Something you know a lot about – 31 days of writing prompts!

Pre and Post Norman English history, up until the Wars of The Roses.

I loved learning about history in school, but the earliest we ever studied was 1066 and the invasion of England by William the Conqueror, one of only three kings of England that have a sobriquet. (The other two are Alfred the Great, and Edward the Confessor, two pre-Norman kings.) I think that a lot of British people think that history started in 1066, because that’s such an important date and we never get taught about anything earlier. The syllabus of history exams is focused quite heavily on 20th Century events, with a side-trip to the Tudors for A-level students now.

When I got to university, I was randomly placed in a seminar group focusing on Anglo-Saxon and Norman history for the first semester, which was called The History of War. Lectures spanning from the Romans to the first Gulf War were offered; you could go to any of them you wanted, but you had to attend the ones that informed you about your seminar topics. I had intended on going to all of the lectures, but I stopped after the Anglo-Saxon ones. Well, they were on at 9am! Students shouldn’t have to cope with such an anti-social time of day!

I was really pleased to be placed in this group  – I wanted to learn about something new, and although I had the basics of 1066 in the back of my brain, I knew nothing about what had come before it: how Edward the Confessor was more Norman than English, and how the politicking of the noble Godwinson family had brought about a stale, childless marriage (seriously, George R R Martin clearly got a few character notes for Tywin and Cersei Lannister from Earl Godwin and his daughter Edith) that opened the door for a sly invitation for Duke William to take the throne after his death.

I had a vague idea that the death of Harold left the country without an English king, so William, who had trounced the English at Hastings, had nobody to compete with for the crown. Well, that was wrong. Chuck a rock about in October 1066 and you’d hit an English noble with a good claim to throne.

I learned that there were kings before Edward, that several of them were Norwegian, that many of them had the pre-fix Aethel before their name and the country was a patchwork of tribal areas that are still visible on the map of England today. I learned that the England that William conquered had a sophisticated system of laws and coinage, traded with countries all over the world and had a language that still provides us with some of our most basic words we use in English today. (No, not those words. Well, not just those words!)

I also found out that despite pre-Conquest England being as patriarchal as the post-Conquest country that denied Empress Matilda her rightful crown as Queen of England, it still produced women like Aethelflaed, who ruled most of what we today think of as the Midlands and helped her brothers and nephew stitch together all those patchwork petty kingdoms into one solid country of England.

I learned about monasteries and the Vikings, continental politics and the confusing but important genealogies that brought about the next few hundred years of fighting between England and France. I learned that the English Civil War we all know about between the Roundheads and the Cavaliers was actually at least the third civil war in Britain, the first being between the iron-willed Matilda and the little sneak Stephen. I wouldn’t want to be trapped in a lift with her, but by God, there was a woman who could have ruled a medieval country. Abseiling down castle towers and escaping from armed guards in a white cloak over snowy fields was the least of what she got up to!

I think the thing I learned the most was that we tend to have a very straight line idea about history – we know X happened, so it must have been because of Y. In reality, X happening was because Z didn’t happen, A died young and B was stuck in a bog in Mercia and missed the battle completely. History is layered with subtleties and we can’t trust the stories that we’re given. They were written by the victors, after all. The reason that I didn’t know much history pre-1066 is because the English lost the Battle of Hastings, and the Normans won. Their story became more important to the national story, and the men and women that provided a stable and thriving country for the Normans to plunder faded into the darkness.

So, I can tell you why Aethelred wasn’t actually Unready, and where the hell the Danelaw was. I know why the Bayeux Tapestry isn’t actually a) a tapestry, b)made in Bayeux or c) a trustworthy primary source for the era. I can tell you why Harold Godwinson, the last Anglo-Saxon king, was really pissed off with his brother Tostig and why the whole arrow in the eye thing isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be.

I can tell you, objectively, which of the Plantagenet kings was the best, and which should have taken a vow of chastity after the obligatory heir and spare were born. I know which king loved his wife the most and which had the most gruesome burial you could possible imagine.

None of this knowledge is remotely useful in real life, of course, but I’m awfully glad I learned it!

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Do As The Doctor Orders!

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The doctor is in – and Lady Cassandra’s in trouble!

 

Lady Cassandra Martinbury has a big problem – her spendthrift father has bankrupted their earldom and left the two of them nearly penniless. The only way to save what is left of the family estate is for her to marry a man of means, but she draws the line at being forced to submit to the vicious Marquess of Radcliffe, her only suitor.

