Thursday, October 12, 2017

THE BELLE VS THE BDOC in Audio!

I'm super thrilled for the audio release of The Belle vs the BDOC by Amy Jo Cousins! She'll try to tell you she "plied" me to get me to narrate it, but the truth is, I begged for the chance to do it. I love these characters and this story so much, had a blast narrating it in my Chicago studio, and then even more fun editing it while on the road with a sideshow, struggling to hear the audio over the shrieks of children at the carnival.

But it's available now, and if you love the 90s, the Bend or Break series, hardcore games of Assassin, dapper dykes and Souther belles...you should totally check it out.


Friday, October 6, 2017

Excerpt from IN FRONT OF EVERYONE

The newest collection of Ace Regent spanking stories is here! IN FRONT OF EVERYONE: FOUR TALES OF M/M PUBLIC SPANKING is available at Amazon.
To celebrate, here's an excerpt from "Coffee Boy" the story of an overly-enthusiastic intern who gets caught by the boss looking at porn on a work computer. 

Marcus went back to his seat, ready to send Spaulding’s Home Design a “we’ll get back to you as soon as possible” email. Something was wonky with his computer. He got Steve to investigate, but after some futzing around and muttered curses, Steve pushed his chair back. “Use the boss’s. He’s still at lunch, so— Oh no. You little fucker.” Steve stood suddenly. Marcus’s stomach jumped—Was Steve talking about him? But then he watched Steve’s gaze follow a fly across the room.
“Use…use Ju—Mr. Martinez’s? Computer?”
“Don’t have a hernia, kid. It’s just a computer. I’m not giving you a pair of his undies to sniff.”
Marcus flushed. Was his crush on Juan that obvious? “Okay. Um…I’ll just…” Steve had already snatched up his flyswatter and was off after the fly.
Marcus rose and headed toward Juan’s office, glancing back over his shoulder, just in case this was a prank and they were all laughing at him. But everyone was working quietly.
He entered the small room and started to close the door. Stopped. Left it partway open. Sat at the big wooden desk, weirdly turned on by the fact that his ass was in the same chair Juan sat in every day. He pulled up the company email. He always tried to add something a little personal to each template email he sent, since Black Cat relied on word of mouth, but he didn’t know much about Spaulding. So he Googled them.
As he typed in “Spa—” Google automatically filled in “SpankedtoTears.com”
What?
The URL was just…there, in the browser bar. Like this was a site that got visited on this computer all the time. Hitting any key would delete the highlighted text, and then he could finish typing “—ulding Home Design.” Like he was meant to. Like a good intern would.
Instead, he hit Enter.
A screen came up. SPANKED TO TEARS. Real boys. Real punishments. A pop-up window asked if he was eighteen, and behind it, images of young men bent over, their red asses on display, their legs spread.
His heart thudded, and his throat went dry. He glanced through the half-open door, then back at the screen.
No. No, Marcus. Absolutely not.
The cursor hovered over Yes, I’m 18.
He couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
It was inappropriate. It was unprofessional. And what about those horror stories you heard about people’s computer screens getting frozen on porn?
But this URL had come up. On Juan’s computer.
He clicked, and entered the site.
Lines of stills across the screen. Each narrative depicting a young man getting punished. Sam—blond, twenty-one, over an older man’s lap. Spanked first over the seat of his jeans, then over a pair of snow-white briefs. Then on the bare, his hairless ass pinker in each still. Nineteen-year-old Cody, light brown skin, black curls, belted over the kitchen counter. Mousy Dylann, paddled over an office desk very much like Juan’s, his face contorted with pain. At the end of each collection was a close-up of the boy in tears, and a short video clip.
Marcus checked eight hundred times to make sure the volume was off, then clicked on Dylann’s clip.
He watched, enthralled, as Dylann struggled and squirmed over the desk while a man in a suit smacked his ass with a wooden paddle. His tiny ass flexed and dimpled with each blow, turning red fast. Marcus imagined Dylann’s whimpers, imagined the spanker’s stern voice telling him to hold still. He left the clip playing and went to the computer’s browser history. Discovered that this site had been visited every few days for the last month.
Juan. Dude.
He went back to Dylann, who was in tears now. The camera switched back and forth between his tear-streaked face and his scorched ass. Again and again the paddle fell, and Marcus imagined each whack, the way the sound must ring through the room. Dylann’s desperate cries, growing higher in pitch, turning to broken sobs…
“What are you doing?”
The voice made him jump. There was a strange moment where he understood instinctively who was standing beside him, who was speaking, but his brain had gone too haywire to process anything beyond panic. He tried to X out of the video, ended up making it full screen, then finally closed it, but was still on the site. In his scramble to close the browser, he clicked on about five different stills, opening them in new windows.
A well-manicured, light-brown hand reached out, took the mouse, and calmly X-ed out of all windows. Marcus sat there, shoulders hunched, eyes nearly closed in a sustained cringe, trying not to breathe.
The silence went on and on.
Marcus slowly forced himself to turn toward Juan. But he couldn’t lift his gaze.
“Marcus?”
Marcus just shook his head, like he was trying to deny his own existence.
            “Go sit over there,” Juan said quietly, motioning to the chair across from the desk.
            Marcus stood and stumbled out from behind Juan’s desk. He took a seat in the other chair, his heart jackhammering. Nothing felt real. No, everything felt too real. Juan crossed the room and pulled the door shut with a click. Marcus winced at that, and at the sound of each footstep as Juan made his way back to the desk and sat. Juan gazed at his blank computer screen. Then at Marcus.
“Looking at porn at work? Really?”
Marcus tried to gauge Juan’s tone without actually meeting the man’s eyes. His boss sounded amused, exasperated—maybe a little pissed, but not, like, raging. Marcus trapped his hands between his knees and stared downward. “I…”
“On company time.”
Marcus’s head shot up; panic welled in his chest. “I swear, I’ve never done it before.”
“So why now?” Juan sounded genuinely interested in the answer, which cut through some of Marcus’s panic.
“I—I just…” He just what? What was he going to say? He dropped his gaze again in defeat. “There’s no excuse, sir. I’m sorry.” Please, please don’t kill me. Or fire me.
“You know this is serious.”
Marcus hunched further, wondering what the others knew, or suspected. They’d seen Juan close the door with Marcus still inside. Had to know Marcus was in trouble. And suddenly Marcus’s fantasies collided with the awful reality of the situation: If Juan had a porn site like that in his browser history, maybe he thought about the same kind of stuff Marcus did. Maybe he wanted what Marcus wanted.
But did Marcus really want it?
 “I—I know sir.”
What could he say? How did he ask? Why wasn’t he up already, collecting what little stuff he had from his kiddie desk and getting the hell out of here?
“I’m honestly not sure what to do,” Juan remarked. “This isn’t a situation I’ve found myself in before.”
Don’t fire me don’t fire me don’t fire me don’t—
“Maybe you should teach me a lesson!”
Marcus sat there, frozen for a moment. Juan didn’t move either.
Then dread sank into him.
Ho-ly shit. Those words had actually come out of his mouth. Right here. Right now. He’d said them. And he couldn’t take them back.


