Rosy Maylor's Blog: Rosy's Random Thoughts

I've always been drawn to Cinderella stories. The trope of an ingenuous waif who's is rescued by a knight in shining armour appeals to my angsty feels in a big way. On the other hand, I find it more interesting when the knight's armour is slightly tarnished and the waif is more than what she appears to be.

So in "The Virgin's Dilemma" I wanted to add my own personal twist to the timeless trope and dig more deeply into what it is about these stories that keeps me coming back for more. Although I never set out to make deliberately feminist statements in my stories, those values always seem to come through in a multitude of ways. Recent world events and controversies have a way of sneaking into my plot and shaping the character development and this one is no exception.

Issues like sex workers rights and the role of allies to our cause are intertwined with sexual liberation, gender equality and women's rights in a complicated way. I like to write fun hot stories, but I also am who and what I am. So this latest release is the result of all of the many feels I have experienced over the last year and my oddball way of resolving them with my own life experience as a polyamorous bisexual sadomasochistic switch.

I hope that the result is a fun sexy story that is relatable and angst ridden and pervy... and also hopeful despite some of the darker elements it encompasses.

The following is an except from my new book (title to be announced soon!), which will be released in the next week or so. It's set in the same world as my previous story: late-Victorian era London. There are some familiar characters and settings if you read the first one, but it can be taken as a standalone novel.

The main romance happens between this unlikely pair. I really enjoyed writing about a good girl this time around, not that I don't love a brat. And the hero is definitely on the darker side... but don't worry, Teresa is more than a match for him in the end. ;)

Enjoy!

Chapter One

“What’s it to be then? Another swan?”

Teresa bit back a nervous laugh. The mistress did love her bulbous headed swans. “No, Mr. Murray. It’s to be a serpent.”

“Ah. Fitting.”

Teresa agreed. The serpent was a metaphor for temptation, everyone knew that. And Teresa knew what sort of parties Mistress Caro hosted at some of the most prominent addresses in London—the naughty sort. Teresa didn’t know what exactly the guests got up to, she only knew that it was secret and scandalous and it wasn’t her place to ask questions.

She was only there to carve the ice sculptures. “The other two will be swans,” she admitted, gesturing at the other two large blocks of ice awaiting her attention.

“You’d better get to work then.”

Teresa tightened her grip on the icepick and the mallet as a shiver of anticipation ran up her back. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Murray was not her employer. He was a member of Caro’s club. Nearly a year previous, the party had been held at Mr. Murray’s house and he’d caught sight of Teresa carving the ice and stopped to chat with her about it. He asked her many lively questions about her carving and she’d felt compelled to answer him, even though it went against Mistress Caro’s rules for Teresa to speak with any of the guests. It was his grand house and he was a powerful and wealthy man. So Teresa couldn’t very well ignore him, which was convenient because she didn’t want to ignore him.

When he had appeared early for the next party she’d pretended to herself that it was merely a coincidence. When he’d continued to appear, she allowed herself to feel flattered. Now she enjoyed his company more than she could say.

She got up on her stool, put the pick to the block, and slammed the hammer down on it. It was vigorous work carving out the rough shape of the sculpture. Her arms ached and her breasts strained against the top of her corset for a little while before bouncing free over the top. It wasn’t her fault, she told herself, and there was nothing to be done about it. Her blouse and the chemise beneath it preserved some of her modesty at least.

The chisel was next. She pared down even more of the ice with grim determined blows. Mr. Murray had been surprised by her strength the first time he watched her, but Teresa had explained that her work at a theatre, painting large backdrops and even turning the cranks and working the pulleys to get them up and down, made her stronger than she looked.

Shards and shavings of ice fluttered around her. Before long she was soaked from her curly blonde hair to her navel in freezing water. She swiped the back of her hand over her brow and stepped back with her knuckles pressed to her mouth. The hardest part was over.

“Did you finish the seashore in time?”

