18
Followers
59
Following
Blushing Books
We are, in fact, the oldest web-based romance and romance erotica publisher. We have been in business since 1991, and sold erotica through mail-order from '91 through '98, at which point we moved to web-based publishing via a membership site model. We opened our first e-book store in 2001. We currently represent around 350 professional romance authors who have met the RWA minimum guidelines.
Prizes Every Hour - $25.00 Amazon Gift Certificate
We're down to the wire on our Hero Undercover box set. We want to make the USA Today Bestseller list for our Blushing Authors! You can help and be eligible to win great prizes at the same time!How?
Beginning at 1 P.M. Eastern Time on July 1, and ending at 1 A.M. on July 3rd, EVERY HOUR Blushing Books is giving away two great prizes. Yup. Every hour, two winners, thirty-six prizes in all. We'll be listing winners (first name and state only) on our Facebook page and tweeting out the winners!
All you have to do is buy a copy of Hero Undercover for 99 cents.
Each hour we're giving away one $25.00 gift certificate to Amazon and one ONE YEAR membership ($120 value) to Bethany's Woodshed.
And yes, all you have to do is buy a copy of Hero Undercover for 99 cents.
This collection features an amazing group of authors, including Annabel Joseph, Addison Cain, Renee Rose, Maggie Ryan, Maddie Taylor, Emily Tilton, Trent Evans, Jennifer Bene, Jane Henry, Sophie Kisker, Megan Michaels, Katherine Deane, Maggie Carpenter, Maisy Archer, Alyssa Bailey, Claire Conrad, Stevie MacFarlane, Piper Stone, Anya Summers, Lucy Wild, BJ Wane, A.C. Rose, April Hill, Amelia Smarts, and Meredith O'Reilly.
So - buy a copy of Hero Undercover using one of the links below. Take a screen shot of your receipt, and
send it to us by using this form
Furthermore, anyone who buys the book on two sites is also eligible to win an Apple iPad
So click through to Blushing Books blog for information on how to enter to win an iPad.
Win! - Help your favorite Blushing authors!
Win! - Win a $25.00 Gift Certificate or a Bethany's Woodshed membership.
Win! - Contribute .99 to two very worthwhile charities!
*** Don't delay...this promotion/sale ends at ONE A.M. on July 3rd! ***
After July 2nd, this collection will only be available at Amazon but not at this ridiculously low price!
Logan by BJ Wane
Logan by BJ Wane
Murder On Magnolia Island Book One
She's the girl next door he's always protected. He's the man she's always wanted. Will the threat of a killer finally get them on the same page?
Logan Lemaster drew Melanie Barnes under his protective wing the moment he rescued her from a fall off her bike. She was six and he thirteen, and his over-protectiveness never abated over the next twenty years. When a good friend ends up murdered on the family’s private island following one of Logan’s BDSM weekend parties, Melanie insists on being there to comfort him. Only, he hadn’t counted on the grown woman’s tenacious determination to worm her way past his defenses and into his bed. He has spent the past eight years – since Melanie reached adulthood and made her interest in expanding on their friendship known – refusing to jeopardize their special bond by introducing her to his kinky preferences. But he is only human, and when her grief over an assault on a co-worker leads him to comfort her, his good intentions fall to the wayside under her responsive body.
As he and his cousins plan to hold another BDSM party to feel out their friends for hints about which one betrayed them in the worst way, Logan tutors Melanie in his sexual preferences so she can join him. But as they grow closer, so does the killer, and when her life is threatened, Logan knows he will stop at nothing to protect her and make her his in every way.
Publisher’s Note: This murder mystery romance is intended for adults only. It contains elements of power exchange and BDSM, including explicit sexual scenes and anal play. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.
1
More Rules for Cheri By Markie Morelli
 Cheryl Reynolds may have just made the biggest mistake of her life. How could she have known that mere days after agreeing to take their age-play relationship to another level, one that would require her to give up her job and submit to her dominant husband on a full-time basis, she would be offered the opportunity of a lifetime?
How many dreams-come-true moments could one woman get? Her lackluster marriage to Judge Michael Reynolds was nearly on the rocks when he insisted on some changes. That was three years ago, and since then, she'd been gloriously happy. She adored being his little girl; loved, pampered and subjected to more delightful sexual experiences than she'd ever imagined. It was with a full heart and high hopes that she agreed to make it permanent. His brand of loving dominance was indeed a dream come true as far as she was concerned.
But that was before another one of her dreams was dangled in front of her nose like a carrot. After closing the biggest deal in the history of Waters Advertising, Cheryl is offered the VP position. It was something she'd only wistfully fantasized about during her years at the company. Now it's a real opportunity, complete with the luxurious corner office, company car, expense account and a huge raise. It's what she worked for, prayed for - and to finally have her work recognized would be a huge slap in the face to those schmucks who for years have treated her like a blonde bimbo. Oh, it is almost too much to resist!
Michael will never agree. It would mean longer hours, traveling, and a frazzled, irritable wife coming through the door each night. Their marriage would return to the boring place they were in three years ago - and that is only if he doesn't divorce her. Can she do it? Can she turn down an offer that is oh so tempting? Could she risk her marriage to the man who's already rescued her once from her own controlling, driven nature and shown her how to be his precious wife, his loving babygirl? Will she give up sweet submission for power?
|
|
Cheri's New Rules By Markie Morelli is on #SALE #NOW
ON SALE TO CELEBRATE THE RELEASE OF BOOK 2
~ $2.99 UNTIL APRIL 17, 2017 ~
 Every marriage has its ups and downs and for twenty years, Judge Michael Reynolds has been reminding himself of that fact. His wife, Chéri, is the epitome of the perfect suburban wife. Chéri works for an advertising agency, raises their twin sons, and micromanages them all to within an inch of their lives. It's working, he reassures himself. It's not working well, but it's working. He keeps his nose to the grindstone and stays out of her way as best he can, avoiding confrontations and acting as a buffer between her and the boys. Even now he isn't sure if he is having a mid-life crisis or it has something to do with the boys going off to college - but one day he's had enough, more than enough! It's time for some new rules, and for the first time in a very long marriage, he feels capable of enforcing them. Michael tries not to present them as an ultimatum, but Chéri knows what they are just the same. Her husband is tired of her domineering, controlling ways. While he readily accepts his part of the blame for what their marriage has become, he is not willing to continue with the status quo.
What he wants shocks her to the core. At the same time, there is a certain aspect of his idea that appeals to her in a way she never would have suspected. You see, Michael wants to take over. He wants to be the one in charge of their household and especially of her, as he's convinced it will improve their love life as well as their marriage. He wants to try age-play. They will start slowly, he assures her. On the weekends he will become her daddy. She will leave her troubles and adult responsibilities at the door when she walks in the house on Friday evening. From then on, it is his turn to take care of her. He will provide for all her needs, love and care for her, and discipline her when the need arises. In return for her obedience, she will be pampered and sexually satisfied in ways only he is aware of. For sure it is a leap of faith, but Chéri takes it, and finds far more than she bargained for as this forty-something couple learns you can teach an old dog new rules.
|
Bad, Bad Girl by Alta Hensley releases on March 28th straight to KU!
