Hello everyone,
I got the cover back last night. I really like it (but then I’m biased). The cover artist is Michaela Strong (www.sexybookcovers.com), and I HIGHLY recommend her!
Take a look and let me know what you think 🙂
(Book should be released either late tonight or sometime on Tuesday. Finally…)
Hello everyone.
I am in the last stages of edits and pulling together a cover for my newest book titled Maintenance Night. This is a short novella (just over 14K words) that follows a night in the life of Troy and Lacey. The couple are happily living a D/s marriage, and the book depicts one aspect of their relationship called “Maintenance Night.” The book was supposed to have been released yesterday, but at this point it’s looking more likely to be in the Aug 27-29 time frame.
Please have a look at the excerpt below, and feel free to let me know what you think (even if you hate it). I will post the cover as well, as soon as it’s finalized.
EXCERPT
“Maintenance Night” by Trent Evans
‘There will be a new punishment tonight. Be a good girl, and make sure you’re ready when I get home. You have a hard night ahead of you.
Love, Troy’
Lacey let the note flutter to the floor in front of the fireplace. She leaned on the gray stone of the hearth for a moment, shaking her head. It was Friday.
Apparently, he was serious about Fridays.
She looked at her phone. 5:40 PM.
“Shit.” She hurried down the hallway, knowing she had ten minutes – fifteen minutes tops, if he was late.
But he was never late on Maintenance Night.
Her buttocks twitched. That it would be a long, agonizing night for them was certain.
She jumped in the shower, squealing as her shaking hands turned the hot water up too high. She scrubbed herself scrupulously, knowing there was no part of her body her husband didn’t regard as his. And there would be hell to pay if he found any part of her not squeaky clean.
She cursed the lunchtime jog she’d taken that day at the office. For once, she was keeping to her exercise routine, and it was starting to pay off. She thought she needed to lose ten pounds, even though Troy kept after her about needing to gain ten more pounds. It was just her luck that lithe, athletic Lacey would fall in love with and marry a man like Troy Stanton, who was more interested in the curves of Christina Hendricks from Mad Men than he was the slenderness of a Jennifer Aniston.
Lacey was fairly certain she would end someone just to get the body of either one of those famous women. But the truth was, she was somewhere between those two extremes. Sure, she used to have the sleek lines of Aniston in college, but in the past couple of years, she’d gotten a little bigger. A more pronounced roundness perhaps, a larger butt for certain. Troy referred to it as her “filling out” for him – as if she was gaining weight on purpose. But oddly enough he loved it, loved her new body. She was ashamed of it, was disgusted with herself for it.
Not Troy.
“Dammit Lace,” she said, stumbling out of the shower. “Stop daydreaming!”
She looked down, frowning at the deep tan of the floor tiles. Water was everywhere. There wasn’t time to clean it up. She looked at the clock on the counter.
“Shit!”
Running into their bedroom, she attacked her dripping length of long black hair with a towel. She purposely averted her gaze from the shadowed corner of the room directly opposite their massive bed. She’d be there soon enough.
She zipped the skirt, struggling with the zipper at the top. The patterned, black skirt was breathlessly tight, just as he liked. The Dior stockings were the worst part, for she had to take her time with them. A tear or run would be disastrous. Her delicate hands shook as she rifled through her tops, looking for the one she knew he demanded for Maintenance Nights.
“There you are.” She snatched the ridiculously small tank from the drawer and dashed out to the living room.
The rumble of an engine grew loud outside.
He was home.
She hastily tucked the white tank top into her skirt as the garage door raised and lowered, the cutting out of the motor and the sudden silence snapping her to attention.
Her husband was built like a linebacker, but it was his unsettlingly intense gaze that first caught her eye back in college. He had the kind of rough-around-the-edges dark looks that would have any woman panting, yet for some reason he’d fixated on her.
Just the same way he fixated on her now as he walked through the door.
“Hi honey!” She perked up her smile, seeing him whistling. Troy whistling was usually a good sign.
He didn’t answer her though, and his gaze locked with hers.
Wrong. She was in trouble.