She felt a little thrill as she always did when he remembered the small details of their last conversation. She’d complained about the backdrop a month ago. Surely a man like him had much more important things to occupy his mind? “Yes, sir. The paint was a bit wet, but the audience was none the wiser.”

“I am still waiting for an invitation to attend one of your productions.”

“They’re not my productions.” She selected a smaller chisel and shaved down what would be the serpent’s coiled belly. “And you’ve done nothing to deserve such torture.”

“You might be surprised.”

Her heart skipped. By reputation Mr. Murray was a fearsome man of business. “This one is even worse than the last, sir. I know I always say that but… It’s actually so awful that it’s almost entertaining.”

He laughed. “Almost?”

“The heroine dies of a broken heart.”

“Again?”

“There’s no other cause this time. She just up and dies. Well, first she loses her virtue and then she’s abandoned and then she sings and then…” Teresa nudged the chisel along the belly, “…she dies.”

“She doesn’t throw herself off a cliff or…?”

“No.” Teresa continued to shape the coils.

“Perhaps you missed something. She might have a weak heart or some such? I’ve seen that before.”

“No.” Teresa shook her head. “She dies of a broken heart alone. That’s what the song is about.”

“I insist that you sing it to me.”

She laughed so hard she had to stop carving. “No.” Her face heated. “That really would be torture.”

“For you or for me?”

“Both of us.” Teresa didn’t sing. She also didn’t talk to wealthy gentlemen who regularly attended parties so scandalous that servants like Teresa were paid ten times the usual rate to keep them quiet. Not ordinarily anyway. Ordinarily, Teresa was so shy she never talked to any gentlemen at all if she could help it.

Mr. Murray was just so easy to talk to. He always had interesting things to talk about because he was interested in so many things. And people. And most important, he was interested in Teresa, which made her feel interesting. It was a nice feeling, once she got used to it.

Mr. Murray pulled up a chair so he could sit comfortably while he watched Teresa work. “But it cannot be the gravedigger,” he said sometime later. He frowned up at her with folded arms. “He’s barely appeared in the story.”

“He was there all through the beginning.” They shared a mutual weakness for Penny Dreadfuls, the bloodier the better. “And they keep coming back to where the bodies could be hidden? And what about when they talked about him again, this week…”

“When?”

“When they said…” Teresa couldn’t remember exactly. “Something about the funeral and something about how they hadn’t seen their mutual friend the night before?”

“Oh, but they might have meant anybody.”

“It was clearly implied.” She frowned as she added more scales to the body of the snake.

“Hmm. I shall have to read it again.”

“It’s all there, right from the start. Otherwise it’s not fair.”

“I daresay you’re right.”

“There.” She added a finishing touch to the last scale. “Done.”

“Come here.”

This was her favourite part.

Mr. Murray took her cold hands, raw and red from the ice, and warmed them one at a time between his own.

She went and stood before him. Her hand trembled just a bit as she offered it to him, but it was quickly swallowed up and steadied by his two much larger ones.

His touch was brisk and impersonal, almost pointedly so. Her cold skin went from numb to acutely sensitive as he deliberately chafed it. It hurt and it felt good in an uncomfortably pleasant way. She enjoyed it very much—not the least because she got to stand close to him and look at him looking back at her, which her work did not allow for otherwise.

Mr. Murray was not a handsome man. There was nothing of the dandy or the aristocrat in his rough features. His brows were dark and prominent, his nose was slightly crooked and his jaw was rather fierce. Often when Teresa was at home all alone she thought about sketching his likeness in bold charcoal lines.

She never did. It would be a liberty and a shameful indulgence to presume upon that sort of intimacy with a gentleman so far above her.

Socially, he was far above her, but he wasn’t particularly tall. His authority and conviction made him seem larger than other men though. And he was very broad, like a pugilist. She liked his dark wavy hair, but his eyes were by far his best feature. They were a lovely clear brown and when she looked into them, like now, she felt warmed all the way through.
He began to rub harder.

She closed her eyes. This was the most difficult part, a sort of horrid trial that she loved and hated at the same time. With her eyes squeezed shut, her tender skin felt even more sensitive as his large strong hands rubbed her small one without mercy. And she wondered, as she always did, if he was looking at her breasts?