Feigning illness to avoid wedding Radcliffe, Cassandra comes under the care of Dr. Henry Sutherland, a Ruttingdon Club member and a specialist in the treatment of female hysteria. He can tell immediately that she is faking her symptoms, but the thought of a week with the beautiful woman at his private sanatorium is just too tempting to resist.

But Cassandra needs a decent, agreeable husband, not a week at a remote therapy spa, where there are few people at all to be found, let alone any unattached men of good breeding. Still, that is where she ends up, although she has no intention of remaining there. Her repeated escape attempts from the place find her over the handsome doctor’s knee three times before she realizes that the man to save her and her father might just be right in front of her!

 

You can read the first chapter for free here!

The book is now live on Amazon.comAmazon.co.uk and Blushing Books!

 

My favourite household chore – 31 days of writing prompts!

Ok, I’ll be honest here, there is no household chore that I like. I dislike all of them equally!

However, there is a task that when I eventually get around to doing it, makes me feel that I’ve accomplished something, and that’s hoovering the stairs.

I’ve got a lot of tile and laminate floors in my house, with only the stairs and one of the bedrooms having carpet so I don’t need to have the hoover out that often. However, I do have a very hairy cat that seems to think that shedding is an Olympic sport and a dark blue carpet that seems show every piece of fluff that lands on it.

Hoovering the stairs is a faff, especially because I have  Henry Hoover. He’s very powerful and gets rid of Alfred the Great’s stray hairs, but the round body makes it a bugger to get up and down the stairs! There’s a lot of balancing and swearing, and it’s so loud that I can’t listen to music or a podcast while I’m doing the job. It only takes about ten minutes, realistically, but I dread it as if it takes an hour.

Yet, when I’ve finally done it, I can’t help but admire the lint-free, hairless blue carpet. I think it makes the house look a lot tidier when the stairs are hoovered. It gives me a real sense of achievement.

I just wish that it wasn’t me that had to do it!

 

 

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Charitable – 31 days of writing prompts!

You’ve inherited £5 million, with instructions that you must give it all away — but you can choose any organizations you like to be the beneficiaries. Where does the money go?

Right now, I would have to give it all to help Syrian refugees. I can’t look at pictures of Aleppo and the terrified people there without feeling heartbroken for them, and slightly guilty that I’m living in such safety and comfort when they’re being killed by their own government.

I would have to research which charities would be the best to donate to, but I would have no problem giving them everything in one big chunk.

However, if the Syrian situation wasn’t as dire as it is, I would be tempted to give the money to individual people that need relatively small amounts of money to make their lives better; I’d sponsor medical care for those that need to fly to other countries, I’d pay to renovate people’s houses so that they can live in their homes with their families rather than have to move if they suddenly become immobile, or I’d pay for people to get specialist medical equipment that is just too expensive for them to normally get – realistic prosthetic limbs, or better electric wheelchairs. Usually these people need a few thousand pounds rather than hundreds of thousands, which means I could help so many people in a way that would make a real difference to their lives.

I’d haunt Go Fund Me pages and their equivalent to find small organisations that are trying to do something good, and fund them in full. I like to think about the look on the face of the organiser when they get the email to say that their target has been met. I would like to be able to help local people who need money for things like gravestones for loved ones that they can’t afford to buy themselves. I’d give money to food banks and toy collections that give presents to needy kids at Christmas. I would really like to support charities for homeless people in Cardiff.

I’d have to do it anonymously, though. I wouldn’t be comfortable with people being grateful to me.

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Tell us about a sensation — a taste, a smell, a piece of music — that transports you back to childhood.

This is such an odd thing to realise, because it’s not like I can’t get citrus fruit year-round, but I always associate the smell of tangerines and clementines with Christmas.

When I was younger, there would be loads of these around at Christmas time. My brother doesn’t particularly care for fruit, so I would share them with my mother as we watched tv together. The slight spray as your fingernail breaks the skin coats your fingers, and if you’re careful, you can strip the entire fruit in one long strip of waxy, orange peel.

The taste is sweet and sharp at the same time, and they’re just so moreish – once you start eating them, you just can’t stop! Even though I can buy these all through the year, I always associate them with Christmas, even if I’m eating them in July. I can still picture the ceramic fruit bowl that would sit on the coffee table piled high with these little beauties, next to a bowl with nuts in their shells and a packet of sticky dates.

Now I buy these by the case in December, as I go through them like wildfire!

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Book promotion – The Space Marshal’s Captive, by Jaye Peaches!

I’m really into my sci-fi, so this looks like a must-read!

 

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Out now!

 

 

 

He’s going to pleasure her in ways that her darkest fantasies never touched.

