Tag Archive | BDSM

Em Brown: Punishing Miss Primrose (Books I-V)

Women and Sex in Georgian England

by Em Brown

In Georgian England, women were not considered sexual beings. They could, however, be corrupted by men, who were allowed their sexuality. A woman’s virtue was a dear thing. In Pamela, Samuel Richardson’s highly popular novel of the time, the virtue of the heroine is rewarded when, after resisting all efforts by her wealthy master to seduce her, she receives his sincere proposal for marriage.

To this day, it is not uncommon to find stories where the woman is relatively chaste and inexperienced in sex while the man is the more experienced and more assertive one. If the heroine does have her sexual desires awakened, it is often at the hero’s doing. I’ve written such stories (Mastering the Marchioness and Submitting to the Rake), but these days, my heroines tend to be just as openly sexual, experienced, and feisty in bed as their male counterparts.

The heroine of my Punishing Miss Primrose series, Beatrice Primrose, is completely comfortable in her sexuality and has no trouble asserting it—to the consternation (and arousal) of the hero, Lord Carey. One reviewer described her as a “believably strong as nails female who is more than willing to go toe to toe with this hot as hell [marquess].” In the story, the bedchamber is the setting for a power struggle between two very passionate people, each vying in their own way to right a wrong and avenge the past.

Punishing Miss Primrose is set in the Regency period, but Regency views on the sexuality of women did not differ greatly from those of the Georgian period. Nevertheless, I had a great deal of fun writing a heroine who was strong in her sexuality, even though women who were lascivious were often considered wicked, as in Henry Fielding’s Shamela, or they were prostitutes, as featured in John Clelend’s erotic novel of the same decade, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.

Woman’s sexuality has come a long way since then, but I can’t help wondering if we still have a ways to go.

Punishing Miss Primrose-highres (3) copy

 About Punishing Miss Primrose, Parts I-V

Miss Primrose needs to be punished.

A member of the wickedly wanton Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, where the most taboo and illicit pleasures are indulged, Miss Primrose—or Mistress Primrose, as she prefers—left Nicholas Edelton a shell of a man. Now his older brother, Spencer Edelton, the Marquess of Carey, intends to provide her a set-down she will never forget.

Weary from exacting her revenge upon the man who raped her sister, Beatrice Primrose has had her fill of men of privilege and presumption, but she accepts a fateful invitation from a handsome nobleman to spend a sennight at his estate for a grand sum of money. She soon learns, however, that she will not get to reprise her role as Mistress. To her horror, she finds his lordship expects her to submit to him!

But Beatrice won’t give in so easily.

In a clash of wills, fueled by vengeance and lust, Lord Carey and Miss Primrose wrestle for dominance in, and out of, the bedchamber. Their biggest struggle, however, may be against their own desires…

Can Miss Primrose take what she dishes? And will Lord Carey succumb or succeed in punishing Miss Primrose?

This book is available FREE at most major retailers:

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 Excerpt

“I thought I told you to wait in your chambers.”

The voice at the entrance startled her, and she dropped the book. Turning, she held up her lamp. His lordship stood with his hands at his hips. He had removed his coat, and his hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it several times. There was a gloss to his eyes that she had not noticed during dinner.

“A Mistress does not receive commands. She gives them,” she informed him as if he were her student. She set the lamp on a table nearby.

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he were about to smirk.

“And you take great pleasure in commanding others,” he said as he advanced toward her.

Did he mean to accuse her? she wondered.

He stopped and picked up her book, noting its title. “How fitting.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your pardon?”

“Have you read it?”

“Some years ago.”

“And do you find a kindred spirit in the heroine, a whore, thief, and felon?”

The antagonistic edge in his tone made her defensive. She snatched the book from him, though it was his property.

“Through Moll Flanders, the author has painted the plight of women with great sympathy. One cannot help but admire the determination and resourcefulness of Mrs. Flanders.”

“A woman of loose virtue, dishonest, scheming—by her own admission. In the end, she and her husband live in sincere penitence for their wickedness.”

“A luxury not afforded to many.”

