It’s a strange thing waiting for a book you’ve written to come out. Time alone changes perceptions. When you finally have the finished product in your hands, you can barely believe it started in your head. You can barely believe it’s yours.
Sometimes I can write something and it feels so good, but then I find a few days later that it may as well be used to line a cat litter tray. Equally, I can write something and wish to gouge my eyes out with a blunt spoon rather than read it again.
But the sweetest times are when I haven’t read it for weeks and weeks, not since those final edits, and when I then read it, as my readers are seeing it, I then think, ‘Yes. It works.’ It’s when I’ve forgotten and it surprises me and makes me smile that I get the best rewards.
I had some of those moments when Spontaneous came out.
Here’s another little titbit for you:
The first smack made me yelp, not so much through pain as surprise. No matter how much you’re expecting it, nothing can quite prepare you for the sudden submission imposed on you. The men before me barely flinched; they certainly were not put off by what they saw. One of them, a man of about 40 with cropped dark hair and a red tie, who had been sitting opposite me , got up and came to stand behind for a better view.
The Suit’s hand came down again on the same side. The glow of pain spread deeper this time and my teeth bit harder into my lip as I focused to absorb it. Immediately, there was another on the other side, blooming through me to balance things up. Then more on both sides, each one resonating off the hard surfaces of the room with self-satisfied rings. Quickly, my mind shifted and blossoming sensation overrode the concept of mere pain.
After eight spanks, The Suit stepped back, his breath faster than normal. ‘Gentlemen … please.’
If he’s inviting, I’m sure they’ll oblige.