Maintenance Night meant she would be spanked; that was as sure as the sunrise. However, if he was unhappy with his wife for some other reason, he’d happily add on extra ‘tariffs’ as he liked to call them. Sometimes it would be some penance in the corner with her naked bottom on display. Other times it might mean her doing a stint in the Frame, her vulnerable flesh dancing to the tune of the thuddy leather flogger he favored for beating her breasts – though thankfully he saved that particular torment for grievous offenses.
“Afternoon Lace,” he said, flipping through the mail, his hip against the bar that separated their kitchen from the living room. She felt small, her hands clasped behind her back as she stood, alone, in the middle of the expansive great room.
“How was work?” She moved to pick up the laptop case he’d set on the bar, but he grabbed her hand.
“Back in position,” he said, giving her fingers a quick squeeze.
“Sorry, I–”
“Just do it, Lacey. You’re already in enough trouble. Don’t make it worse.”
Lacey’s gaze slanted downward, and she retreated back to her spot. She licked her lips, willing herself to manufacture some saliva as her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
They’d agreed to this. They’d talked about it – a lot. At first Troy hadn’t been sure. She’d convinced him just to try it once. See what he thought. His first time spanking her was almost comical; she’d actually giggled at the tickle that she called that “inaugural spanking”.
That seemed like a thousand years ago.
He walked around her. It was the usual inspection: a smoothing of a skirt hem, a tuck of her unruly dark hair behind her ear.
She yelped as his hand swatted her ass. “Stand up straight. You’re slouching.”
Lacey snapped to ramrod attention.
“More, girl,” he said, standing to the side, just beyond her peripheral vision. “Stick those tits out.”
Straining to obey, she blushed at the way the position arched her back, sticking out her ass and essentially presenting her breasts to her husband.
“That’s better.” He returned to stand before her, looking down upon her from his great height.
Lacey knew better than to be fooled by his pleased tone at her obedience. This was just the beginning.
“You know what day this is, don’t you?”
Her eyebrow quirked upward. “Friday?”
“Sir,” he growled, not quite suppressing an amused curve of his lips.
“Friday, Sir.”
“Yes, that’s right.” He moved around her again, and stood close behind her. The movement of his lips brushed the edge of her ear. “And what happens on Fridays?”
The whispered words washed over her, and she shivered as the coiling began deep in her belly. “Spanking.”
“Maintenance, Lacey.” He clasped the nape of her neck in his big hand, his finger gently stroking under her chin. ”You need maintenance.”
When she was struggling, crying, pleading as she lay over the steel hard slabs of his muscular thighs, she wasn’t sure she’d characterize herself as ‘needing’ it. But when a girl’s ass is on fire, the tears streaming down her face, she isn’t exactly thinking straight.
She dreaded this part. It was…participation. Agreement.
“Yes Sir. I need to be spanked.”
“Go on.” His hand tightened.
“Because – because, I’ve disobeyed you.”
But I haven’t!
It didn’t matter, of course. Maintenance spankings were instituted in their marriage because Troy felt they were useful for correcting his wife for any minor misdeeds she may have committed during the week, and as a way to reinforce the power dynamics of their relationship.
Troy released her nape, his hands moving down and across the upper swells of her breasts. She wished she’d been allowed a bra to make them seem perkier, but he was more interested in easy access to her breasts than he was her vanity.
“Do you have anything to tell me?” His fingers deftly eased over the hard points of her nipples, the tips blatantly displayed under the snug tank top.
“I . . .I forgot to tell you when my period ended.”
In one of the most shocking orders she’d ever received from her husband, he’d decreed that she was to inform him when she started and ended her period. She’d had no idea why at the time, but the first time she called him at work with those embarrassing two words “I started”, she understood why.
His whispered “Good girl” had made her both shudder and sigh. It was mortifying, but his making her inform him was just another subtle aspect of his control, a sliver of her independence taken away.
He shook his head, his fingers catching each of her nipples in a firm clench. The thin fabric of her top offered scant protection.
“When.”
She craned her head back at him. “I’m not – sure.”
“Try again.” His fingers squeezed and she gasped in pain.
“Two . . . maybe three days ago.” She wasn’t really sure, but she feared her hesitation might look like deception.
His fingers tightened further, her nipples screaming. She bit her lower lip, stifling her yell. “What did we agree you would do Lacey?”
Oh God, don’t make me say it.
