Meeting Her Match

Here, then, is a bit of lowdown on my newest release, Meeting Her Match, which is currently available from the Xcite books website (with free downloadable teaser chapter) pending wider distribution.

This is an erotic novel about Cherry, a music teacher at an inner-city comprehensive school who takes the plunge and decides – despite some misgivings – to explore her interest in BDSM. What I wanted to do with this book – apart from turn people on – was think about the point of intersection between public and private life. I don’t want to pontificate on the subject here – it’s covered in the story- but it’s an issue that has troubled me for most of my adult life and I thought it was worth discussing.

But, that aside, it’s also full of kinky goodness. Here’s an excerpt for you:

“That’s a lovely bottom you have there,” he commented, moving up behind me. “No, don’t let go of the skirt.” He put a hand on my lacy cheeks and rubbed them slowly up and down. I let out a tiny moan, bending my spine infinitesimally forward to give him optimum access, hoping for a quick dip between my legs. “And one that needs a lot of attention, I think.”

He removed his hands and sat down in my armchair.

“Now put your lovely bottom over my knee, Cherry, where it belongs.”

Christ, I was more turned on than I’d ever expected to be outside my horniest fantasies. For a dizzying moment, I thought that this was worth any risk, even though my rational mind knew that only a brain-dead, sex-crazed zombie would entertain that thought.

I drooped over his lap, trying to work out how to get over it in the most dignified manner, though God knows what any remnants of dignity were doing in my fevered brain at that point. Unable to compute logistics, I kind of threw myself across the middle section of his thighs, kicking my legs in the air until he smacked them down so my toes brushed the carpet.

“Now, think about where you are,” he said softly, his hand renewing its hypnotic circular pattern across my exposed bum cheeks. “Take a moment for the full humiliating reality of your position to sink in. Where are you, Cherry?”

I clenched my thighs, his low, authoritative voice tickling the space between them like a sonic vibrator. I wished I’d had more to drink. It would have made the verbal aspect of this scenario so much easier.

“I’m over your knee.”

“That’s right. But you missed a bit, Cherry. An important little word.” His palm hovered dangerously over my rear curves.

“I’m over your damn knee?” I hazarded, with an irrepressible snort. Oh dear. It seemed I was discovering a hitherto-unknown minxy side of myself.

The smack was swift and remorseless. I yelped, quivering beneath his hand.

“I’m surprised at you, young lady,” he told me. “I see I’m going to have to deal with you quite thoroughly. No, the missing word you are looking for is ‘Sir’. Now, repeat the sentence for me, Cherry.”

I couldn’t say it in my natural voice. It came out in a sort of sing-song comedy Deep Southern drawl.

“I’m over your knee, Sirrrr.”

“That’s right, but who is this fugitive from the Grand Ole Opry I seem to have acquired? Where is Cherry?”

I humphed and tried to kick a leg, but he secured it with a well-placed foot, waiting, hand poised.

“I’m over your knee, Sir,” I ground out, a mite sulkily.

“Much better, Cherry. I think we’re in for a long session at this rate. Now, I need you to tell me why you think you are over my knee?”

My God, this man must have had forebears in the Spanish Inquisition. Stuart was not a particularly Spanish name though. Perhaps his surname was. I didn’t know his surname! I was over the knee of a man whose surname I didn’t know.

“I think something’s going to happen,” I said.

His hand began to pat my rump compulsively.

“Yes,” he conceded. “Something is going to happen. But what?”

“I think you might have some dastardly kind of plan to…spank me…Sir.”

“That’s almost the right answer. Less of the dastardly though, eh? You’re certainly setting yourself up for a seriously sore bottom, young lady.”

“Oh dear,” I moaned, squirming deliciously.

“Yes, ‘oh dear’ is a valid response,” he taunted. “Last question. What are you going to be spanked for?”

I was stymied. I had to come up with a reason for my own erotic punishment? Was Because I want you to also a valid response?

“For…” I gave it some thought, which was difficult with the ever-present hand gliding across my buttocks, occasionally following the line that separated them, almost to the wet spot at its base. “For taking strange men home to my flat, Sir,” I said, inspired.

“Very good,” he said. “That definitely deserves quite a firm spanking, I would say. Now then. Let’s get this bottom nice and high. How long will it take me to turn it red, I wonder? I do like a physiological experiment.”

His physiological experiment began with a series of sharp slaps, falling quickly on each cheek in turn.

“If it gets too much for you, or you decide this kind of fun is not for you, just say my name. You promise you’ll do that?”

“Yes, Sir,” I sighed, gyrating my hips to push my bottom up higher, revelling in the firecracker sparks he rained down on me.

“Good girl. Or rather, bad girl. Flaunting yourself in that bar and taking strange men home for kinky sex. You need a sound lesson, young lady. Believe me, your slutty behaviour will be dealt with.”

His hand felt harder, the smacks loud as pistol shots. Would the neighbours hear? I began to suffer a little, feeling the heat build.

When he stopped, after about fifty of these strokes, I flopped, exhaling deeply. But he had not finished, not by a long chalk.

To read on, you need to head to the Xcite website and place your order!