He paused in thought. “You believe her actions were compelled by her circumstances.”

“A woman must make her own fortune and seek her own justice. She cannot expect these will be granted to her in any easy form. She may be the most moral and honest and intelligent creature, but these virtues are not always awarded. And if a wrong be done to her, who will defend her? Will it ever be made right?”

Seeing his look of surprise, she realized she must have spoken too vehemently. She glanced away to hide her emotion.

“An unfortunate reality,” he said, after a pause, with more compassion than she expected. “But one’s circumstances, no matter how dire, do not absolve a man of wrongdoing.”

“You would that a beggar submit to starvation rather than steal a loaf of bread?”

“Are your circumstances comparable to that of a beggar?”

She stared at him. Why would he ask such a question? What a strange evening this had become! Though she was partly excited to be engaging in a discussion on the merits of virtue—she could think of no one of late with whom she had had such interesting discourse, and he had listened to her opinions without hastily dismissing them—it was wholly unexpected, leaving her perplexed and a little rattled.

“My circumstances are no affair of yours,” she said.

Hoping to place some distance between them so that she could compose her thoughts, she turned away from him, but he reached for the bookshelf beside her, blocking her path with his right arm. He was now closer to her than ever, and she detected the aroma of brandy upon him. Her pulse quickened. She had neglected to devise a strategy for her engagement with this patron, and she sensed the danger of not having done her due diligence, especially as she found herself responding in a most inconvenient fashion to his nearness.

About the Author

Em Brown writes erotic, mostly historical, romance. She especially enjoys wickedly wanton tales from the Georgian and Regency periods. For more about her stories, please visit www.EroticHistoricals.com, where you can sign up for a quarterly newsletter to be eligible for early peeks, freebies, and specials.

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Julie Shelton and “Owning Sarah”

About Owning Sarah

It’s been a month since Sarah Marshall was kidnapped and held at knife-point by her ex-fiance.  But Jesse Colter and Adam Sinclair, her two loving Doms, know that there is an even deadlier threat still out there—Ryder Malone.

He blames both Sarah and Jesse for sending him to prison eight years ago for attempted rape, and he’s determined to make them pay.  So, he begins a systematic campaign of terror and intimidation against them.  But the danger he poses doesn’t end there.

Set against the deepening love and commitment between Sarah, Jesse, and Adam, Owning Sarah is more than just a sexy, sensual, BDSM love story.  It is a harrowing race against time for Jesse, Adam, and a team of former SEALs to stop one of the biggest arms-for-drugs deals in U.S. history.  And to rescue Sarah before Malone sells her to a human trafficker and she’s lost to her men forever.

Excerpt

js-owningsarahAs soon as Sarah finished greeting the last man, Jesse moved in behind her, pulling her against his body, her back to his front. He ran his hands up her arms before settling them on her shoulders. At that blatant gesture of possession, all conversation died and six pairs of eyes bored into her. Wow. She was surrounded by eight strong, powerful, confident men. Men who had survived harsh, primitive conditions. Men who had experienced the brutality of combat and undertaken untold numbers of dangerous missions, all to keep America free. Men whose exploits would never be recognized or acknowledged, who were heroes in the truest sense of the word.

Men who gave new meaning to the term sexy, even if they weren’t particularly handsome. There was nothing handsome about Bulldog, for instance. Yet….wow. The sinuous, animalistic grace of his movements, the air of command he exuded were both undeniably sexy. To a man, these Spec Ops soldiers were tanned, fit, confident, powerful…masculine. These men were potent. The testosterone they exuded was so strong it was almost palpable, a living, breathing thing.

Wow.

Nearly overcome by a sudden bout of near-crippling shyness, Sarah stiffened her spine and gave them what she hoped was a confident smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, and I hope you all can stay for dinner, although I’m not sure what we’ll have. We’ve been eating so much take-out lately, there’s nothing in the refrigerator but a bunch of science experiments on the properties of mold.”

“And beer,” Adam piped up. “There’s always plenty of that.”