Bad, Bad Girl by Alta Hensley releases on March 28th straight to KU!
ADD TO GOODREADS: http://bit.ly/2mHtTFb
How can it be wrong when it feels so, so right? What happens when you are a very bad, bad girl? What happens when he is so alpha that he demands complete surrender? What happens when your body, mind, and soul betrays you? You submit. You utter the words you never thought you would say. “Yes, sir.” They should resist. They should say no. They should walk away and never look back. But they won't. Three women. Three men. Three tales of carnal delight that push the comfort zone. Includes: Traditional Love, Traditional Terms, and Traditional Change. **bad, bad, Girl is an erotic romance that pushes the boundaries of taboo. It is far from a Traditional Love romance. There is graphic sex, there is content that will certainly make you blush, and there are scenes that could cause grandma to have a stroke. If this is not your cup of tea, then please do not take a sip. 
About the Author:
Alta Hensley is a USA TODAY bestselling erotic romance author who has had #1 top-selling books in Dark, contemporary, BDSM, erotic science fiction, humor, and historical. She writes the naughty… and then the cure for it. Being a multi-published author in the power exchange genre, Alta is known for her dark, gritty alpha heroes, sometimes sweet love stories, hot eroticism, and engaging tales of the constant struggle between dominance and submission.
Connect with Alta
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AltaHensleyAuthor/ Amazon: http://amzn.to/2e4R1ii Twitter: https://twitter.com/AltaHensley Website: www.altahensley.com Join her mailing list: http://www.subscribepage.com/i0n8g9
A Match Made in Heaven by Jodi Bella
When Kip Anderson's best friend, Quentin, wakes him up in the middle of the night, Kip is sure that he's dreaming - because Quentin has recently died. But Kip quickly realizes that he's not dreaming and, while his friend may be deceased, he's far from at rest.
Quentin is worried about his widow, Lily, who hasn't been taking care of herself since he passed away. At his best friend's request, Kip agrees to try to help her and before he knows it, he finds himself growing closer to Lily by the day.
When Lily continues to take risks with her health, Quentin's advice is for Kip to put her over his knee! At first, Kip is taken aback at the thought of doing such a thing, but as Lily's behavior becomes increasingly self-destructive, he finds that he has few other choices...
Publisher's Note: This book contains elements of domestic discipline. If such material offends, please do not purchase.
 |
 |
Enjoy this free preview of A Match Made in Heaven:
Chapter One
"Common, Chief, wake up already."
The familiar voice filtered slowly through Kip Anderson's sleep fogged brain, making his full lips turn down in a frown of confusion. A second later, there was a hard thump on the mattress near his face. Awake now, his brows furrowed, he hesitantly peeled first one eyelid open and then the other, his pale brown gaze falling on one of the well-worn sneakers he used solely now for mowing his lawn during the summer months. It was grass stained and muddy on the sole, and the stench from it was enough to make him want to pull the covers up over his head. But he didn't do that, because its presence on his bed in the middle of the night was too unusual a thing to ignore, even in favor of going back to sleep. Even after being up damn near all night long helping one of his mares bring a new foal into the world.
"Oh, good, you're finally awake." The return of the voice brought Kip's head up with a snap. He'd been sure he was dreaming it earlier. Now, he wasn't so sure that he wasn't still sleeping, and the dream continuing. Because there was no way that he was awake and actually seeing the man that stood before him. It just wasn't possible.
Standing just inside Kip's walk-in closet, still dressed in the same clothes he had last seen him in over four months ago was his life-long best friend, Quentin Craig. As Kip watched, Quent dropped the mate to Kip's lawn mowing sneaker, and grinned crookedly. To Kip's eyes, it even looked like the grin wobbled a little and he could have sworn that Quent's eyes misted over. He had to clear his throat before he spoke again to Kip. "We need to talk, buddy."
Never mind that it was the wee hours of the morning, or that Kip had been up for over twenty-four hours straight before finally finding his bed that night. Never mind that Quentin was a sleep whore who rarely saw the light of day before at least ten in the morning, nor the fact that he had a gorgeous wife of five years waiting for him at home. Those reasons were certainly enough, each of them on their own, to make this middle of the night visit seem a little weird. But the one reason that had Kip Anderson questioning his sanity at that moment had them all beat by a mile: Quentin Craig was dead. He'd been killed in an automobile accident over seven months ago. Kip had been in the car with him, and he'd gone with him in the ambulance to the hospital. He'd been sitting next to him when he'd died. And he'd been the one to break the news to Quent's wife.
And now, here was his best friend, apparently back from the dead, looking exactly as he had on the day of his funeral, with the noticeable exception of the absence of the suit coat his wife Lily had chosen for him. Instead, Quentin stood before Kip in only the western cut dress slacks, pearl snap white dress shirt with its cuffs unsnapped and rolled up his forearms, and his best pair of dress boots, spit-shined so bright they even gleamed in the dim lighting of Kip's early morning bedroom.
Quent took a couple steps out of Kip's closet, approaching the bed slowly. He seemed to do so deliberately and Kip had the idea he was trying not to spook him. "I'm sorry about throwing the shoe at ya," he apologized sheepishly, removing the odorous sneaker from the rumpled flannel bedding when he got close enough. "But unfortunately I'm limited in what things I can control. I would've just given you a good shake, but my damn hand probably would've gone right through your shoulder, Kip. I haven't figured out some of the finer points in my new... situation. Being a ghost has its restrictions..."
"G-ghost?" Kip whispered, staring at Quent. His best friend sat down on the edge of the bed and nodded at him. Kip's eyes ran up and down the apparition before him, noting now the smoky quality of his image, and the way he didn't indent the mattress beneath him at all as he sat there-truthfully, it was more like he was hovering there instead of actually sitting.
"I can control inanimate objects," Quent continued calmly, as if his lifelong best friend wasn't having a nervous breakdown right beside him, "but if I so much as touch something alive-especially a human being-well, my damn arm goes right through and it creates the strangest feeling..." He sighed and cocked his head to look at Kip closely. "You okay, Chief? You don't look so good."
Kip's eyes bulged at him. "No, I'm... I'm not okay!" he sputtered. "You... you're... you're supposed to be dead, Q! What the hell's happening to me?"
"Calm down, buddy, rein it in, now. Relax. Nothing's happening to you, okay?" Kip recognized the steady voice Quentin was using now as the one he'd used in their rodeo days to both steady a fearful horse, and woo a nervous rodeo babe. "It's really me. I'm really here. Okay? And I need you to try to get a grip and just accept that, because I really need to talk to you. And I'm not going away until I do."
