Geoffrey's Rules, my most personal book, discounted this month!

Geoffrey's Rules is very near to my heart. The narrator, Chloe Revkin, has a great many similarities to me, and her story is a story I have dreamed of living many, many times. In fact, the book ended up being a more mature version of the very first really extended erotic story I ever wrote, in which a professor sells a young woman--with the young woman's consent--to a wealthy man. That story was called "Variations on a theme of Réage" (Pauline Réage, author of Story of O). Geoffrey's Rules could definitely have that as a subtitle.

Here's a taste, from a scene of which I'm very proud.

I felt sexy; I felt sexy in a way that graduate students aren’t supposed to feel, I thought, and that very thought began to cause another dampness problem in the lace thong beneath the dress. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make myself forget that underneath the dress I was wearing the lacy things that Geoffrey had put me in and which he would presumably remove from me later, whenever he wanted. 

I walked out of the dressing room, wearing also the red pumps we had shopped for before we’d had the champagne. The dress only barely came down far enough to cover my stocking-tops, and I had a sudden fantasy that when I reached Geoffrey at the sales counter he would simply flip up the front of it to reveal my lacy panties to the saleswoman. The mental image made me feel faint, but when I reached him, he turned and looked me up and down and smiled tenderly, as if to ask if I liked the dress. I returned the smile, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close in to him and kissed me. 

The saleswoman said, “Aw. Special occasion?” 

It only took a split-second for me to imagine Geoffrey saying, “Yes. This young woman got her face fucked today, and later she’ll have my cock in her ass,” and to blush. 

But Geoffrey said, “Yes—our first real date.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there!” said the saleswoman and promptly minded her own business while Geoffrey kissed me again, dominantly, and made me feel weak in the knees yet another time. 

“You are the most intelligent woman I have ever had the privilege to dominate,” he whispered in my ear, “and the sexiest.” 

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered back, feeling like the defiant independent woman thing was perhaps not as important as Professor Whitlock might think.

And it's only $2.99 this month! 

"Not answering would be a mistake, where your bottom is concerned"--Geoffrey's Rules

One of the things I'm very proud of, where my new BDSM romance Geoffrey's Rules is concerned, is how well I feel I managed to walk the line between the BDSM and the romance, as I develop the characters along both those axes, showing how BDSM and romance interact with each other in their hearts. You'll be the judge of that, of course, though. I hope you like it.

I turned to look out the window, trying to make sure I couldn't see anyone I knew, and when I turned back, he was there, wearing a blue blazer over a white button down and tight (not indecently, but pretty close) jeans. His dark brown, slightly wavy hair was shorter than in the picture on the web, but it was the same man, and he looked even more intelligent in person. 

Also, in person, he looked just a tiny bit older, as well. Thirty? Thirty-five? For the first time in my entire life, I felt myself grow warm between my thighs at the mere sight of a man. It must have had a great deal to do with the strange prelude to this moment that I had already played with him--the moment at the café, the business-card, the email, (the self-pleasure). Honestly, though, it felt as if my arousal was simply in response to the thought that this gorgeous man had brought me here, with perhaps the tiniest hint of a notion that the reason he had brought me here was that he was going to spank me. 

"Chloe," he said, holding out his hand, "it's very nice to meet you." 

His voice was a rich baritone, almost in the bass-range. There was not the slightest indication that he had ever seen me doing anything disreputable. 

I reached my hand out, in response, and he took it inside his own very firmly but not painfully, gave it a very small, gentle shake, and released it. 

That was when I looked into his eyes for the first time, just as he was sitting down opposite me. They were gazing at me as if their owner had just seen a valuable object--a painting, or a sculpture--that he had heard a great deal about, and was now trying to decide for himself whether it really was as worth seeing he had heard it was. 

"It's nice--" 

"Did you follow Rule #1?" 

Had he really just interrupted me? I felt the blood rush to my face. I couldn't think at all for several moments. I found that I was looking down at my fork. With what felt like an enormous expenditure of will, I raised my eyes to his, and saw a look of amusement on his face, which made my blush grow hotter. 

"Are you going to answer, Chloe? Not answering would be a mistake, where your bottom is concerned."

Here's the blurb--buy the book at Amazon by clicking here! 

For as long as she can remember, Chloe has imagined what it would be like to be utterly and completely dominated by a man. When she meets Geoffrey—a man who can make her blush red with shame and quiver with lust at the same time with nothing more than a word or a glance—Chloe begins to wonder if her fantasy could become reality.  

As hot as her desire burns, though, Chloe struggles with herself. How can a modern woman feel this way? Should she not berate herself for longing to be taken over her man’s knee for a bare bottom spanking? No matter how she yearns for it, does she really belong on her knees at Geoffrey’s feet, naked and waiting for him to take her any way he pleases?  

When Geoffrey offers her what she knows deep down she has always wanted, will she turn him away, or will she submit to his rules and allow her new master to take her fully in hand? 