“Right,” Sarah agreed tongue-in-cheek. “Science experiments on the properties of yeast.” Her smile faded. “Like I said, you’re all invited to stay for dinner. But why do I get the feeling that this is not a social call? You’re not here for dinner, are you? You’re here because of Ryder Malone.”

“I see we’ve come to the question and answer portion of the evening,” Jesse murmured, squeezing her shoulders gently before dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“Speaking of beer,” Adam interjected brightly, turning on his heel and moving toward the kitchen, “who wants one?” Everyone except Sarah and Jesse followed him out there. Turning her to face him, he let go of her arms and lifted his right hand to tuck an errant, mink-brown curl behind her ear.

She tilted her chin to look up at him. “This is about a hell of a lot more than just vandalizing my bedroom, isn’t it? What’s going on, Jesse?”

His fingers stilled, warm against her skin, sending a shiver through her. Aware of the undisguised interest on the parts of the men filtering back into the room, beer bottles in hand, they struggled to fight the sudden heat blazing between them. “Don’t worry about dinner, baby,” Jesse said in an effort to divert her attention, “It’s all taken care of. I’ve ordered a Pig-Out Feast for Twelve from Porky’s Bar-B-Q.”

“But,” she spread her hand in confusion, “there’s only nine of us.”

He just chuckled. “Obviously you haven’t seen these guys eat. Anyway, they’ll be deliverin’ it in around”—he glanced at his watch—“half an hour or so, so be on the look-out while we finish up—”

“Finish up what?” she interrupted quietly, refusing to be diverted. “Answer my questions, Jesse, and stop trying to protect me from the big, bad world out there. I know what’s out there, remember? I see it every day in court. So, why are they here? What could Ryder Malone possibly have done to merit a response like this? An entire SEAL team? Really? Don’t you think that’s just a little bit over the top? Like sending a Cruise missile to take down a gnat?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, they’re no longer SEALs,” he offered lamely, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug.

“Oh, well, that’s certainly a relief.”

“Sarah—“”

“Who are they, Jesse? Aside from the biggest, scariest, meanest-looking, bad-ass, uber-macho bunch of guys I’ve ever laid eyes on? Some sort of clandestine, super-covert, black-ops commando group that’s so Top-Secret not even the President knows about them?”

Everyone froze. Seven pairs of eyes were suddenly riveted on her. Her mouth dropped open as realization sank in.

“Oh. My. God!”

Her entire body solidified.

“Holy shit,” Bill Payton muttered, his beer bottle halted in mid-air, halfway to his mouth.

“Told you she was smart,” Jesse muttered back.

Sarah just stared up at him, dumbfounded.

Oh.

My.

God!

Omigod!

“Jesse—”

“It’s okay, baby.”

“It’s okay? It’s okay?” Seized with a sudden need to shiver, she crossed her arms over her breasts. “How can this possibly be okay? What, exactly, makes this okay?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m pretty sure the President knows about us,” Jay offered helpfully, patting her shoulder as he passed her on his way to the couch.

“Looks like she’ll be coming to the meeting.” Adam joined them, grinning, holding out a frosty bottle of beer. She just stared at it pointedly until, shrugging, he withdrew it.

“What meeting?” she wanted to know.

“The meetin’ that’s startin’ right now,” Jesse said grimly, grabbing her by the elbow and steering her unresistingly toward the sofas and chairs gathered around the stone fireplace.

“C’mon, sweet pea.” Adam latched onto her other elbow and they led her to one end of a brown leather sofa where they sat with her tucked snugly between them. The other six men spread out on the other sofa across from them, the oversized ottoman, and in the two club chairs.

Jesse turned his attention to Bill Payton. “Okay, Wildfire, it’s your show,” Jesse said before relaxing back against the cushions himself. Conversation died as they all turned their attention to Bill “Wildfire” Payton, who cleared his throat, and looked directly at Sarah. “Sorry to bring this to your doorstep, Sarah. But it appears that your boy Malone is one seriously bad dude.”

About the Author

IMG_2358Julie has always loved stories, both reading and writing them, ever since she was old enough to hold a book in her hands. One of her favorite childhood activities was smuggling books under the covers to read by flashlight after she was supposed to be asleep.