Kip gradually felt his pulse slow to a more normal rate. What the hell? he thought suddenly. Either this is one crazy dream, in which case there's nothing to worry about because all that will happen in the end is I'll simply wake up, or I really am going crazy in which case there's nothing that I can do about it anyway, so why tear myself apart over it? The last possibility in his mind-that Quentin was telling the truth about it really being him there, in the flesh (or so to speak)-Kip did not even give consideration to.
"All right," he finally said, nodding his agreement. "I'm listening. So talk already. What's so damn important that you had to come back from the grave and scare the shit out of me in the middle of the night?"
Quent's eyes were hard on him when he answered. "Lily."
Kip had had a feeling that was where this was all headed. But hearing that one word, as always, did a funny thing to his insides. Briefly, he closed his eyes and counted silently to five in his head before reopening them and daring to meet Quentin's gaze again.
"What about her?"
"You know damn well what I'm talking about, Kip," Quentin accused and the small vein in his forehead that always pulsed when he got angry became prominent. "You made me a promise, pal, and you haven't kept it."
Kip had to look away from his friend's eyes. It was true, of course. And he felt bad about it. But he just didn't know how to keep that promise. He hadn't had a clue how he was going to do it from the very moment the words had fallen out of his mouth, but he also hadn't been able to stop them, either.
"Do you even remember the promise you made me the night I died, Kip?" Quent asked, and his voice was dark and thick. Kip made himself meet his gaze and slowly he nodded.
"I couldn't forget it if I tried."
"You promised me you would look after my wife. Make sure she was taken care of, help get her through this..."
Kip nodded. In his head he could hear the words he had exchanged with Quent that horrific night: Promise me, Kip, please... Just tell me you'll be there for Lily... she doesn't have anyone else... she's going to need you... Promise me you'll take care of my wife, Kip. Please...
And, God help him, Kip had promised.
"I'm sorry, Q," he said now, his gaze again on the floor beneath his bare feet. He felt like an ashamed child under his best friend's disappointed gaze. "I know I haven't watched over her like I should have. It's been about two months since I've checked in with her in person, though I have called her a few times. She always seems fine... It's hard... I don't know what to say to her... how to comfort her..."
Quentin was studying him as he spoke, and the inside of Kip's stomach flip-flopped. He wondered if ghosts had ways of looking inside a person's soul and knowing the truth that was printed there. He wondered if somehow Quentin knew already the things that Kip was keeping to himself, those things he'd kept to himself all along, even when Quentin had been alive. The things he had never told another person.
"I'm sure it's hard for you. I understand more than you think. But I need you to help her because I can't. I've tried going to her like I came to you tonight and she doesn't see me. I guess maybe she's just not ready to see me like this yet; she hasn't really accepted that I'm gone. Look, I've never asked you for anything before, Kip, and I hate to call in favors with anyone, but I'm calling in mine with you now. You have to do this for me. She needs you."
Kip squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head dejectedly. He wished he knew how to make Quentin realize just how impossible what he was asking for was.
"Look man, I know I owe you... God, I wouldn't even be alive today if you hadn't saved my ass that night in San Antonio..." Kip closed his eyes against the memory, but he still saw the arena, smelled the rodeo animals, and felt the earth shaking as the bucking bull spun in circles, mindless of the rider hung up on its back. If it hadn't been for Quentin jumping across that wild animal's back that night and untying the knot of rope that held Kip in place, he would have been ground under the heels of that bull till there was nothing left of him. It had been the last night of both their careers in that dangerous sport. It had been too close, the picture of death too clear. The next day they'd promised one another to get out and they'd kept the promise. And their lives. For a little longer, anyway, in Quentin's case.
Kip shook his head and made himself look at the man who had saved his life. "There's no one else?" he finally asked, knowing better than to hope.
Quentin considered this for a full minute before he answered. "It's not that there's no one else, man. There's no one else I want to ask."
"Why? Because I'm your best friend?"
Quentin nodded. "There's that." He paused for a minute, studying Kip closely, making that topsy turvy feeling start again in Kip stomach. "But even more important than that," he finally said, "I know that you love her."
Kip felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. "What?" he croaked.
His best friend since childhood grinned mischievously. "You didn't realize that I knew that, did you, Chief?"
Kip stared at him, his mouth agape, then opening and closed on words that never made it out of his throat. Quent laughed.
"It's all right, Kip. Don't hyperventilate on me. I've known how you feel about Lily all along. I'm not blind you know. I saw it that first time you two met, right before you realized that she had come to that party with me. It was stamped all over your damn face. And then you found out I had seen her first. And you stepped back. And stayed back. You let me have her. And for that I owe you an eternal debt that I will never be able to repay."
"I... I can't believe you... you knew all along?" Kip let out a deep breath and stared at Quentin. "You have no idea how the guilt used to eat me up about how I felt about her."
"I don't know why you'd feel guilty," Quentin shrugged. "You never once acted on your feelings. You could have, and I imagine Lily would have gone with you-or at least she would have been sorely tempted. But you did the honorable thing."
"I wasn't always so honorable in my head," Kip admitted, and was rewarded with a raucous laugh from Quentin. "God, it's good to hear that laugh again," he commented, watching with appreciation as his friend threw back his head and roared with his mirth.
"Look, man," Quentin said when he overcame his laughter. "I'm asking you to take care of Lily because I know you want to, and I know you care about her. There's no one better. You've been like a brother to me my entire life. And I don't want my wife to be alone for the rest of hers. The two of you need each other."
"So, you're giving me permission to pursue Lily," Kip felt the need to clarify. "Your wife."
"Not only that, Chief," Quent added, "but I'm promising you I'll kick your ass for you in the afterlife if you don't."
Kip stared at him for a beat before realizing just how serious he actually was.
"Well, when you put it like that, what other choice do I really have?" he asked with a grin.
They spent the next hour talking about Lily and the things she had been up to since Quent had died that Kip didn't know about it. Apparently, Quentin had been watching over her from above while Kip had been struggling with his guilty conscious, and what he had seen hadn't pleased him.
"She's not taking care of herself, or the farm," he told Kip, exasperation in his voice. "She's stopped her exercise routine, she hardly eats and when she does it's only junk food. She stays up to all hours of the night then sleeps away the day. She's pushed away all of her girlfriends and has taken a leave of absence from work. Every day she gets worse and worse."
"Oh, my God, I had no idea," Kip said. "I'm so sorry I haven't been checking up on her better. I really thought she was okay."
Quent gave him a meaningful look. "It's okay. Just don't let me down again. I need you, here, Chief."
Kip nodded. "Anything else I need to know about?"
His friend shrugged. "It's bad enough her not taking care of herself, but the land's going to hell over there too. She let all of the help go and last year's crops were a wash. I don't think she even plans to plant again this year.
"It also worries me because she rarely goes off of the farm for anything anymore. Used to be I had to practically tie her down to keep her from going to this function or that one in town, but she's like a recluse anymore. She has everything she needs delivered to the house, from her groceries to take out food to movie rentals. It's just not healthy."