 

 

Blurb:

After nineteen-year-old Jade Kryst is caught by space marshal Mason Hadley while trying to smuggle supplies to a rebel-held planet, she quickly discovers that her captor is not a man to be underestimated, and when she fails to cooperate with a thorough strip search she ends up with blushing cheeks and a sore bottom.

Though he does his best to remain professional, Mason is drawn to his beautiful, feisty captive, and he strikes a deal with her. If she will use her skills as a mechanic to keep his ship up and running while he hunts down the dangerous criminals he is pursuing, he will set her free once they are apprehended. Jade accepts his offer, but it doesn’t take long for Mason to realize that keeping her in line will require a firm hand frequently applied to her bare bottom, along with even more humiliating punishments when her continued disobedience makes it necessary.

Despite her status as his prisoner, Mason’s stern dominance leaves Jade burning with desire, and when she surrenders herself to his masterful lovemaking it is better than she ever dreamed. She soon finds herself falling deeply in love with the handsome space marshal, but will there be a place for her by his side after his mission is over?

Publisher’s Note: The Space Marshal’s Captive includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Buy link:

AMAZON

 

Excerpt 1

Mason stopped outside the medical bay. “In there, now.” He jabbed his thumb at the door.

Inside, he paced the room with his hands on his hips while Jade wrung her hands together. “So,” she said jovially. “I fucked up—”

“Shut it,” he said curtly. “I know what you did. I don’t need an explanation of why. I guess you feel some kind of loyalty toward your smuggling friends, so you decided to try to escape. Laudable, I get it.” He halted right in front her, staring down his long nose. She spied a small cut on his temple, glued closed and cleaned. He made no reference to his injury.

“I can’t give up—” she blurted.

“Yes, you can. You can give up endangering yourself, this ship, and me. You can give up thinking that you’re on a personal one-woman crusade to save a whole planet. You can start by thinking about consequences.” He spoke quietly, almost too quietly, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. An angry man should shout and curse, shouldn’t he? This one didn’t. What he articulated was blunt and to the point. Towering over her, he had the strength to overpower her and show his dominance in an aggressive way. Clearly, it wasn’t his style. He expected obedience.

Trapped, but unbound, the best course of action would be to relinquish her body to him and accept her fate. Jade rocked back on her heels and couldn’t think of anything to say.

The marshal stepped back and looked her up and down. “I’m authorized to punish escape attempts. I’m also authorized to punish anyone on board this ship who recklessly endangers the lives of others.” He tapped his foot on the floor, appraising her.

Jade instinctively clenched her buttocks at his sternness—such a voice he had when dishing out those words, it almost dazzled her. Her ass cheeks had stopped throbbing, the physical impact of the last spanking had faded. She guessed it wouldn’t be long before they were sore once again.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose you want me to strip.”

He nodded, unsmiling. “Yes. Then bend over the table.”

 

Excerpt 2

Mason sighed when he spied her tears on her cheekbones and wiped them away with his thumbs. “You’re not that old, are you? I guess you passed into womanhood recently?”

She nodded, hating her appearance—she wasn’t that young, she’d been a student for several years, but somehow, she’d held onto that girlish look, never quite grasping the maturity of a woman. It was misleading, because in her heart, and when she compared herself to her friends, she was years ahead of them in confidence and independence. Or so she thought, because Mason possessed a much greater authority on the subject of independence than her and he swiftly reminded her of that as he spoke.

“And here you are, on your own, navigating the wildest part of our galaxy. Speaking as someone older than you, I don’t think it’s wise, do you, being on your own and so inexperienced?”

She answered with a shake of her head. Wisdom came with age—she agreed with him on that point, but she really didn’t want his observation to be true.

“I’m going to take you to your ship.”

She lifted her head, her eyes widening with disbelief—he’d changed his mind!

“To collect your personal belongings for your stay in the cell,” he continued. “First, let’s get you dressed. We can pick up your clothes on the way.”

She slouched her shoulders, disappointed that she’d failed to dent his armor. He wasn’t going to let her go that easily. Jade said nothing and her muteness was an unfamiliar response. She’d temporarily lost the ability to answer him back. It seemed spanking her had had an impact on her demeanor. The realization somewhat surprised her. What else was Mason capable of doing to her?

 

Excerpt 3 (18+)

The kiss was long, hard, and exactly what she wanted from him. He drew her into an embrace and spread his fingers along her spine, feeling his way up and down her back. Her panties remained coiled around her ankles and she didn’t care that he had access to the wetness between her thighs. Her pussy had been drenched with adrenaline-soaked excitement the moment his breath had mingled with her own. The sensation was electrifying and irreversible. Her liquid nectar was there, ready to greet his entry, his full-on thrust—if that was what he really desired.