A career as a children’s librarian eventually led to her dream career as a freelance storyteller and puppeteer, a business she operated successfully for twenty-five years. During that time she created and wrote all the original material for a monthly language arts newsletter full of poems, songs, puppet and flannel-board stories, fingerplays, and other resource material for early childhood educators. For that endeavor she won the prestigious EDPRESS Award for the best educational newsletter of 1982.  She has also written other resource materials for preschool and early elementary teachers.

After moving more than two dozen times in her life, Julie lives in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia.  Now widowed and retired, she once again has time to devote to her two favorite things—reading and writing—especially her new love, erotic romances.

Contacts

Facebook • WebsiteGoodreadsLinked InAmazon Author Page

Previous post on Susana’s Morning Room: Loving Sarah

Author Julie Shelton and “Loving Sarah” + GIVEAWAY

Note: Susana is offering a deck of playing cards with yummy Ellora’s Cave covers for one lucky commenter on this post and the next one, with Diana Hunter. Be sure to include your email address in your comment!

Today my guest is Julie Shelton, whose debut novel, Loving Sarah, was recently published by Siren Publishing. Welcome to Susana’s Morning Room, Julie! Tell us a little bit about yourself.

IMG_2358I’m recently retired after a 25-year career as a professional storyteller and puppeteer. I love violets, ballet, England, the Middle Ages, gorgeous scenery, beautiful music, reading, and writing.

What is Loving Sarah about?

Eight years ago Jesse Colter fled his small town, leaving behind eighteen-year-old Sarah Marshall, broken-hearted and devastated. Now a retired Navy SEAL, he’s back and he wants only one thing—Sarah Marshall—preferably bound, naked, and on her knees before him.

She has never forgotten Jesse. He’s been the object of all her sexual fantasies since she was fifteen, as well as the star of nightly dreams that have become increasingly erotic over the years. So when he suddenly reappears in her life, she is torn. Can she trust him not to hurt her, or will he once again break her heart? Warily, she agrees to let him introduce her to his world—the world of bondage, domination, and erotic slavery. When he also introduces her to his best friend, Adam Sinclair, Sarah faces a daunting future of sexual submission to two powerful alpha males.

But Sarah faces an even bigger challenge. Someone is stalking her. Is it the old enemy who’s just been released from prison? Or is it someone else from her past who is determined to destroy any chance she has at happiness? Can Adam’s and Jesse’s love protect her? Or will her world explode in a cataclysm of betrayal and violence that will destroy them all?

What comes first, the plot or the characters?

Well, in the case of Loving Sarah, the character of Jesse Colter came first. Before I even wrote a single word, I spent months thinking about what he looked like, what kind of a person he was, and falling completely, irrevocably in love with him.

What/Who inspired you to start writing?

Mad Magazine and Nancy Drew.

Who is your favorite author?

Mayabankscherisesinclairloraleighlisamariericelaurendanesophieoakleahbrookesierracartwright-kristinashleyedenbradleyshaylablacklexiblaketymberdaltondelilahdevlin. And that’s just her FIRST name!

Are you a pantser or a plotter?

I plot minimally, just enough to know what things are going to happen. But if something comes up I didn’t plan for, I’m willing to explore it to see where it goes and keep it if it turns out to be great.

How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

I’ve written seven romance and historical romance novels, but only one has been published. I wrote all the original stories, songs, fingerplays, poems and puppet plays for Kidstuff, a monthly language arts newsletter for early childhood educators that won the 1982 EDPRESS Award for Excellence in Educational Journalism. I also wrote Puppets, Poems, and Songs, a 288-page resource for making and using puppets in the classroom or library.

Do you do research for your books or does it all come from your head?

I do tons of research. Two of my unpublished novels are medieval romances, so I have literally spent years researching every aspect of the daily lives of nobles, servants, soldiers (along with their weapon, tactics and armor), townsfolk, knights, clergy, and peasants, the clothing they wore, the food they ate, their entertainments, how they traveled, the things they saw, heard and smelled, and hundreds of other tiny details that help make the past as vivid and real as the present.