How humiliating would it be to get spanked in front of an audience? The men in these four tales of public punishment are about to find out!

From the store to the workplace to the doctor’s office, the tops in these stories don’t wait until they’re behind closed doors to deliver some swift, seat-of-the-pants instruction to deserving brats.

In “The Vandal,” a wayward graffiti artist faces smarting consequences from a disgruntled neighbor. In “The Doctor Will Spank You Now,” a librarian who fakes illness to get out of a work event finds himself at the mercy of his strict dom and an unorthodox doctor. “No Way to Treat a Lady” sees a young man disciplined by a fellow customer when he sexually harasses a woman in a drugstore. And “Coffee Boy” features a young advertising intern obsessed with his spanking fantasies—but unprepared for the reality of being punished by his boss.

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

SPORTING A RED BUTT available now!

Hi all,

I've started publishing collections of M/M spanking erotica under the name Ace Regent. The first of these collections, Sporting a Red Butt: Four M/M Tales of Sports and Spanking, is available now on Amazon! The stories are similar to past J.A. Rock fare, but I decided on a separate pen name because Ace Regent's focus is kink rather than romance, and Ace's books are all collections of short stories, rather than novels. So don't necessarily expect HEAs (though many of the stories have romantic undertones), but expect a lot of (loving) discipline.

You can sign up for Ace’s mailing list to receive news and excerpts specific to Ace Regent. Or, if you're a member of the J.A. rock/Lisa Henry joint newsletter This Rebus Does Not Work, I'll send out Ace updates there as well.



In the world of competitive sports, adrenaline runs high—and egos run higher.

Some young men can’t check their attitudes without a little help from a coach, a teammate, or a good friend.

Some young men have a secret craving to be kept in line the old-fashioned way.

Two longtime friends discover another side to their relationship during a high stakes table tennis tournament where the loser faces stinging consequences. A talented but lazy college swimmer receives some extra motivation from his coach. A shy, ambitious equestrian experiments with an unorthodox method of stress relief with his trainer, and an arrogant wrestler who embarrasses his mentor during a dinner party finds the tables turned in humiliating fashion.

Bratty or shy, ambitious or indolent, the men in these four tales all end up getting exactly what they need: hard disciplinary spankings at the hands of those who care about them. 


Excerpt from Sporting a Red Butt:


“Take stock of your body.” Elias’s voice was low but firm. They’d been doing this exercise for the three years Elias had been his trainer—usually while Malthe was in the saddle. Take stock of your body. Where is your weight? Where are you holding tension? How do the reins feel in your hands? What sort of energy do you get from the horse beneath you?