“Please, Mason, please,” she gasped, breathless.

“We’re not supposed to be compatible.”

“Let’s prove them wrong.” She rested her hands on his shoulders and squeezed.

“You don’t understand. On Ixzar, I would take you, force you to come many times, taking my pleasure. I need to control sex as much as I need control over this ship, my prisoners. You.”

She licked her lips, tasting him. “This isn’t going to be about just my pussy, is it? This fuck is something I’m never going to forget.”

“No, not by the time I’m finished.”

She spread a big grin across her face. “You’re very sure of yourself, sir.”

“I am.” He took her wrist and directed her hand down toward his pants where the obvious bulge tented the loose fabric. Beneath she felt the bold hardness—a scaffold of steel. It was upright, bursting for relief, and probably painful for him to contain.

“In your mouth, your pussy, and your ass,” he continued. “Here. Now. And you’ll obey me. Then, later, we can do it the slow way, the way of your people.”

She’d no point of comparison, only her own experiences, which had been energetic and brief. Jade swallowed hard, losing the smirk. “My people aren’t exactly gentle—”

He shook his head. “Jade, this isn’t going to be lovemaking. We’re not there yet. I don’t know if… I’ll try for you, try to be that kind of man.”

“I think you will. I believe you can. I know it here.” She pressed her other hand to his chest and through the shirt she discerned the drumming beats of his heart. “Here is where it counts, don’t you think?”

 

Excerpt 4 (18+)

“Rise up, sweetheart, and mount me.”

Sliding her legs on either side of his thighs, she hovered astride, angled her hips and lowered herself, seeking out his rounded glans, slotting it between her swollen lips. He felt thicker than ever or maybe she was tighter; either way, the fit was snug and the friction wonderful. Once her bottom touched his thighs, she paused, savoring the pinching sensation, then the give as she stretched to accommodate his girth. She jutted her breasts forward, arched her back, and rested her hands on his knees.

The sparkle in his eyes intensified as she bucked and rode his rod, frantically trying to avoid his cock hitting her sweet spot. She huffed while she fought the arousal and failed to crush it. Noisily, she moaned, probably too loudly. It was then that he started to roll her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, tweaking them until they hurt. She panted, tussling with the need to come and annoyed by his interference—couldn’t he see that she was struggling? He grasped her ass cheeks and hitched her up higher. She was in danger of losing contact with his cock. Alarmed, she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

Feeling his strength beneath her fingers was tantalizing. She started to pick at his shirt, hoping to expose his skin, touch it with her fingertips and enjoy the smoothness of his bare chest.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered and reached into his shirt pocket. The restraining bands on her wrists snapped together, binding her. The ankle ones had gone—he’d removed them as a reward a few days after they first fucked. Now, she would have to rely on his support to keep her balance and rhythm.

Binding her didn’t dissuade the rising force of her impending orgasm; instead, it enhanced the fire coursing through her body. The electrifying epicenter was her clitoris.

Mustn’t come, mustn’t come. Keep moving, changing position, rhythm, anything to prevent the climax.

If she came, he’d spank her. She imagined herself across his lap on the commander’s chair, the seat of his power. The picture in her mind created a wave of goosebumps erupting across her flesh.

She came and the suddenness stunned her. She’d not even had a chance to plead with him. He would feel the orgasm along the full length of his buried shaft—a multitude of spasms, strong and conspicuous, accompanied by her stifled screech.

He flexed his hand—his intention was obvious.

 

Author Bio:

I’m an author of erotic D/s romances including Amazon bestsellers. All my books contain an element of BDSM, spankings or erotic games of sensual exploration. If you desire a little thrill, something to entice, then please take the time to read one of my books. Thank you!

When not writing, I’m busy spending time with her family, enjoying music, sometimes drawing and if the weather allows, gardening.

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Odd couple – 31 days of writing prompts

Does a messy home (or office) make you anxious and cranky, or is cleaning something you just do before company comes over?

I love it when my office is clean and streamlined- it makes me feel strangely professional and organised. As soon as I start to write, however, it looks like a bombsite!

I have piles of research notes at the side of me which somehow immediately become out of order, not helped by the fact that I knock them onto the floor almost immediately. If I don’t do that, Alfred the Great will helpfully take over that role.

My paragraph plans take up a lot of space, especially if I’ve been experimenting with their format and they’ve stretched across several A3 pages of paper that I’ve inexpertly sellotaped together.