What are you working on right now?

I’m nearly finished with the sequel to Loving Sarah, which I’ve titled Owning Sarah. The villain threatening Sarah in the sequel, is extremely dangerous and determined to make her pay for having sent him to prison. She and her two Doms continue to deepen their connection and commitment not just to each other, but to the D/s way of life as well.

What would we find under your bed?

Christmas decorations.

What are your favorite pastimes?

Reading, writing, going to movies, concerts, plays, the ballet, shopping, making jewelry

What has been your biggest adventure to date?

A four-month, twelve-country shoestring-budget tour of Europe with a girlfriend forty years ago.

If your publisher offered to fly you anywhere in the world to do research on an upcoming project, where would you most likely want to go?  Why?

England. That four-month trip to Europe forty years ago? Well, two of those months were spent in England. I absolutely adore England. That trip was the beginning of my life-long love for anything Medieval. It was also the inspiration for the two medieval romances I subsequently wrote but have not yet been published. Now that the ice has been broken by the publication of Loving Sarah, I will definitely be taking another look at them.

Name three things that inspire you?

Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, the Smoky mountains, England’s Royal Ballet’s version of Romeo and Juliet, starring Wayne Eagling and Alessandra Ferri, with choreography by Sir Kenneth MacMillan, and medieval illuminated manuscripts.  Okay, that’s four things.  Math was never my strong suit.

Have your ever experienced writer’s block?  If so, how do you work through it?

I go back and rewrite/edit the last scene I wrote, or I go through my notes, looking for scenes, dialogue, or fragments of ideas that might inspire me. Or I read. I try to avoid writer’s block altogether by stopping at a point where I know what’s coming next and can pick right up on it the next session.

What is your favorite color?

Purple.

What is your favorite food?

Filet mignon, medium rare, and baked potato. No, lasagna. Or fried chicken and potato salad. Wait, make that strawberry shortcake. Actually, baby back ribs from Tony Roma’s. No…what was the question?

What is your least favorite food?

Liver.

Why?

You mean other than the disgusting taste, weird texture, revolting smell and unappealing appearance?

Coke or Pepsi?

Coke

Coffee or tea?

Coke

Chocolate or vanilla?

Pistachio

Excerpt

js-lovingsarahUh-oh. She was in trouble now. A quick glance in her rear view mirror confirmed the strobing red and blue lights of the unmarked police cruiser behind her, a black, Humvee H3 Alpha, powerful and forbidding, with a slight air of menace. Just like its occupant.

Jesse Colter.

Sarah’s throat thickened and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She shut her eyes, trying to calm herself, but her nerves felt like stinging nettles burning her skin. Why hadn’t anyone told her that the newly-hired Chief of Police she was scheduled to meet with today was Jesse Colter? She’d left work the moment she heard his name, desperate to avoid this very encounter. I’m not ready, she thought, pushing against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. I’ll never be ready!

Blowing out her breath, she wiped her sweating hands on her skirt. Her belly clenched as hot juice gathered in her feminine folds. How could he still affect her like this? She hadn’t seen him for eight years. Not since he’d abruptly disappeared the day of her seventeenth birthday.

At least, she hadn’t seen him in person.

But she had seen him nearly every night of those eight years. In her dreams. She’d seen him and tasted him and felt him as if he’d been real. As if he’d been there. She’d seen him rising over her, preparing to enter her. Tasted his full, moist lips and thrusting tongue. Felt him stretching her, filling her until she was sobbing and screaming out his name—only to wake up on the edge of an explosive orgasm that melted away even as he melted away, like a chalk painting in the rain. Her dreams of Jesse were just that.  Dreams.

Eyes riveted to the side mirror, she watched, dry-mouthed as he unfolded himself from the interior of the Hummer and rose to his full height of six feet three inches. He stood without moving, just staring in her direction, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses of his aviator sunglasses.

God, he was even more gorgeous than she remembered. Gypsy-dark, panther-lean, his magnificent body was taut with the unyielding ripple of tempered steel. Her eyes roamed over his beloved face, with its strong, square jaw, hawk’s beak of a nose and full, sensuous lips. And those killer cheekbones—Lord have mercy. To Sarah’s eyes, there had always been something raw and untamed about him.