She thought he must look, since her eyes were closed and no harm could come of it. The outlines of her breasts were prominent under her wet blouse and the points of her cold little nipples thrust forward in such a way that she would not blame him for staring, not at all.

She always waited until he let go of her hand before she opened her eyes and offered him the other one. That way he would be able to adjust his gaze and they would both be able to carry on as if he hadn’t noticed her wet blouse at all.

When he released her other hand, Teresa opened her eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

He rose without acknowledging her thanks and carried the small table with her tools to the next block of ice. “Now this one.” He dragged his chair over to face it.

“Yes, sir.” She took her stool and followed him. It was presuming of him to order her about, but she rather liked it. It didn’t allow for any awkwardness to descend between them.

They continued in the same pattern twice more; engaging conversation, a brief respite and trial, and then it was time for Teresa to go.

She began drying her tools and putting them away.

“I shan’t be here next month.”

“Oh?”

“I have another engagement.”

“Oh.” She was glad her back was to him and she didn’t have to hide the depths of her silly disappointment. Two whole months until the next time she’d see him? Even one month was too long.

“I thought I would come and see your paintings instead.”

She froze. They had discussed her paintings. Many times. But…

“When may I come to see them?”

Her hands tightened on the drying rag. “I am home from the theatre after nine o’clock most nights.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

A pause. “I will need your address.”

She gave it to him.

“I’ll come on Monday then.”

“Monday?” So soon? Her heart skipped and smile sprang to her lips. “Alright, sir. I will look forward to it.”

***

The second half of the Chapter is significantly less PG, so I won't post it here. ;) Thanks for reading!

Rosy: Hello, Lady Roud, and welcome to the show!

Jane: Well, this is very odd… Am I having a dream? Too much rum punch, perhaps…

Rosy: Lady Jane Hayworth Roud is joining us all the way from the late 19th century.

Jane: Er… Where am I?

Rosy: Let’s jump right in. You and your husband seem to have a fun D/s dynamic. Do you see yourself as a brat?

Jane: A what?

Rosy: A brat.

Jane: No, the other bit. I don’t think we have one of those actually. Is it some sort of machine? I think perhaps I heard they had one at the World’s Fair…

Rosy: *long pause* Sexapalooza maybe. You know what, never mind. You seem like a fun couple of perverts, how’s that?

Jane: Well, that’s very personal. I’m not sure I ought to answer those sorts of questions.

Rosy: Actually, that’s the whole point.

Jane: *looks askance*

Rosy: *waves hands* It’s a dream. It’s all a dream.

Jane: Oh. Alright then.

Rosy: Do you think of yourself as a brat?

Jane: No! Heavens, no. Not at all. I am very well behaved and I always have been. My family has a sterling reputation and I would never dream of doing anything to shame them. My father, Lord Hayworth-

Rosy: Yes, but what about all of the pranks?

Jane: *blushes* Oh… The pranks. Now I see what you’re getting at. Yes, I do enjoy pranking and teasing my husband. I mean it in the most affectionate way. I would never be truly disrespectful. It’s only that Lord Roud is so very collected and in control of himself. And so very handsome… And dashing. A bit too sarcastic at times…

Rosy: *coughs*

Jane: Right. Well, it’s like when you see a very neatly made up bed and you just have to jump on it.

Rosy: And you want him to spank you?

Jane: Oh! *covers mouth* We really mustn’t talk about such things.

Rosy: Yes, we must. It’s just a dream, remember?

Jane: In that case… Yes, I suppose I do like to be spanked.

Rosy: Why? Isn’t that odd?

Jane: Yes. And very shameful. And painful. I like the sound of it and the pain. I especially like it when he makes me cry. Or makes me say... naughty things.

Rosy: What sort of naughty things?

Jane: *hides face* Oh no, I can’t!

Rosy: It’s only a dream…

Jane: No. I-I couldn’t possibly.