"She sounds like a mess."
Quentin shook his head. "I know she's having a hard time, but she needs to start taking better care of herself. You know her cholesterol's high and the way she's eating is going to send it through the roof. She knows better than that. If I were still around, she'd be over my knee in a heartbeat..."
Kip's eyebrows rose. "Huh?" he asked.
Quentin met his gaze. "That's something else you probably ought to know about Lily," he said calmly, as if describing the weather. "We used domestic discipline in our marriage. It was helpful, for both of us, really."
"What are you talking about?" Kip half-growled, his hands clenching instinctively at what he was hearing. Not that he could punch a ghost, after all. Or at least he didn't think he could. "Are you telling me that you hit her? You used to hit Lily?"
"No," Quentin clarified evenly, glancing down at Kip's fists with a wry grin. "But when the situation warranted it, I did paddle her bottom for her."
Kip's mouth fell open. "I... I don't believe I'm hearing this..."
"It's actually a lot more common than you would think, Chief. You go online sometime and do a search on the work spanking and see what you come up with. You might not believe me, but the first time I spanked Lily, it was her idea, not mine. She asked me to do it. At first I was just as blown away and wary of the idea as you obviously are, but as time went on, I saw the benefits to it."
"She asked you... to spank her?" Kip repeated, then watched in obvious disbelief as Quentin nodded solemnly. "What, as foreplay or something?"
His friend's eyes darkened. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, sometimes it was as foreplay. But the first time, and a lot of other times over the years, it was for punishment for something she had done wrong. Consequences for a poor choice in judgment. The first time she'd had a moment of weakness after a very bad day at work and had given in to the craving for a cigarette when she was trying to quit. She felt so guilty about it afterwards, and she was afraid that after she'd given in once she would continue to do so. So, she asked me to correct her actions with a good spanking. She thought it would help to deter her from smoking again. I never was very good at telling her no, so I did what she asked me to, though she had to really help me along the way that first time." He smiled wistfully, obviously remembering what had happened, memories that he was not about to share with even his best friend, because they were simply too personal and special.
"Did it work for her?" Kip asked, still reeling from this information about the two people he had thought he knew best in his life. "Did she smoke again after that?"
Quent's grin widened with pride at the question. "Actually, no, she didn't. That time it worked. Though, in all honestly, there were some other times when it didn't. And others where I had to give the lesson more than once for it to really sink in."
"And she really wanted this from you? She really asked you for it?"
"She did in the beginning. As time went by, I got better at understanding when she needed that from me. I could read her better and I knew when something wasn't right with her. I could tell when she wasn't being honest with me, or when she was hiding something. I also made up a few rules of my own once we were married. I didn't appreciate her army brat language, so whenever she got really vulgar with her mouth, she got spanked. If she did something dangerous, she didn't take care of herself, or was acting like a brat, I spanked her. Stuff like that. Sometimes she would throw a fit like a fish wife for no reason at all, and I came to realize that was her way of letting me know she needed me to step in and take control for a while. She still confessed things to me later on in our marriage, but usually I had to do the detective work on my own to know when she had gotten herself into trouble."
Kip was shaking his head. "I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"Believe it. I wouldn't tell you all this if it wasn't true, and if it wasn't important. Lily is the same woman, Kip. If you really want to be with her, if you want to love her and take care of her the way I think you do-and the way I'd like you to-then, you need to realize that she's going to need the same thing from you that she needed from me. You're going to have to be able to do that for her when she needs you to."
"I've never spanked anyone in my life!" Kip exclaimed.
Quent shrugged. "Neither had I. So what? There's a first time for everything. And, to tell you the truth, once you get over the fact that her bottom's going to sting for a while and maybe be a little sore to sit on the next day, it can be rather enjoyable to have that writhing little bare backside under your hand, over your lap..." He cleared his throat and swiped a hand through his hair with something like irritation. "Once you've done it a few times I'm sure you'll know what I mean."
"I don't know about this," Kip argued still. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
"Well, obviously you're not going to go charging in there the next time you see her and throw her over your lap for a whipping. Right now all I want you to do is get your butt over there tomorrow and start making a lot more regular visits to her in person. Try to get her out of the house. See if you can get her to start taking better care of herself and the farm. Help her out. In the meantime, I've book marked some websites on your computer for you. Check them out, they should be helpful to you where the spanking thing's concerned. And I'll be around to help you with all of it, too. I'm not just going to leave you hanging after this."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Kip admitted. "This is a lot to digest in the middle of the night. Plus, I liked seeing you again, Q, talking to you again. It wasn't fair how you were taken from us so fast like that."
Typical of Quentin, he ignored the last part of what Kip had said. "I don't have any other choice except to check back with you. I can't rest till I know both of you are settled and all right. And I know you too well, Chief. In the morning you're going to wake up and think this was all a dream, even though I'll leave you a couple surprises to make you question otherwise."
Kip smiled crookedly. "Either a dream or I'm losing my mind."
"Or maybe ghosts really do exist. 'Cause here I am, right here in front of your eyes, brother."
As she had every morning since the day Kip had brought her home from the shelter Patch, his white spotted cat, woke him up the following morning by walking all over his chest and purring her heart out to him in a bid for fresh food and company. Kip opened his eyes reluctantly and grimaced as one of her claws dug a little too deeply through the covers over his bare chest.
He smiled at the feline and stroked her back, winking at her as she arched it and rubbed her chin against his palm. He didn't have it in him to be mad at her for waking him up. She was the only female that had frequented his bedroom for a long time now.
He glanced at the alarm clock, which he hadn't had to use since getting Patch, and cursed mentally. He'd overslept, which wasn't like him. But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised given how exhausted he'd been last night.
And then his eyes fell on the lone, grass-stained sneaker lying on the floor near the bed. And for a few brief moments, his sleep addled brain couldn't imagine what it was doing there.
But when he remembered why it was out, a surge of panic hit him.
It was just a dream, he told himself sternly, even as he was jumping out of bed and pounding down the hallway to the spare room he used as both a computer and storage room. I just don't remember taking the shoes out, but I must have at some point, because there is NO such thing as ghosts!
But the computer couldn't boot up fast enough for Kip. And when it finally did, and he clicked on the icon for his online favorites, he let out a low curse that would've gotten his mouth soaped up good when he was a kid.
There had to be thirty new additions on that favorites list. And every single one of them was somehow spanking related. There was Discipline and Desire, Shadowlane, Pablo and Mija's Treehouse, and some newsgroup called soc.sexuality.spanking. There was even a link to a top 100 spanking website site, which only further amazed him because a top 100 implied that there were even more than that in existence.
He was thinking of plugging in a search for the word spanking, as had been suggested to him last night, when he noticed he had new mail too. Half afraid to open it, he clicked on the icon and watched as a message popped up with his own email address as the sender.