I collect numerous plates, glasses and mugs around me as I don’t seem to be able to write without shovelling something into my face. I have a collection of Funko Pop dolls on my desk, which get moved around and re-positioned as I need them to hold Post-It notes that I scribble to myself. Hermione Granger has a nasty habit of falling forwards, so I have to have a wodge of white tack under her feet to keep her upright that gets spread across the desk.

I usually have a London A-Z propped open somewhere so that I can check on the name of streets, as well as a few books on nineteenth century male clothing. I have a Yankee Candle burning, usually, as the smell helps me write, somehow.

Oh, and at regular intervals, Alfred the Great leaps up onto the desk and positions himself between myself and the laptop, demanding a scratch. Alfred is a very hairy cat, so when I do give him a good scratch, many loose hairs are pulled from his coat and are deposited over me, the desk, the floor – everywhere.

I work in a terrible state, but there is something wonderfully cleansing about packing everything up at the end of a writing session, or even better, at the end of a book! Everything gets dusted and hoovered and filed away in special folders, the Funkos get put back in position and Alfred is banished from the room.

Ready for the next writing session!

 

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Competition – 31 days of writing prompts!

What activity, task, or game most brings out your competitive streak?

Never challenge me to a board game. Or chess. Or cards. Or a trivia quiz. Or I Spy.

There’s just something about them that turns me into a raging maniac that MUST WIN AT ALL COSTS. I’m a horrible loser and even worse winner. Because I’m now a grown up, I can usually mask these terrible character flaws and pretend to be a functioning member of society, but Christmas is coming and I know that Boxing Day will bring about a no holds barred Harry Potter Special Edition Trivial Pursuit session with my brother that will only end in tears.

His tears.

For I will be the winner!

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Comfort zone – 31 days of writing prompts!

What are you more comfortable with — routine and planning, or laissez-faire spontaneity?

Oh my word, my absolute nightmare would be a friend arriving on my doorstep one day and saying, “Want to go on an adventure?”

Although, yes, an adventure sounds fun, I’d need to know what kind of adventure we’re dealing with here. What sort of shoes do I need to wear? Shall I bring a coat? Does this adventure involve food in any way, because otherwise I’ll need to pack some sandwiches and a bag of crisps. Adventuring can be hungry work – just ask any Hobbit.

What time does the adventure start, and when do you anticipate it ending? I’m only asking because I have to feed the cat, or he gets a bit pointed as to where he chooses to sharpen his claws. Are we driving to the adventure? If so, who is doing the driving? I need to pre-plan my routes in advance, and, if possible, do a dry-run on finding the destination so I don’t get panicked when driving. Is there enough petrol in the car? Do I need to check the oil and water before starting out, or is the adventure local?

And so on, and so forth…

This applies to my writing style as well. I look in horror at Facebook posts by other authors who casually mention that they’ve got no idea about what’s going to happen in their stories and that they’re letting their characters determine the plot.

I peer out from behind my stack of research books, my hand-drawn family trees and my copious reams of chapter plans and boggle at those who don’t seem to worry that THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN IN THEIR OWN STORY. Yes, that’s right: they’re actively creating a world full of people and places and (in my particular fictional niche) inventive reasons why a person needs a spanking, and yet they don’t feel the need to think about what will occur in the end!

That just blows my mind – I have no idea how they can work like that! Obviously it’s not a problem for them, they’re all well respected writers in the genre, but…winging it?

Shudder. Not for me!

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Cover reveal of Do As The Doctor Orders!

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Hasn’t Blushing Books done a lovely job? It’s out on the 21st December, and you can read the first chapter for free here!

Lady Cassandra Martinbury has a big problem – her spendthrift father has bankrupted their earldom and left the two of them nearly penniless. The only way to save what is left of the family estate is for her to marry a man of means, but she draws the line at being forced to submit to the vicious Marquess of Radcliffe, her only suitor.

Feigning illness to avoid wedding Radcliffe, Cassandra comes under the care of Dr. Henry Sutherland, a Ruttingdon Club member and a specialist in the treatment of female hysteria. He can tell immediately that she is faking her symptoms, but the thought of a week with the beautiful woman at his private sanatorium is just too tempting to resist.

But Cassandra needs a decent, agreeable husband, not a week at a remote therapy spa, where there are few people at all to be found, let alone any unattached men of good breeding. Still, that is where she ends up, although she has no intention of remaining there. Her repeated escape attempts from the place find her over the handsome doctor’s knee three times before she realizes that the man to save her and her father might just be right in front of her!