            Malthe tried now to divide his body into components, take stock of each one. Encountered only chaos.
            “I can’t,” he said tightly.
            “Why not?”
            He didn’t answer right away, afraid if he did, he’d start shouting. And wouldn’t that be perfect barn gossip? Soft-spoken Malthe, who kept his head down and did his work with precision and dedication, having a complete meltdown. In front of Elias, no less.
            “Shit,” he burst out. “I fucked everything up! The qualifiers for Nationals are basically here, and if this is the way I’m gonna ride, then why am I even bothering?” His voice sounded horribly loud. He’d never lost his temper in front of anyone before, except maybe once or twice in front of his mother as a teenager. He’d certainly never spewed his problems at Elias this way.
            He flexed his fingers, nearly curling his hands into fists. Three years of Elias’s quiet, patient direction. Of Malthe’s hard work and utter devotion to the sport. Of shared looks that sometimes lingered a little too long. Of Malthe, too shy, too afraid of ruining their working relationship to ever ask.
            Could you ever want me?
            Do you want me?
What would Elias think if he knew the full extent of Malthe’s obsession with perfection? If he could witness the moments of violent self-loathing that Malthe tried his best to keep private?
            Yes, Elias could read his moods—sometimes seemed to read his mind. But if he knew everything…
            He’d think I was a headcase.
            Now Malthe did clench his hands into fists. Let the sharp ache of his realization send more words tumbling out of him. “I’m a fucking loser. I don’t know why you ever took me on! My control on the lateral movements is shit; my flying changes don’t even happen half the time. You made me believe I had a—a potential that I just don’t. I hate…” He dug his nails into his palms. “This,” he finished lamely.
            “Done?” Elias’s smile was not unsympathetic.
            “I don’t know,” Malthe muttered.
            Elias set his water aside. Placed his clasped hands on the table and leaned forward. Malthe almost drew back at the hot, prickling sensation that went up his spine. Elias’s blue eyes were soft, but his tone was firm.
            “You are a talented rider. The work you’ve done with Brise makes me envious.”
            Envious? Internationally ranked Elias Jeppessen, envious of him?
            “Your form is beautiful. Your ability to take direction, a dream for any trainer. You could easily go to Nationals, and you could do very well there.” Elias paused. “But you’re too much in your head. You let your anxiety and frustration get the better of you. I sense that. Brise senses that.”
            Malthe’s neck and face heated.
            “You control it well, from an outside perspective. You do. But it still affects your horse. It affects the team. And you. You push yourself too hard.”
            “I need the practice.”
            “You need to rest, eat, and have a life outside of this.”
            Malthe stared at his hands.
            “Trust me,” Elias said, leaning forward a little more, as though in an effort to get Malthe to meet his eye. “That’s the only way I’ve stayed sane.”
            “You’re out here every day,” Malthe protested. “You live and breathe this.”
            “Used to. Now I also go to the movies, read books, watch stupid shit on the internet.” He sat back. “Find some hobbies. Relax a little. You’ll be a better rider for it, believe me.”
            Malthe finally raised his head. Looked right into Elias’s eyes and said, frankly, “I don’t know how.”
            Elias waited, patient as always.
            Malthe shook his head. “I really don’t. It’s this vicious cycle in my head. I’m riding great, and then I fuck something up, and then I hate myself so much I can’t even…I can’t get past it. I’m stuck there. So I tell myself I need to practice more, and more…”
            Elias drummed his fingers lightly on the table, fighting a smile. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first rider to have this problem.”
            “I know,” Malthe whispered. He noted how stunning Elias looked right now, dressed in his short-sleeved navy polo and breeches a slightly darker gray that Malthe’s. He wanted to believe Elias could help him, even as he feared being honest with the other man. “I’ll do better, I promise,” he said very quietly. “You won’t have to waste your time with this again.” He started to rise.
            “Malthe.” Elias’s voice was just this side of sharp. Malthe’s head snapped up and then he stilled, barely out of his seat. “How is this a waste of my time? Coaching you is my job.”
            And there it was. A reaffirmation of exactly what Malthe had been telling himself. This is a working relationship. He wants you to snap out of this so you don’t fuck up his reputation as a trainer. Not because he cares about you.
            Bleakness settled over Malthe again. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured, more to himself than to Elias.
            After a long, unbearable silence, Elias said, thoughtfully, “I might have an idea.”
            “What?”
            Elias opened his mouth but didn’t say anything for a moment. “It would require a lot of trust from you.”
            Sunlight from the small window caught the gold in his hair. Made his pale eyes sparkle.
“You can say no, of course. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”
            What the hell was he talking about? Was he going to perform some kind of back alley lobotomy on Malthe to get rid of those self-loathing thoughts?        
            “Wh…what’s the idea?”
            Elias studied him another few seconds, then seemed to make a decision. “Come with me.”
            Malthe followed him out of the lounge and into the deserted tack room. Elias pulled the main door shut. Malthe inhaled deeply. He’d always loved the scent of this room—leather and sawdust and the salty tang of horse sweat. Elias walked past the rows of gleaming dressage saddles and perfectly hung leather bridles to the canister of crops and whips. Malthe stopped, the faintest twinge in his gut.
            Elias drew out a long, thin black dressage whip with a silver-tipped handle—the one he preferred when he rode. The whip was well-made—carbon core covered in tightly braided nylon, forty-four inches long, with a three-inch lash.

            Were they going riding?