Hey Chief,
Don't wig out on me when you see all this. Just try to go along with it and accept that it was really me that was here last night. And it'll really be me in the future, when I think you need some advice with Lily.
I forgot to tell you two things last night. One, the Fall Harvest Dance is next month. Lily always did love to dance but I always hated it; I hardly ever took her, and if there's one thing I could change looking back now it would've been that. So, ask her to the dance when you see her today. Convince her to go with you.
And B, I know you're going to need more proof of what happened last night. I'm sure right now, you're wondering if you aren't doing all this yourself, losing your mind and adding the bookmarks and sending this email yourself. So the next time you're at Lily's, try to get into my bedroom closet. There's a chest in there, a wooden one. Take a look inside and see if it doesn't support the fact that my visit to you last night was real.
Talk soon,
Q
Of course, Kip had been thinking exactly that. That he'd been the one to move the shoes, add the bookmarks on the computer, and write the email. Except that he'd never obsessed about spanking a woman before. So that part didn't fit. And the email was written in Quentin-ese, right down to the 'Chief,' which he'd always called Kip, and to the 'one' and 'B' in the way he'd listed his items. And as long as Kip had known him, Quentin had never signed his full first name; he always just used the Q.
There was one way to find out for sure. If he could get into Quentin's closet and look inside that chest, he might have a more definite answer.
And he'd already made up his mind to go over to Lily's today anyway. Even if the 'visit' he'd had last night had only been a dream, one thing was clear. His conscious couldn't take this anymore. He'd made his best friend a promise to watch over his widow. And he was going to get his butt in gear and do just that. He'd wasted enough time as it was.
And whatever else followed after that he would deal with when the time came around.
The Viscount's Lessons by Laura Hart
When Mandy meets Quinn Douglas, she thinks he's awful - serious, stern, and hopelessly old- fashioned. She has absolutely no interest in him, but after events throw them together several more times, she changes her mind and they start seeing each other.
Mandy relishes her independence but Quinn, a viscount from a titled Scottish family, is not used to having his authority questioned. Mandy knows nothing about his position or his family, but she does quickly learn that dangerous behavior or a bad attitude won't be tolerated. Being held to account is new for Mandy, who soon learns just how painful a trip over a strong Scotsman's knees for an old-fashioned lesson can be.
Quinn's family is dead-set against the developing relationship, and once Mandy finds out who Quinn really is, she herself has doubts about such a different lifestyle.
Can two people from such opposite backgrounds find a future together?
DISCLAIMER: This book contains elements of domestic discipline and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.
 |
 |
Please enjoy this free preview of The Viscount's Lessons:
Chapter 1 - Would it Kill Him to Smile?
Mandy ran up the steps of the museum. She was already fifteen minutes late for her appointment, and she had no idea where she was supposed to find this Mr. Douglas. She'd spoken with him on the phone and had the impression of some dusty old man, so she really wasn't much looking forward to the meeting.
She stopped at the information kiosk and asked directions, then ran breathlessly up some stairs and down a corridor. Near the end of the hall she stopped, read the name on an office, and went in.
"Is Mr. Douglas here?" she asked, trying to sound composed. "I'm Mandy Stuart."
"Miss Stuart, do come in," said a deep voice off to her side. She whirled around and stopped dead. Standing in the doorway of a large office to her right was one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen. He was well over six feet, with full dark hair, piercing dark eyes, and a strong square jaw. He had an athletic body even though she guessed him to be in his mid- to late thirties.
"Mr. Douglas?" she asked, trying to cover her surprise.
"Aye." The word was clipped and wasn't accompanied by a smile. He stood to the side of his door and motioned her in, so she entered the office and waited for him to follow.
"Please sit down," he said, motioning her to a chair in front of his desk. "I'm afraid we won't have much time. I have a three o'clock engagement, so with your tardy arrival, our time will be limited."
Mandy stared at him in disbelief. Could he be any ruder?
"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, smiling at him. "Something's going on outside and they've got several streets blocked off."
Mr. Douglas looked at her evenly and nodded. The young woman sitting across from him was definitely pleasant to look at, with her strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes that seemed not quite serious. She had the American way of smiling for no reason at all, and even now she looked as if she might start humming at any minute.
"Tell me again what it is you want from me," he said.
"Well, as I told you, I'm an independent writer and often do features for the Houston Times. I'd like to do an article on the visiting exhibit you've brought here, especially because we've had several other articles about Scotland over the last year. Your exhibit on life in nineteenth-century Scotland will have a lot of appeal to many of our readers."
She stopped and took a breath, then continued. "When I spoke to you on the phone last week, I suggested several areas of particular interest we might focus on."
"We've never spoken before," he replied. "It was my father with whom you spoke."
"Oh." Mandy was temporarily taken aback. "Should I be talking with him now instead of with you?"
"He had to return to Edinburgh due to a family emergency, so I shall be handling the exhibit in his place." He noticed the look of hesitation on Mandy's face and added, "Don't worry, I sometimes work with him on these projects. I am fully credentialed to deal with such matters."
Mandy blushed slightly and looked uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to imply that you weren't," she said, looking at his impassive face. He looked like someone Hollywood would cast as the stern master of a nineteenth-century estate. She smiled to herself. Maybe he was well equipped after all to oversee the exhibit.
"Shall we get started then?" came the deep voice. It sounded more like a command than a question, and Mandy hastened to comply. "Of course," she said, getting out her phone to record.
They spent the next thirty minutes with her asking questions and then recording his answers, and it was obvious that he did indeed know a lot about the subject.
"If I could just ask a couple personal questions," Mandy added. "I assume that you yourself are from Scotland. Did you grow up there, and was your family there in the nineteenth century?"
The younger Mr. Douglas studied Mandy a minute before answering, and she had the feeling he somehow found the question objectionable.
"Yes, I grew up there, and yes, my family was there in the nineteenth century," he replied finally. "The Douglas clan is an old one, with roots going far back. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have to end our conversation." As he spoke, he rose from his chair, so Mandy quickly gathered her things together and also rose.
"I really appreciate your taking time to talk to me today," she said, extending her hand to him. She had a big smile on her face.
Mr. Douglas shook her hand and said something polite, but his face remained serious.
"May I call you again if I need to?" asked Mandy, still smiling.
There was really no way Mr. Douglas could decline, so he agreed, and, in truth, he found the idea of being with this attractive young woman again rather agreeable. There was something about her that seemed to bring life and energy into the room.
Mandy spent an hour looking at the exhibit and making notes. She'd come back again with a photographer, but for now, she needed to start writing.
***
"Oh, my god, Jenny, you can't believe how awful he was! I swear he had a broomstick stuck up his you-know-what." Mandy was sitting with her best friend Jenny having supper in their favorite Irish pub. They were both laughing.
"Well, at least you don't have to work with him. Will you be seeing him again?"