Rosy: That’s fine. It’s a free blog post, if they like that kind of thing, they can buy the book.

Jane: What?

Rosy: What?

Jane: I really don’t think it’s that odd. Well, it is. But it isn’t, for us. Roud and I are very well matched that way. Even when we were courting he was always teasing me that he was going to put me over his knee and I… I really hoped that he would.

Rosy: So you don’t think he corrupted you?

Jane: He certainly did. But I was already a pervert, I only lacked opportunity and experience. I realize that now. I’ve never been normal. But he… helped me to see that, to admit to it and to enjoy it. I daresay I’d have been miserable married to somebody ordinary.

Rosy: And your master?

Jane: Isn’t that a spoiler?

Rosy: What?

Jane: What?

Rosy: Isn’t your husband enough for you?

Jane: Of course he is! He is my best friend and partner in life. I love him desperately. But… I was pulling rather a lot of pranks, you see. He’s only one man. He has other commitments. And well… It wasn’t my idea.

Rosy: Yeah, I know, it was mine.

Jane: And sometimes when one goes away, even if one has a lovely time, one still appreciates one’s own bed all the more when one returns to it.

Rosy: And you still want to jump on it?

Jane: Oh, yes. Even more so.

Rosy: Any pranks lined up?

Jane: I find general pestering and sauciness to be most effective actually. Pointedly ignoring his sarcasm. Creeping up behind him and startling him when he’s trying to concentrate…

Rosy: Some people say brats are just topping from the bottom.

Jane: *blank face*

Rosy: That means using brattiness to get what they want from their partners.

Jane: Oh. Yes. Obviously. But it’s also what their partners want. Otherwise it wouldn’t work, would it? It’s just flirting. Rather aggressively. With more humour. And pretending that you’re not.

Rosy: Fair enough. Some people might say you’re… a bit of a monster. Kink-wise. I mean, you play hard.

Jane: Oh, it’s all in good fun.

Rosy: No, seriously. You’re pretty hardcore.

Jane: I’m what?

Rosy: Well ‘ard. A tough nut.

Jane: I suppose it depends. What excites or frightens one person might not seem like very much at all to another. It’s best to be honest about what pleases you and your partners and not worry about what other people are doing or thinking. I… learned that the hard way. *blushes*

Rosy: But you enjoyed yourself?

Jane: Yes. I did, thank you very much.

Rosy: You’re welcome.

Read all about Jane's adventures:

Punishing Lady Jane

Just wanted to send a quick shout out to everyone who's purchased my book!

Today I saw that it almost reached a top 100 spot in ebooks > Romance > Historical Romance > Victorian

As a big fan of romance and erotica (and, who am I kidding, all kinds of books) I know taking a chance on an unknown author is a gamble. Especially when the book isn't on kindle unlimited or otherwise discounted. So, thank you! I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks to everyone who took the time to rate it or leave a review! I appreciate it a lot, especially since I know my story is a bit "different" and "dark". Reviews really help readers make the right choice and I want my book to find its way onto the kindles of those who will be most likely to enjoy it. ;)

Seriously, thank you!

Punishing Lady Jane

A brief sum up of my first ten days as a published author. Punishing Lady Jane

Day 1 - "Is this really happening?!"

Day 2 - "OMG, people are reading something I wrote!"

Day 3 - Obsessively checked stats every hour. "Oh man, lots of people."

Day 4 - "Why not more people?" Obsessively compared self to others.

Day 5 - "What if people don't like it?"

Day 6 - "Oh, thank God, someone liked it."

Day 7 - Briefly considered writing something more mainstream, because of sudden increased need for unanimous approval and validation.

Day 8 - "Naw, I'm cool with who I am."

Day 9 - Extremely grateful to my publisher for taking a risk on my story. And blown away by the support of my friends and fellow writers.

Day 10 - Experienced a surge of respect for authors everywhere and a renewed sense of purpose.

Thanks to everyone who read my book, "Punishing Lady Jane"! You can also follow me on twitter: @roysiamaylor