There still was.

She stared into the mirror, unable to tear her gaze away from the powerful muscles bunching and rippling beneath the snug material of his black cargo pants. The soft cotton of his black t-shirt stretched tautly across the sculpted ridges of his chest and abs, accentuating rather than concealing the power beneath. His forearms were deeply tanned and corded with heavy veins. His thick black hair, shorter than she’d ever seen it, feathered neatly across his forehead. His biceps flexed and bulged as he reached back inside the car, lifted a black Stetson to his head and closed the door.

Her chest constricted as she watched him stride toward her, purpose in every step. He looked so good, so good….exactly the way she remembered. Except he was completely different. So much bigger than he had been; broader, harder, just…more. He had been sexy. Now he was positively lethal.

With supreme effort, she kept herself from moaning aloud. No longer dry, her mouth was watering like Niagara Falls. God, she’d missed him so much. She hadn’t realized just how much until this minute. Heart thundering in her ears, she waited until he drew even with her before lowering her window. She turned her head to look up at him, ready with what she hoped was an impersonal, self-confident smile.

Except he wasn’t smiling. His expression was blank, almost scowling. Her own smile slid away as the breezy greeting she’d prepared died on her lips.

“License, registration and proof of insurance, please.” The rough grit of his deep baritone voice was still there, but his tone was flat and impersonal. The soft southern drawl she’d loved so much was gone.

She stared up at him, trying to jump-start her brain. That’s it? After eight long years, that was it? No ‘Hello, Sarah, how’ve you been’? No, ‘Nice to see you.’? Just ‘license, registration and proof of insurance’? Her lungs froze; she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She felt hot and cold all at once, goose bumps racing like fire across her skin. Here she was, creaming her panties at the very sight of him, the very thought of him, and he was acting as if he didn’t even recognize her.

“I—I beg your pardon?” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard. God, Jesse, why did you have to come back here? Why couldn’t you have left me with my dreams and fantasies?

“You heard me, Ms. Marshall. License, registration and proof of insurance.”

She recoiled as if he’d struck her. Ms. Marshall. Not ‘Princess’, or ‘darlin’ girl’, or ‘sugar’ or any of the other pet names he’d called her over the years. Not even Sarah. She might have been any stranger he’d pulled over on the highway for speeding. Her throat closed up. Wrenching her gaze away from him, she snatched her purse up off the passenger seat and pulled it into her lap, reaching blindly inside to grab her wallet. “I—just—just a minute, I have them right here….”

Pride stiffened her spine, but nothing could stop her hands from shaking as she tried to pull the requested items from their slots with fingers that suddenly felt as thick as sausages. She struggled to make sense of his attitude. Was he angry because she’d skipped out on their appointment? If anything, she was the one who should be angry. After all, he was the one who’d walked away eight years ago. He was the one who’d taken her father’s pay-off money and disappeared with no word of explanation or goodbye.

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About the Author

Julie has always loved stories, both reading and writing them, ever since she was old enough to hold a book in her hands. One of her favorite childhood activities was smuggling books under the covers to read by flashlight after she was supposed to be asleep.

A career as a children’s librarian eventually led to her dream career as a freelance storyteller and puppeteer, a business she operated successfully for twenty-five years. During that time she created and wrote all the original material for a monthly language arts newsletter full of poems, songs, puppet and flannel-board stories, fingerplays, and other resource material for early childhood educators. For that endeavor she won the prestigious EDPRESS Award for the best educational newsletter of 1982.  She has also written other resource materials for preschool and early elementary teachers.

After moving more than two dozen times in her life, Julie lives in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia.  Now widowed and retired, she once again has time to devote to her two favorite things—reading and writing—especially her new love, erotic romances.

Contacts

www.facebook.com/Juliesheltonauthor

www.juliesheltonauthor.com

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16162502-loving-sarah

http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?trk=tab_pro&id=241889558

www.amazon.com/author/julieshelton