"I'm not sure. I might need to talk to him one more time." She shook her head. "Do you know the whole time I was there he never even smiled? I wonder if he thinks he's supposed to stay in character with the exhibit?"
They both laughed again. Then Jenny suddenly remembered something.
"Are you going to that international party the Chamber of Commerce is putting on this Friday?" she asked. "I know you like to go to those kinds of mixers to see if any interesting ideas pop up."
"I'm going, but I'm surprised you're asking," answered Mandy. "What does it have to do with you?"
"I got stuck being the liaison for our office," Jenny replied. "Marta usually does it, but she's out for maternity leave."
"Then I guess I'll see you there."
***
Mandy entered the large hall at the Houston Downtown Marriott and looked around. Attendance was good, and there was a general din of overlapping conversations. Around the edges of the room were booths where different international groups had information about their activities as well as about their countries. Mandy got a drink and then wandered from booth to booth, occasionally picking up a brochure or handout.
When she got to the Scottish display, she noticed that a nice flyer was available telling about the visiting museum exhibit. Just as she reached out to pick one up, someone jostled her from the side, making her stumble a bit. Her drink splashed onto her dress, and she bumped into someone behind her rather hard. As if on cue, a hand came from nowhere and steadied her.
"I'm so sorry," she started as she regained her balance and turned around. Then she froze. Oh, no! she said to herself. There she was, looking up at none other than Mr. Douglas from her appointment the other day. It just had to be him she collided with!
His dark eyes were looking at her intently. "No problem," he said as he withdrew his hand from under her arm. "Are you all right now, Miss Stuart?"
"I'm fine, thank you," she said, politely. She gave him a brief smile. "I'm sorry I stepped on you like that. And please, call me Mandy."
Those dark eyes were still looking at her intently. "Quinn," he said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My name is Quinn." The briefest hint of a smile seemed to pass across his face.
"Sorry. I'm a little slow tonight. Anyway, thank you again. I would have hated to land on the floor." She looked amused at the idea.
"Would you like to sit down while I get you a new drink?" he asked, gesturing towards one of the tables.
Seriously? This might be one of the last people she'd like to sit down with, but she had to admit he was being nice, and she certainly didn't want to offend him since she'd probably need his help again before she was done with her article.
"Sure. Thanks," she heard herself saying. At least she'd have a good story for Jenny tomorrow. She sat down and crossed her legs, then handed her glass to Quinn.
"What are you drinking?" he asked, taking in her long shapely legs. She'd worn a pantsuit to his office, but tonight she was wearing a short dress that revealed much more of her obviously fit body. She looked barely out of college, and he wondered briefly if she was even old enough to be drinking.
"White wine will be fine, thank you."
She watched as he walked towards the bar. He might not be the world's most personable guy, but he was certainly over-endowed with good looks. She guessed him at 6'2 at the least, and those eyes! Maybe when you had eyes like his, you didn't need to talk.
"Here you are," said Quinn, setting a new glass of white wine down in front of her. He had a glass of red for himself as he sat down next to her at the small round table. For a moment neither of them said anything, and Mandy began to suspect this was going to be as bad as she'd feared. Then Quinn sat back in his chair and looked at her.
"Is Houston your home town?" he asked.
"Not originally, but it is now," she answered.
Quinn was always amused at how differently the words "home town" were interpreted on this side of the ocean. For him, a home town was where your roots were, and that didn't change, but here in mobile America, they did.
"I was born in San Antonio, but we moved around a lot. I went to Rice, so then I just stayed here afterwards." She smiled at him and took a drink of her wine, then added, "I like Houston."
"It's an interesting city," Quinn said noncommittally.
"You mentioned Edinburgh in our interview. Is that where you're from?"
"We have a family home near there, yes," he replied.
Mandy thought it was a strange way to word it, but she let it pass. In all honesty, she didn't much care where he came from.
"It's lucky you could drop everything and come look after the exhibit when your father had to go back to Edinburgh," she said, searching for something to talk about.
"I was already here."
Mandy looked surprised. "I thought you lived in Scotland."
"I am from Scotland, but I'm a visiting lecturer here in Houston this year."
"At one of the universities?" asked Mandy. She couldn't quite imagine him holding the interest of a class, although the women might all sign up based solely on his looks.
"At several of them, actually. Rice first invited me, but the University of Houston and TSU have both asked for some time as well. They've kept me quite busy."
"So what exactly are you lecturing on?" asked Mandy, surprised to discover she really was interested in the answer.
"Different things at each school. Scottish history in the seventeenth- to nineteenth centuries, Robert Burns, modern Scottish culture, the differences between English and Scottish life, those types of areas."
"Have you actually studied those things, or is it just because you're Scottish?"
Mandy realized her question sounded a bit rude, and Quinn looked at her strangely before answering.
"I have actually studied such things," he said dryly.
"Sorry. I guess that sounded kind of rude." She giggled, and Quinn looked at her in surprise.
"To tell you the truth, I don't know that much about Scotland," she went on. "When I was looking at the exhibit the other day, it was all new to me. It seemed like Scotland was really different from England in a lot of ways."
Quinn nodded, then added. "If you'd like, I'd be happy to walk around the exhibit with you and answer any questions."
Mandy was startled by the offer and even more startled to hear herself accepting. Had she just gone mad? Why did she keep arranging to spend time with this man? Yes, he was gorgeous, but would it really kill him to smile a few times a day?
They agreed on the next afternoon and said good-bye.
She chose to ignore the small part of her that watched in fascination as Quinn's tall strong body made its way towards the exit. Wait until Jenny hears this! Mandy thought to herself. She's never going to let me live it down.
The Dark Forest Holds #1 in Erotic Fantasy for over 2 Months! And you can read if for #FREE with Kindle Unlimited.
Congratulations to the authors of The Dark Forest which has held #1 in Erotic Fantasy for over 2 Months! All 7 authors have taken a Top 10 in Amazon's author ranks as well. That's quite an accomplishment! Have you read The Dark Forest yet?
#1 BDSM, Fantasy, Horror, Action Adventure, Thriller and Suspense!
The most controversial book of 2017 ~ Carolyn Faulkner
Enjoy seven wicked tales from seven bestselling authors, each more deliciously deviant than the last!
Nothing is as it seems in our dark and twisted fairyland. Princes are not charming and the path to happily ever after is paved with creative punishments and supplication. Do not fret for our fair maidens. These are still fairytales. Love will conquer all in the end.
BEAUTIFULLY PRIMAL A Beauty and the Beast tale by Zoe Blake Beatrice the Beastly will be tamed by no man. Prince Rhys is determined to possess her on his terms. Will she respond to his rough handling or deny them both their destiny? SLEEP, MY BEAUTY A Sleeping Beauty story by Alta Hensley Briar Rose has one choice. Submit or die. But when she meets her trainer, a sadistic and damaged man named Prince, she soon realizes that her choices are not so black and white. In a world cast in an apocalyptic nightmare, is it possible for one woman to find her happily ever after? MR. WOLFFE'S LITTLE RED A Little Red Riding Hood story by Maggie Ryan Regina Redd is a young professional woman during the week... and becomes Little Red when with her Dom/daddy, Drake Wolffe. How will Master Wolffe guide his Little Red through this erotic, intimate journey to push her limits, to learn she can soar so much higher than she ever dreamed?