Ready for the cane: Geoffrey's Rules #SatSpanks

I think I'll go with the maximum D/s level here, to introduce Saturday Spankings friends to the kind of dynamic that lies at the core of my new book Geoffrey's Rules.

"Over my lap now, girl," he said, and he pulled me about, into position. I bent over his legs. It felt much more intimate on the sofa, where I could lie across him, and not feel that I was upended quite so much. 

"You have a very long punishment coming, Chloe," he said. "You broke Rule Four, and you were late, a violation of Rule One. You used the word I told you not to use four times, and you have said all sorts of naughty words, besides. After I warm your bottom with my hand, we are going to go upstairs to my bedroom, and you are going to be caned upon my bed."  

"Oh, Geoffrey, please, I don't think I'm ready for that." 

"You're ready for what I say you're ready for, sweetheart." 

Here's the blurb (buy the book here!): 

For as long as she can remember, Chloe has imagined what it would be like to be utterly and completely dominated by a man. When she meets Geoffrey—a man who can make her blush red with shame and quiver with lust at the same time with nothing more than a word or a glance—Chloe begins to wonder if her fantasy could become reality.  

As hot as her desire burns, though, Chloe struggles with herself. How can a modern woman feel this way? Should she not berate herself for longing to be taken over her man’s knee for a bare bottom spanking? No matter how she yearns for it, does she really belong on her knees at Geoffrey’s feet, naked and waiting for him to take her any way he pleases?  

When Geoffrey offers her what she knows deep down she has always wanted, will she turn him away, or will she submit to his rules and allow her new master to take her fully in hand?  

Read all the Saturday Spankings!

Caught self-pleasuring and taken in hand: Geoffrey's Rules

The idea for Geoffrey's Rules came from reflecting, as I was brainstorming possible plots, on the way I used to feel when I was in graduate school, when I had entirely too much unstructured time on my hands in the library. I might as well confess that I was guilty several times of the "offense" that gets my narrator-heroine into trouble.

I gritted my mental teeth and read a sentence about the significance of Proust to the birth of the modern. Goddammit, why had I read Maud's Master for an hour with my hand up my nightgown that morning instead of getting up and starting to read what I should have been reading? 

And why, thinking about it here in the café, did I want nothing more than to get up, go to the bathroom, lower my jeans. . .  

Ah, Hell. I only had ten minutes, so I grabbed my bag before I went in there. As soon as the door was closed I dropped my bag and turned to the mirror. Chestnut hair to my shoulders, angular face, no make-up around my hazel eyes. Currently wearing a jeans jacket over a long-sleeve blue T-shirt on top. Down below, I was lowering my jeans quickly, to rest around my thighs, the white cotton panties atop them. With my left hand I raised the front of the T-shirt. 

Why did I always whimper when I saw myself--my self, I always thought, the me between my legs--in the mirror? What the Hell was wrong with me? Why did I always pretend that the hand (my own hand) that began to stir the soft hair between my thighs was a guy's hand--no, really, not just a guy's hand but the hand of a guy like Jeff the spanking security guard? And now, now he wanted more. He wanted more, and he wanted it immediately: the fingers pushed, invaded, I gasped, said "No! Please!" I closed my eyes. 

The door, which I had apparently in my haste neglected to lock, opened. My life changed, for as it turned out I had found a very serviceable way to be naughty. 

My life didn't change immediately, though, for all I heard from the other side of the door was a man's voice saying "Whoops! Sorry!" 

I waited, my heart beating wildly, for a full minute, hoping desperately that I wouldn't be seen exiting, and above all that there would be no men outside the door. With a flushed face and an inability to raise my eyes from the floor, I emerged, having judged the angles in the bathroom and realized that if he had been looking straight ahead as he entered, he would absolutely have seen me in the mirror, with my fingers buried deep between my thighs and a look of wild erotic abandon on my face--he might even have heard me say "No! Please!" 

I tried to shuffle out, but a female barista called "Hey! The guy who was here wanted me to give you this." I turned, to see that she was holding out a business card. 

Geoffrey King

Digital Media Consultant 

It said, on the front, with phone number, email, and URL. I turned it over, and my blush returned instantly. In block letters written in ink, it said, "You were naughty. It appears to me that you need discipline. If you are interested, let me know."

Here's the blurb (buy the book here!): 

For as long as she can remember, Chloe has imagined what it would be like to be utterly and completely dominated by a man. When she meets Geoffrey—a man who can make her blush red with shame and quiver with lust at the same time with nothing more than a word or a glance—Chloe begins to wonder if her fantasy could become reality.  

As hot as her desire burns, though, Chloe struggles with herself. How can a modern woman feel this way? Should she not berate herself for longing to be taken over her man’s knee for a bare bottom spanking? No matter how she yearns for it, does she really belong on her knees at Geoffrey’s feet, naked and waiting for him to take her any way he pleases?  

When Geoffrey offers her what she knows deep down she has always wanted, will she turn him away, or will she submit to his rules and allow her new master to take her fully in hand?