“Troy, please. Can’t we just—”
“Say it Lacey,” he said, steel creeping into his voice.
She swallowed, the humiliation almost too much to bear. “I’m to tell you when my menstrual period begins and when it ends.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I – If I don’t, I’ll be punished.”
He lightly slapped both of her breasts, and walked around her, shaking his head in mock concern. She felt like a mouse in a cat’s jaws as he crossed his arms over his massive chest, his dark gaze boring into her – relentless, demanding. “Did you think it would just be taken care of on Maintenance Night?”
“No! I wouldn’t–”
“Be quiet.” He waved a hand in front of her. “The time for explaining is done. This’ll be extra.”
Her eyes went wide. “Troy!”
His hand grasped her throat and she caught her breath. He stepped closer, speaking into the hair above her temple. “Be quiet Lacey.”
She dropped her eyes, nodding miserably.
“Good. At least you can still follow some directions.”
She tried to suppress the trembling she knew he could feel through her body. Extra meant more pain, more humiliation, and more disapproval from her husband.
Lacey hated his disapproval, but she detested the humiliation of calling to inform him her pussy had stopped seeping blood.
Now, as she stood there, his hand around her neck like a living collar, she knew how stupid she’d been.
Maintenance spankings were bad enough – and now she’d gone and made it worse.
He leaned in close, his dark, piercing gaze freezing her in place. “You asked for this. You need this. So why do you still disobey me?”
She couldn’t bear to look, her gaze sliding away. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Look at me Lacey.”
Her gaze reluctantly met his, and her breath caught at the possessive lust in his eyes, a look that had her pussy moistening even as she shivered with dread.
“You like it, don’t you?”
She looked down once more, the blush on her face burning bright.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, the cool smell of his cologne washing over her. “Then we’ll get you plenty of what you like, little girl.”
Troy was still a moment, his hand squeezing her neck uncomfortably before he stepped away, saying, “Come into the living room, Lacey.”
Copyright © 2012, Trent Evans
Day 12: Tell us about a humorous BDSM/kink experience you’ve had. If you haven’t had one, talk about aspects of kink/BDSM you find funny.
This one took some thinking for me. I had a tough time thinking of any outright funny things related to BDSM/kink. Embarrassing, erm, yeah. Maybe I will relate that on another day:)
I was reminded of a news story I came across on the Interwebz roundabout Valentine’s Day of this year. A couple had been arrested after the woman was found naked, bound and gagged in the back seat of her car.
It turns out this was a bit of role-playing gone “wrong”. I’d link to the story, but these people have probably been through the ringer enough as it is. If you’re curious, Google is your friend:)
I remember reading this story to a good friend of mine (who happens to be female). I told her that I had two initial thoughts upon reading the story:
1. That dude’s Man Card is now ironclad; nothing can ever touch it. It’s encased in Awesome-ite.
2. That is what you call a good man taking care of his woman’s needs.
(My friend agreed, but she blushed beet red.)
I also told my friend that it was a virtual guarantee that the cops were high-fiving the guy even as they were booking him into jail. I sincerely hope the disorderly conduct charges were later dropped, but I never heard.
While this was undoubtedly mortifying for the couple, maybe someday they will look back on this and laugh. Yeah…maybe not.
Until Day 13
Trent
Hello all! Since writers suffer from a chronic inability to judge the quality of their own work, they can sometimes benefit from additional sets of eyes looking over their manuscripts. I find myself in this situation now. I have a contemporary BDSM novelette (a shorter novella) that is scheduled to be released this month. I don’t really have a cover or even a title for the damn thing yet (working title is “A Sub’s Discipline“), but I’d like to have this looked over while I finalize those details.
For those of you who follow this blog regularly, you’ve got a pretty clear picture of what I write – BDSM erotica and erotic romance. If there are any brave readers out there who’d like a hand in molding my work into something halfway readable, I’d love to hear from you.
I am looking for honesty, objectivity and a critical eye. Tell me what you like as a reader – and tell me what you don’t like. I have a thick skin and I can take it when someone breaks the news to me that my book just plain sucks. That’s the whole reason for utilizing the services of beta readers.
If you are interested in reading, please let me know a few things:
– what do you like to read?