SAVING ELLA
A Cinderella tale by Tabitha Black
Trapped in a life of endless drudgery, Ella has just one joy; rock god Zainon Matthews. Every night before falling into an exhausted sleep, she wishes he would magically appear and whisk her away to a happily ever after. She has no idea how close she is to getting that wish... or the dark,
sadistic desires Zainon will expose her to. THE TOWER A Rapunzel story by Jennifer Bene When one of her father's enemies rips Rebecca 'Rapunzel' Sinclair from The Tower and takes her prisoner she is dropped into a nightmare of pain and pleasure. As her masked captor works to break her down will she be able to face the darkness in her past, and the dangerous desires she's discovering inside herself? NIGHTMARES IN WONDERLAND An Alice in Wonderland tale by Addison Cain When darkness falls, Alice hears the tick-tock of the grandfather clock, and the hosts of Wonderland come out to play. The Hatter has all the power, loves to twist and taunt, and is eager to draw sweet Alice into a never-ending nightmare of degradation and fun. Tea anyone? GOLDI IN CHAINS A Goldilocks story by Maren Smith Breaking into that house was every bit as easy as Goldi had been led to believe. What it wasn't, was empty and shifters (particularly were-bears) were not known to be forgiving. Now, trapped in the terrifying dark of their basement dungeon, Goldi knows she's in for a long night of carefully exacted revenge.
*Publisher's Warning - This anthology is extremely dark, twisted, and will push your comfort level. There are taboo, and high kink level acts, graphic sex, anal play, ménage, age play, and whatever else your darkest mind can think of. Do not buy this book if you are expecting your typical hearts and flowers romance.
_______________________________________________________________
Enjoy this free preview of The Dark Forest:
_________________
Beautifully Primal Warning
You hear the bark and fear the bite but cannot escape the Beast's dark embrace. Your wild nature calls to his own and demands to be tamed. Resistance will not be tolerated, the Beast will have his way.
Enjoy!
Zoe Blake
Chapter One
A purple mist snaked its way through the deep, dark forest. The malevolent moon cast an ominous glow on the barren earth below. The unsettling scream of a raven could be heard high above the crippled and twisted tree branches.
Her breath came in tortured gasps as her slippered feet slid and tripped along the slick, frozen ground. Reaching out blindly in the darkness, she fell against a tree trunk. The sharp edges of the bark pressing against her soft cheek and the palms of her hands. Heedless of the bite of pain, she withered to the cold ground. Her rich, velvet gown pooling about her like a death shroud. Casting large anxious eyes about, desperate to see through the gloom, she searched the shadows.
Is it gone?
Did she lose it in the mist?
The sickening sound of splintering wood cracked like a whip through the unnaturally silent forest. A heavy thunderous tread rolled closer and closer still. The rattle and crunch of crushed underbrush was punctuated by guttural snorts and grunts.
Forcing her stiff and cold limbs into motion, she grasped the roughened tree trunk, using it to pull herself upright.
She must keep running.
It was getting closer.
Her skirts felt wet and heavy with frosted dew, chilling her fingers as she fisted large swaths high above her ankles. Willing herself on, she ran deeper into the forest.
Her mouth opened on a startled scream as her body was wrenched forward, then ruthlessly back by a heavy weight on her skirt train. Desperately pulling on the fabric, she looked down to see it pinned under one large, black paw.
Screeching in terror, she fell to the ground. Twisting her body till she was on her back, her fingers digging into the frigid dirt as she tried to claw her way backwards. Her feet helplessly kicking through her skirts, trying to dislodge her attacker.
There was a low, feral snarl.
She stilled.
A second paw pressed against her hip. Through the mist, the beast, covered in sleek, ebony fur slowly came into focus, shifting its massive weight to hover over her slight form. The first paw moved, stepping on her thick curls as they fell in waves about her, forcing her to remain prone and still. A thick obsidian mane framed a long, powerful snout and startlingly bright green eyes. It was the beast's eyes which mesmerized her. Captured her. She forgot to scream. Forgot to breathe as she fell under their spell. Filled with almost human emotion, she could read their primal intent.
"Please," she begged.
The beast cocked its head to the side, as if it understood her plea. Its muscles bunched and shifted as it leaned forward on its paws. Its strong chest bearing down on her breasts. Pinning her under its weight, his snout pressing against her neck. The beast was learning her scent. Reflexively, she inhaled. It smelled of moss, cedarwood and honeycomb. Her brow wrinkled, confused. She had expected the sick, acrid scent of blood.
The warmth radiating from the creature's body spread over her own, banishing the night's chill. The silken strands of its mane brushed her cheek as its snout moved downward. Her body trembled with an unnatural response as the tip of the beast's tongue lapped along the ridge of her exposed collarbone. Alarmed, she tried to get away. Rising on her elbows, ignoring the sting of pain as her hair trapped under his paw pulled and tugged.
The beast's mouth opened on a low growl, exposing long, white teeth. The points so thin and sharp they appeared almost opaque. With a whimper, she sank back to the ground, lying helpless under its restraining weight.
Watching its captured prey intently, the beast lowered its snout to trail between her breasts, down her middle. Again, reading an almost human response in the evergreen depths of its eyes, her breath grew ragged and uneven. As its powerful body prowled closer to her hidden core, fear of both it and her own response overcame all else.
Springing upward, she latched onto its mane, filling her small hands with its silken weight. The beast reared back with a roar, pulling her with it. On its hind legs, it towered over her petite frame. Her slippered toes barely skimming the icy peaks of grass that covered the earth. Her body was forced flush against the beast's powerful chest as it dangled, held aloft only by her faltering grip on the beast's fur.
As the beast's head tipped back on a deafening bellow, the ebony fur morphed into red, moth-eaten rags. The sharp teeth became blackened and blunted. Its majestic snout, shortened to a broad, flat nose. The beautiful emerald greens eyes become a colorless, watery gray. His deep-throated roar shifted into a high-pitched cackle.
It was the gypsy woman from the fair two summers ago.
Loosening her grip, she fell to the ground, staring at the shriveled woman in horror.
Pointing one gnarled hand towards her, the gypsy woman, spat out, "I curse you! You, who are arrogant, who hold yourself above all those around you. Your beauty is your curse. You shall only know happiness through pain, will only find love through supplication to the beast. Be forced to yield to the hand of your master or face your destiny alone!"
***
Beatrice awoke with a start. Her legs tangled in the heavy, velvet bed covers. Her breath visible in the frigid bedchamber. It was a dream, she told herself. Just a dream.
