Updates And A Question

Projects, projects, and more projects. I have been meaning to write this update on things for a little bit, but like everything else lately, it kept getting put off. Well not everything gets put off, but priorities have a way of shifting on a daily basis. Right now and for the next couple of weeks my first priority is Quest Five though and I don't think that will be changing.

I've had a few people asking about The Retreat, it was supposed to be finished two or three weeks ago. It is still coming, but the story actually has ended up being a bit longer than I originally anticipated. The greater length should be good overall, but it has meant the story is taking longer to finish. I am tempted to give a new estimated date of completion, but having missed the last one completely, I would rather say, I'll keep you updated.

Jessica's Toil will also be delayed a bit from its original date because with me still working on The Retreat, I have not had the time available to push it forward. Jessica's Toil will get tackled, but I am considering pushing it off even further because of another idea which I'm very excited to work on. Time will tell and I will keep you updated here.

The newest story being added to my list of works in progress goes along with the included pic and it's called Lyrics Are Lies. The story will be set during the prohibition era in the United States. I won't give too much detail at this juncture because the story is still largely in the planning stage, but this is shaping up as the project to follow The Retreat. It is looking to be a story primarily about forbidden love between a singer at a speakeasy and a Federal law enforcement officer. The dynamics of the basic relationship seem pretty engaging, but I'm working on including quite a few nice extras to the story from spankings to adultery and blackmail. Not everyone's cup of tea I'm sure, but I'm pretty excited to write this one.

For those who read and enjoy Quest Five, you've probably already guessed the story is coming to a conclusion. I started writing Quest Five last April and now after almost a full year of writing the story is coming to its final chapters. The various plots and subplots are all coming to their ends and I'm now at a point where I have to decide precisely what kind of an ending I'm going to give Allison and her colleagues.

I've narrowed it down to two real possibilities, but I find myself vacillating between them. Should I close the story out for good, give the characters their respective endings, happy and content with all things set to right in the world? It is tempting of course. Allison has been through a marathon of trials and it seems only fair in the end she should enjoy the rewards of perseverance. This is perfect and right, but only if I'm truly finished with Allison.

The fact is, I've loved writing Quest Five. I'm attached in a very personal way to the characters and I'm not totally sure I'm ready to give them up. The current story has to come to an end of course, its time is upon us and the story was planned from the start to come to this point. I need a break as well. Writing fifty to a hundred pages a month is tiring and time consuming. There are lots of other projects I'm looking forward to working on, but what if I want to come back to Quest Five after a few months? Well then, I need an ending which I can easily pick up from and begin a new story. It wouldn't necessarily be as satisfying nor as happy, but an ending with possibilities for the future sounds pretty good too.

So I guess the question comes down to this, and I'd love to hear from anyone with an opinion on the story; Should I end Quest Five permanently and move on to other stories or should I leave it open for a second story and plan on a return to it in the future?

No Other Way

I knelt on the bed. My hands and knees pressed into the firmness of the mattress, indenting its smooth surface. I could barely feel the light weight of the strap laying across the middle of my back. More obvious, was the elastic of my shorts pressing against my upper thighs, well lower than my waist where they were meant to reside. Drawing even more attention was the burning, red sting so recently imparted to my buttocks and the morning sunlight shining through the bedroom window, exposing them.

"Was it worth it?" He asked and I turned my head to look at him. I hoped the dried tears on my cheeks would give the illusion of the contriteness he expected. The question elicited memories of the previous night, bringing a faint smile to my lips. The short answer was most definitely a yes.

The moment had been long in coming. It might have come sooner had I set out to accomplish it, but such a goal was not mine. The spark of it could change everything going forward, even if the goal seems contrary to my best interests. Not that I expect anyone to understand, but the moment has its allure.

When he flung the door open, I felt the cold flash of terror washing over me. Even the warmth of being nestled within my covers fled. Not a word was spoke as he walked across the floor ignoring my fearful gaze. His hands threw open the curtains, inviting in the morning sunlight from which I wanted to hide. I threw a hand up to shield my eyes from the light and groaned as the previous evening's illicit activities shot throbbing pain through my still tired head.

He marched to the foot of the bed and stood staring down over me with scolding eyes. The flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach washed over me, leaving me trembling. He had made the threats on previous occasions and looking up at him, I knew the time for threats had come and gone. The hard line of his jaw was sign enough of his intention to follow through and I knew the time had come.

"Up," He said. The succinctness of his command resonated within in my ears indicating the relative shortness of his remaining patience. I blinked at him, my pouting lip protruding just enough to search out a tenderness in his heart, but unsurprisingly finding it absent. My breath froze in lungs and my mind emptied itself of all coherent thought leaving me with nothing more than emotion and impulse.

I hugged the covers closer to my body, seeking warmth and comfort, but there was none to be found. He reached out, snagging the foot of the covers in his hand and ripping them from me. Instinctively, I reached for them only to have them slip through my trembling fingertips and be thrown across the room from his disgruntled hand. I watched them sail through the air and morning sunlight, crashing against the wall and tumbling into a puddle of softness hidden by shadows.

He pointed to the spot on the wall above my bed. I had no need to look, but I did anyway. Sadness gripped me, my eyes began to water and nothing could make me look away. The strap hung against the barren whiteness of the wall. I knew what he expected, but my arms would not obey. The strap remained steady, unflinching, unmoving and his finger remained just as stubbornly fixed in place, pointing at the implement. Had I not intervened there might have been a cataclysm of untold proportions.

I reached up and took the strap from its home. It laid heavy in my hands as if it were almost sorrowful and laden with guilt for its purpose. I would have offered comfort, but there was little point because in his hands, there would be no comfort or comforting. He barely waited for me to offer it to him before taking it from my hands. I watched it fall limp in his hands and offered it a sympathetic smile before turning my attentions to him and his unflinching gaze.

His crooked finger pointed at the floor at the foot of my bed. I shook my head in protest, but the finger remained fixated on the spot on the floor. Dragging my feet along the smoothness of the floor, I approached the location indicated. The finger returned to his side and he stared at me as if he expected something more. I knew what he wanted, but I wanted to hear the commands from his mouth.

"Bend over," He said.

The resonance of his voice tugged at the corners of my lips, dragging out hints of a smile. I turned to face the bed and leaned over the foot board. My hands pressed against the mattress, my buttocks felt unnaturally pushed to protrude behind me. His hands came to rest against my waist, fingertips brushing against the skin of my stomach before gently pulling my pajama bottoms down exposing just enough of my bottom to make it feel like a target between my top and bottoms.

I enjoyed the quiet moment while he appraised the milky whiteness of my backside. The sunlight warmed the skin and relaxed my muscles. He waited, the strap held firm in his hand, and he stared as if he might have been having second thoughts about what he was going to do. Had I the voice to put words to the feeling pulsing through me, I would have nudged him onwards, but in the moment I was mute.

My body jerked, my eyes blinked and then I felt it. The lash of the strap against my bare skin rippled through my nerves, sending waves of warmth emanating outward to my extremities. I breathed just in time for a second lash to come crashing down. A scream might have escaped my lips, but it was only a natural response to the pain. It was not the strap's fault nor was it even his fault.

The strap continued to sing through the air. My legs began to kick in response and my breath grew more and more ragged with each successive lash. The burning discomfort began to pulse in sync with the gyrations of my body trying to avoid the next stroke. Tears dripped from eyes to the mattress below and as they did, guilt slipped away, replaced by a conviction to do better. Even in the moment I knew the conviction would last only so long as the burn and sting reminded me, but in truth I would have it no other way.