– what don’t you like to read?
– book length preference (e.g. “I’ll read short stories, but novels take too much time.” “I hate short stories.” etc)
– would you be interested in beta reading future books?
In exchange I can only offer a free beta copy of the book (in whichever format you prefer – print excluded) and the everlasting gratitude of a new author. If you are also an erotica/erotic romance writer, I would be happy to consider exchanging beta reading services as well.
ETA (thanks Black Hippie Chick!): If you’re interested in beta reading, please contact me via the following form: [contact-form][contact-field label=’Name’ type= required=’1’/][contact-field label=’Email’ type= required=’1’/][contact-field label= type=”/][contact-field label=’Comment’ type=’textarea’ required=’1’/][/contact-form]
Thank you!
Trent
Day 11: What are your views on the ethics of kink?
This is much too broad a topic to write about here in a blog post, so I will address one aspect of “kink ethics” that has been bothering me of late: the soft tyranny of Safe Sane and Consensual (SSC). Uh oh, now I’ve stepped in it. I’m off the reservation. There, got my mixed metaphors out of the way:)
SSC as a concept is a great thing, but there is a problem with it. It’s morphed from something that was formerly a rallying cry, a call for rational, clear thinking to a thing resembling a cudgel to be used to keep the pervy riff raff in line.
Everybody wants everyone to be safe; I think that should go without saying for 99% of us. However, some people who practice BDSM don’t want to be “safe”. I’ll use extreme breathplay as an example. Some normal, awesome people enjoy it. I don’t, but you sure as hell won’t hear me tell someone else that their kink doesn’t fall within the lines (read: prison bars) of SSC, and thus is wrong. This is where SSC becomes kink shaming – which drives me bat poop crazy.
SSC is one way to keep people safe, a set of guidelines perhaps. But it’s not the be all and end all of kink (yes, I realize nobody is saying it is – I loathe strawmen). SSC should absolutely NOT be a way for fellow pervs to deem other pervs beyond the pale.
So why am I writing about this? For those of you who’ve been following along with me, you know I am not a pro Dom. I don’t do clubs. I don’t scene. I am a relationship Dom (mostly). Is that even a term? Doesn’t matter. Why does SSC get under my skin so much? Because I am also a writer of BDSM erotica (and eventually erotic romance).
I am not here to call anybody out…but I have seen some things that disturb me vis-à-vis SSC and BDSM fiction.
I’m going to be blunt here. Fiction is fiction – it is not kink prosletyzing.
If someone wants to write about unsupervised body suspension, mummification, extreme breathplay, texting while driving, whatever it is that causes the SSC acolytes to fall to the ground in grand mal seizures, then they should be able to do so. Fiction is not real life – it’s shit the author made up. That’s it.
An author wants to tell a story – something that makes the reader feel. A writer wants to craft something that connects with the reader as a human being. You don’t tell a story by hitting all your marks in SSC dogma. If you try that then you end up writing a how-to manual. How-to manuals are great for what they are. But they aren’t the same thing as a story manufactured out of whole cloth. When I see someone tear down an author’s work because something occurs in their story that doesn’t conform to SSC, I scratch my head.
Do we berate someone like thriller writer Chelsea Cain? She depicts absolutely ghastly things in her books. But they’re great books, great fiction. Her books are not a how-to for serial killers, or profilers, or cops. They’re fiction; shit she made up. Do we wag our finger at her for depicting something that violates all laws, morals, and basic human decency? No, we see her books for what they are: great, gripping yarns. The end.
(BTW – if you haven’t checked out Chelsea’s Gretchen Lowell series, you must do so. Like yesterday. Incredible characters, incredible voice. You will not regret it. Sorry, I can’t help it – I am a Chelsea Cain fan.)
But, in BDSM fiction we are seeing just that. It’s happening by inches, but it’s as relentless and unstoppable as the grind of a glacier. BDSM is being normalized, mainstreamed. Is it due to 50 Shades of Grey? I don’t know. I suppose it could be part of it. I think it’s actually more of a function of the commercial success of erotic romance in general.
What particular sub-genre of erotic romance sells the most books?
Paranormal? Maybe in 2010.
Menage? Nope.
