes and I sorta skimmed over them. I couldn’t quite reconcile the discord between what was happening on the page and my own feelings about people doing that.

There’s a type of BDSM scene that I tend not to partake in because it’s so hard to get it right. It’s called a “mind fuck” and usually it means that the dominant does something to make the submissive think/feel differently towards something than they would if they were in possession of all the facts. That’s what this book does. Very well. The last time I read a book which used information and character truths like this was Jodi Picoult’s Her Sister’s Keeper. See also: That’s not an erotic romance. But it left me with the same feeling at the big moment.

I also liked the author’s use of tension. This book had me turning the pages from page 1 and I stayed up late last night to finish reading it. I am going to have to go over specific scenes and pay more attention to how the tension was done because it wasn’t too tight (I hate when things are too tense with no payoff) but it was tight enough to keep the story moving. I wanted to know what would happen next, even when I didn’t want to look to find out what would happen next.

The other thing about this book is that it really sticks two fingers up at the pseudo-incest genre of erotica/erotic romance and draws attention to its hypocrisy. I don’t want to kink-shame, but I don’t find incest or pseudo-incest remotely sexy. I’ve never been a fan of all that, “No, wait, it’s okay, she’s my stepdaughter” stuff. Call an apple an apple. I’ve always been very uncomfortable with stories like that. I don’t like the way they try so hard to pretend it’s normal, and they never actually stand up and address the fact that they’re depicting a relationship between relations that, okay, aren’t blood relations, but are still relations. They justify it with meaningless titles that don’t actually settle it. I mean, for me personally, it’s too weird to imagine having sex with someone who fucked my mother. From the other side, I couldn’t imagine being in a three way with a mother and a daughter, either. It’s just goes beyond my limits. I think that’s what gets me more than anything about pseudo-incest or incest. I’m happy with the caregiver/little dynamic between consenting unrelated adults, but not double dipping. Why is that seen as okay culturally but some meaningless DNA thing suddenly makes that SAME situation unacceptable? I don’t think it’s okay to dress incest up and deny it and pretend that it’s not what it is, and there’s a whole subgenre of erotic fiction that does exactly that, and those pseudo-incest ones are really trying very hard to sexualise that relationship. And let’s be fair, “she’s 18” is often secret erotica code for, “she’s not 18” in many of those same stories.

Like, culturally, it’s okay to have sex with some guy who sexed your mom and who you lived your whole life with, because he’s your stepfather, but it’s not okay if their sperm made you. It’s a huge double standard. And The Wild seriously does tell this whole double standard to go fuck itself in the most beautiful way. These are things I’d never really thought about particularly deeply until I read this book, and I feel like I’ve gained an understanding of one of humanity’s nuances from reading it.

This book went the complete opposite way to those pseudo-incest books. It never even tried to pretend this was okay or normal, and I liked that it grabbed the main issue by the balls and squeezed. I think it’s an absolute joke that Amazon and Smashwords banned this book, especially when (spoiler that will ruin this whole book if you ever planned to read it).

See? This book is less risque and less taboo than A Song Of Ice and Fire (or Gor, there’s sex with a 14 year old in at least one of those books) but because it’s an erotic romance and because there’s no disclaimer at the beginning of The Wild explaining something that would spoil the whole book (and let’s be fair, the author is probably quietly reveling in the notoriety that this book had to go underground and free speech ‘n’ stuff), it got banned.

I don’t feel like this is so much of a free speech issue because what she wrote wasn’t actually as bad as it could have been, especially if you see the spoiler above. I mean, it’s sorta a free speech issue because the book was silenced before anyone could know the full story. More than that, it’s an issue to do with how books are marketed and how ebook authors are unfairly held to a higher standard than print authors. And that’s what I take issue with. Incest and underage sex SHOULDN’T be on Amazon according to their own rules. But they are on Amazon. They’re everywhere. Paedophilia? George R.R. Martin. Incest? George R.R. Martin. Rape? George R.R. Martin. The Wild is pretty tame by comparison. But that’s okay because GRRM’s a “real” author and we’re not. Westeros is a fantasy world and the middle of nowhere in Alaska, a place most people haven’t been, is somehow more real. Careful, people might start re-enacting this shit. That’s what Amazon seems to be saying by its actions.

By continually policing an arbitrary line between traditionally published and indie authors, they are reinforcing the idea that ebooks are not real books and that romance authors (mostly women) aren’t real authors and that we have to follow a tighter set of rules because we’re somehow less responsible than men. But, y’know, being mostly women, we’re all pretty used to double standards in what we can do versus what non-women can do, right?

Another wider issue that The Wild throws up is the fundamental meaninglessness of some trigger warnings. I have PTSD, so I know what it’s like to be triggered, to not be able to get something out of your head for days on end and to feel like you’ll never get far enough away from the thing you’re running from. Because it’s everywhere. I don’t think overly-specific trigger warnings are actually useful. They can end up being a ridiculous spoiler-laden laundry list that ruins the book for other people. I like trigger warnings to be vague, something that says, “If you only like soft fluffy stuff this is not for you,” or, “If you like it hard and scary, this is for you.” But The Wild sorta stuck its finger up at that and used the trigger warning as more of a challenge. The starting assumption was that you wouldn’t want to read this book because of all the stuff. I think it mostly delivered on that, but it didn’t necessarily go as far as I thought it would. I didn’t expect to finish this book but I did.

