Now that I’ve had someone do a final pass over Lessons, my princess spanking story, it’s time to start typesetting.
What does that mean, exactly? Well, I have to create two source files: one for electronic and one for print. They each have to be set in different ways. For electronic, I have to put in bookmarks so readers can jump from place to place if they need or want to. For print, I have to make sure scene breaks don’t occur at the top or bottom of any page — which happens more often than you’d think; it took forever to fix that in Weekend Plans. Fortunately Lessons is only 21 chapters (plus a prologue), so it shouldn’t take that long.
Of course, typesetting also means that I have to do my very last editing pass over the book as well; as I paste from my drafts folder into the documents, I have to read each and every word one more time. The problem writers sometimes face at this point is that they’re just plain tired of reading their books — when I did Shell Game, I got so sick of the story that I never wanted to read it again. I haven’t quite gotten to that point with Lessons, and I hope I never do.
I’ve also reached out to my artist, in hopes that she’s available to put together the cover for me. If you liked the covers of Baker’s Dozen and Shell Game, I’m sure you’ll like the one for Lessons as well. (And if she’s not available, don’t worry; I’ll make sure the cover is as good as the book.)
Now, here’s an excerpt for you:
Eleanora shivered. “Yes, please.” It was easier to say when he couldn’t see her face. “I need to be spanked hard tonight.”
“Then you will be.”
Without warning, Peter’s hand fell. The smack was hard, harder than normal, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth. But as usual he didn’t give her much time to react; he was already smacking her again, his large hand leaving an area of stinging and heat where it hit.
The first two she likened to an orchestra conductor, waving his baton for the first couple of beats to get the orchestra ready to play at the right tempo. Once he’d done those two, he started to spank her in earnest, and it hurt. A lot. In record time Eleanora felt her bottom go from stinging to aching, like a million ants were biting her at the same time.
Peter was tireless when he spanked her; Eleanora had never seen him show any sign that his stamina was flagging. Tonight was the same; she tried to mentally count the swats, but she kept losing track because they were so painful. Worse, he was also spanking the tops of her thighs, which weren’t nearly as accustomed to the impacts. He wasn’t letting up when he did, though, and she had to clench her fists and jam her eyes shut lest she lose control too soon. She had no idea how long a spanking normally lasted, but this one already felt like the longest she’d ever had.
And still Peter spanked her, and spanked her, and spanked her, his hand making loud, sharp crack! sounds each time he smacked her backside or her thighs. It hurt so much, and she was beginning to regret her request. She didn’t want to cry — she hadn’t misbehaved, and she only cried when she misbehaved these days, which was rare — but this spanking hurt as much as her last hairbrushing had done, and he was only using his hand. Maybe she didn’t need to cry because it was his hand, and not the brush.
Plus there was the intimacy of it — Peter’s bare thigh against her hair, his left side soft where he held her against himself, the fabric of the chaise rubbing her nipples where she squirmed and shifted. She knew she was aroused, despite how much the spanking was hurting her. Crack! after crack! after crack!, swat after swat after swat, inexorable, unceasing, and loving.
Yes, loving. Peter must love her to spank her this way. Eleanora felt herself go liquid, her arousal growing, thinking of Peter being in love with her. They’d not said the words, not except for that one time, but she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. She wanted this man to love her and make love to her and spank her for the rest of her life.