Yes, you guessed it – it’s BDSM. I think it’s a GREAT thing. I really do. But, I wonder if the attention currently focused on BDSM is going to turn it into something many of us no longer recognize? Only time will tell.
I’ve seen other writers struggle with their erotica being lumped in with erotic romance, and suffering the ire of erotic romance readers because the story doesn’t include an HEA or strays into areas (such as non-con themes) deemed to be too dark. It’s not fair, but it’s happening.
I’m rambling here, so I am going to wrap this up. I guess what I am getting at here is that the very thing that differentiates kinky people from others – the “forbidden” nature of our orientations – is undergoing some change. How is it possible that BDSM is being both normalized/regulated (SSC dogma) and sanitized (the mainstreaming of BDSM in fiction and the popular consciousness)? I don’t know, but it’s happening.
What does this mean? My guess is that it means one of two things: either the spotlight will eventually move on to something else (and us sickos can get back to the business of being regular sickos), or it doesn’t move on – and it really becomes a new world for kink. Things might get even more interesting!
This post morphed into a mini-rant about a single topic, so maybe I will just call this Day 11 part I 🙂
Until next time.
Trent
Call Me Maybe – One of the catchiest songs in the past ten years…
This song follows Pop Music Hooks 101 – Rule #3: “When in doubt, add strings.” Now I am not exactly the target demographic for this song, but damn if it won’t get out of my head! I’m sure half the world is going to hate this thing in a couple of weeks, but right now? Yeah, it is stuck in Trent’s head.
Poor wittle innocent pop song:(
Some of you are probably asking yourselves: “Why the f*ck did Trent post about some teen pop song?” I love music, and always have. It affects me like little else, save reading and writing. It speaks to something primal in all of us, regardless of what particular type of music we listen to.
But mainly I wanted to write about something not quite so heavy. Don’t worry though – heavy and dark will be back very soon 🙂
One of the first things I like to ask when I’m getting to know someone is what kind of music they like. Perhaps I am guilty of being a tad overanalytical, but I’ve always felt it gave me a tiny glimpse at what kind of person they might be. Now, that said, I make sure not to make generalizations or assumptions about people based on what they listen to. Taste is subjective. One man’s masterpiece is another man’s emetic.
What got me thinking about music was when I was going through my phone, updating the songs on it. Yes, I stream – a LOT (Pandora, I heart thee) – but I also buy quite a bit of music. All digital downloads of course; I am struggling to recall the last time I actually purchased a CD. And while I was updating my playlist, I was struck anew at the bat poop crazy range of music that is on my phone.
You’ll never hear me criticize the music others choose to listen to, mainly because for me to do so would be akin to the pot calling the kettle black. Perhaps there are others out there like me – maybe this is the new normal in an increasingly specialized and subdivided entertainment culture – but my musical tastes are…schizophrenic. You’ll find anything from metal to country, Debussy to Deftones. There’s New Age (yes, really), pop, gangsta rap, trance, trip hop, ambient, etc. There’s even a super trippy, long form yoga composition(!), complete with spoken word segments mentioning the stars – and I don’t even do yoga. The point is, I’m all over the place.
Now, my personal favorite band is TOOL. I can’t pick out a favorite song of theirs – there are just too many. I can narrow it down to a few though:
– Reflection – These guys managed to create a song that’s dark, serpentine, even thoughtful – and sneak in cool references to the story of Narcissus from Greek mythology. The fact that this song does all of this without being pretentious is simply amazing.
– Lateralus – The title track from their nearly flawless album released in 2001. This is one of my favorites due mainly to an incredible arrangement, complicated time signature and a stunning, soul-stirring finale. This song is eleven years old and it still gives me chills.
– 10,000 days – Wings for Marie (Part 2) – Written by lead singer Maynard James Keenan as a sort of elegy (no, I did NOT confuse this with ‘eulogy’) for his disabled mother following her death. It’s so powerful, so heartbreaking, and, ultimately, supremely uplifting. This is a moving, incredible gem of a song that will make you want to give your mom a huge hug.
There is a lot of other music I love, but I am boring you all at this point. I would really love to know what music you guys like to listen to, what moves you. Please feel free to comment, or send me an e-mail if that’s more comfortable for you. Until next time:)
Trent