So overall, I did like this book, it was well-written and thought-provoking in a number of ways, and I liked the fact that it called out the entire pseudo-incest subgenre very eloquently. But I didn’t find it sexy, and the fact it got banned by Amazon AND Smashwords is kinda confusing and nothing short of hypocritical compared to some books. I’m glad this book exists.

Tl;dr: If you start The Wild you have to finish it. Don’t believe ANY reviews that didn’t read the entire book. They are not in possession of all the facts.

A Strapping Excerpt from Reformed by the Scotsman!

It’s WIP it up Wednesday, the blog hop where we share works in progress or recently published! Here’s my contribution:

My latest story, Reformed by the Scotsman, came out on Saturday, and I’ve got another exciting excerpt for you here. It’s the morning after Adeline breaks a window (and cuts her hand on broken glass) trying to escape from Edward’s house in Edinburgh.

Beautiful cover art by Korey Mae Johnson.

***

After breakfast, Edward took Adeline into the drawing room and bade her stand before his desk.

“Do you know why you are being punished?” he prompted. It was bloody obvious, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Yes. I damaged your window while I was trying to leave. I’m awfully sorry, you know.”

It was impossible to repress his laughter that time. “The bally idea that I gave a hoot about the pane of glass! You are being punished because you paid no mind to your own safety, both in breaking the glass and in attempting to climb out of a second floor window. Are you aware of the height of the ceilings in this house? They are fifteen feet! Including the height from the floor to the windowledge in the guestroom, that’s a thirty-three-foot drop to the ground. Do you know what happens if you fall from that height onto hard pavement?”

She shook her head.

“You would quite probably die.” He let that sink in. “Bend over my desk, I am going to use the tawse. It seemed to be moderately effective yesterday; I think you just need more of it.”

To his surprise, she got into the prescribed position without any argument, and once she was there, it was a simple matter to fold back the silk chemise before he slid her knickers down. She had a lovely, heart-shaped bottom, with cute dimples at the top.

He would love to spend hours caressing that delightful rear, teasing the white skin, and gently swatting her sit spots until she was writhing with desire and begging him to fill her with his manhood. He was already growing hard from considering the things he’d like to do with her while she was in this position.

Not today, however. Today was about her dangerous behavior. He picked up the two-tailed leather strap and walked around behind her. He lined it up on her bottom then drew it back and smartly spanked her sit-spot with a loud crack.

She drew a breath and he was pleased that her bottom seemed to take on a red stripe almost immediately. She was so resistant to showing him when she was in pain, but he saw her adamantly fighting her own responses. The swat had undoubtedly taken effect. He slowly counted to ten in his head, then brought the tawse down on her cheeks once more. She uttered a slight moan then stifled it. If he were to get past her pride so he might change her without breaking her, she was going to require careful handling.

Barely counting to three, he landed the tawse slightly above the last stroke, and she issued a strangled cry. He suspected that, in her case, there was a very fine line between what would be effective in improving her behavior and what would be too extreme, but eight strokes would suffice this time, he decided, as he aimed the fourth one over the crest of her buttocks, then waited again as she began to breathe more heavily. He heard the effort it was taking for her to stop herself from making a fuss, and decided now was a good time for a change of pace.

The next two were spaced out, slow, and he had time to appreciate the sight before him. Her glowing bottom had taken on a delightful shade of pink, contrasting wonderfully with her pale skin above and beneath. Between her legs, he eyed the little line, like a split peach, where her sex stood out between her sparse blonde fur. It seemed to glisten slightly with her juices, and he felt his own arousal rising harder as he contemplated her, positioned over his desk like this.

“Punishment becomes you,” he murmured, then brought the tawse down once more. She yelped this time, and again at the last stroke. He left her over his desk for a moment. He was pleased that she was responding to this treatment; yesterday she would have been trying to run away by this point in her correction.

***

And if you want to know more, you can get the book here

Lots of love,
Katie xxxx

Reformed by the Scotsman is Out Now!

I am super-duper-loop-the-looper-ally-ooper excited to announce that Reformed by the Scotsman is out now!
Here’s the beautiful cover by Korey Mae Johnson:

Here’s the blurb:
When her scandalous behavior finally forces her wealthy parents to take drastic action, twenty-two-year-old Adeline Hawthorne is sent to Edinburgh to live in the home of her father’s friend Edward Wolstanton. The stern Scotsman is tasked with correcting the recalcitrant young lady by any means necessary, and it isn’t long before Adeline is taken over Edward’s knee for a painful, embarrassing spanking.

Though she quickly discovers that her new guardian will not hesitate to punish her as thoroughly and shamefully as he sees fit–even stripping her completely and applying a leather tawse to her bare bottom when she attempts to escape his custody–Edward’s firm-handed dominance arouses Adeline deeply. She soon finds herself wondering what it would be like to have such a man as her husband, but will he ever see her as more than a wayward girl in need of reform?

Publisher’s Note: Reformed by the Scotsman includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

You can find it here on Amazon.com or here on Amazon.co.uk