_______________________________________________
Sleep, My Beauty Warning:
Sleep, my beauties. But when you dream, be warned. You will discover dark taboos, delicious fantasies, and sexual delights you may never want to wake from.
Alta Hensley
Chapter One
Briar
Once upon a time, there were blue skies, and bright sunrays. But today, and any other day from this point on, the ash fell from the sky, casting a thick layer of darkness and despair. I leaned against the open doorway, reached out with my palm, and allowed the grey particles to fall into my hand.
"I have to. There is no other choice," I said in a low voice. I looked over my shoulder at the three women I had grown to love who sat by a low burning fire, and swallowed the large lump in the back of my throat. "I don't want to leave you. But if I don't leave now, they will come and take me anyway, punishing all who try to stop them."
The frailest of the women nodded in understanding. Dear Jane could barely stand nowadays, but still had a strong spirit I admired greatly. "They will come for you regardless, true." The other women, Anna and Ruth, nodded silently in agreement. You could see that it pained them to do so, but these women had always been honest and direct with me since the day they found me and offered shelter in their home.
Word had spread that the Maleficent Army was moving in, and it was a matter of a day, maybe even hours, before they would storm our small village, looting and killing all to get what they wanted.
Women.
They wanted women.
They were on the hunt for all the young, beautiful females under the age of twenty-five, by order of the most powerful man left standing on this charred and destroyed earth-Grimm Maleficent. Decades of war, bombs, violent attacks, and a ruthless way of living had left very little of what once was a modern, high-tech society. The thick layer of grey destruction dripped from the atmosphere, casting what was left of civilization into a deep and dark slumber from the life we once lived. The world had changed drastically. People merely survived. Their souls cast in an eternal sleep.
Nothing but simple existence.
Nothing but emotionless breaths purely to meet the basic needs of life.
Nothing but a walking nightmare underneath the doom of suffocating air.
The weak became weaker. The poor even poorer. Very few people of power existed, but the few who remained were the most evil of them all.
Chills ran up my spine at the mere thought of Grimm Maleficent. The tales of a pure monster were enough to have the man feared by all. He and his army had risen from the ashes and had become even stronger with the embers of the world sizzling around him. I knew his army was marching my way, and when they reached my small village consisting of less than ten structures, they would slowly and mercilessly kill all who stood in their way.
I had no choice. I couldn't run. Where would I run to? I couldn't hide. They would find me. I couldn't fight. They would win. And since I was the only woman under the age of twenty-five who resided in Hollow Valley, I needed to surrender without a fight, for the sake of everyone else. It wouldn't be fair to the women, who watched me with tears in their eyes, to attempt to harbor what Maleficent would eventually obtain anyway. They would die trying-I knew this-but I couldn't allow that to happen. I would sacrifice. I had no choice.
"When I think about the things they will do to you," Ruth said as she dabbed the tears in her eyes with a handkerchief that had long lost its stark white color only to be replaced with a dull grey. Grey like the world. "We can't just sit here and do nothing, knowing... well, just knowing."
"Ruth! Hush," Jane scolded. "She doesn't need to be thinking of those awful things right now. We need to help her stay strong. They're coming, and there isn't anything we can do about it."
My shoulders sagged in defeat as I watched the older lady scowl. They knew. I knew. Every single woman who wasn't diseased or maimed-which was rare-would eventually belong to Maleficent. His appetite for sexual pleasures that crossed into a realm of dark erotic horrors were tales that kept any innocent awake with nightmares. Devious kinks, perverse taboos going beyond the most devilish of imaginations. Maleficent was a sadist, and although I really did not know what that truly meant, I did know that it was something to fear.
"It's time, child," Anna said, motioning for me to come sit on the small wooden stool that rested at her feet.
I knew what the woman wanted, and what all the women would want to do as well. It was custom. A tradition. A way to say goodbye but forever mark the person leaving. The people saying goodbye would all leave a lasting farewell. A slice of the skin-a scar forever to remind.
Walking over to the stool, I unbuttoned the top buttons of my tunic while taking the slow but deliberate steps toward the final parting from the only women I knew and cared about. Silently sitting down, with my back facing Anna, I lowered the fabric of my shirt, exposing my shoulder blade fully. From the corner of my eye, I could see Ruth reaching for the only knife in the house. The one we used to carve the dried meat of old wild game carcasses we stumbled on while foraging, or to divide a discovered root into four equal parts for the daily meal. It wasn't the sharpest, but it would do for what its purpose would be today.
Anna held her hand out, and Ruth placed it on her open palm. "As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of courage." She sliced the knife in a straight line down the flesh of my shoulder, ignoring the hiss of pain that escaped between my clenched teeth. "May you always have it."
Jane pushed her chair over with her feet, grunting as the extra exertion took whatever reserves of energy she had left. She reached for the blade, and sliced another line down my shoulder. "As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of endurance. May you always have it."
The searing sting from the cuts brought tears to my eyes, but I refused to allow them to fall. The cuts were gifts of love, and I needed to fight the superficial pain and concentrate on the deeper emotion and energy connecting me to the women as they offered the only thing they had of any worth, though not of monetary value. As tradition dictated, the loved ones would offer a trait of theirs that they valued greatly but would be willing to sacrifice to another. This farewell ceremony consisted only of three bloody slices to my flesh, a far cry from what others had endured. As a child, I could remember when villagers would say goodbye to the soldiers, both men and women, leaving for battle, and each remaining person-not able to fight-would mark the back of the departing with the same bloody knife, offering their farewell gift. The sign of a true warrior who had left behind all that they once loved would be a shoulder or back scarred with marks from people who were forced to say goodbye forever.
In this world, everything was forever. The belief of hope had long expired, and no one believed or lived by looking toward the future for a possible good outcome. Hope dissipated right along with the sunrays-nothing but grey, dread, and despair in its place.
Ruth helped Anna out of her seat and to another so that she could sit behind me with the blade. She placed the tip of the metal to my flesh and pressed firmly, barely breaking the skin. "As I say goodbye to you forever," she slowly lowered the knife down the length of my shoulder, "I give you the gift of submission." As Ruth reached the end of the cut, I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the blood from my wounds drip down the side of my back, running along the grooves of my ribcage. "May you always have it... and understand it fully."
I glanced over my shoulder to stare at the woman, slightly confused as to why she would alter a time honored tradition and ceremony by changing the verse. Although, when I looked into Ruth's eyes, I could see the woman had wanted to offer something extra. It was her final farewell gift, and she simply wanted to give a little bit more.
Raising my tunic-not caring about the bloodstains that would occur-I watched my dirty fingers fiddling with the buttons as an excuse not to look at the women. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to break down and shake with fear. It was my duty to remain strong. I was no different than all the others who had left before me. Everyone would eventually leave one way or another.
Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the doorway and paused with my back to the women. Without turning to face them, I said, "As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of memory. May you always have it."
Walking out the door and down the dirt path, I knew it would only be a matter of time until I walked right up to the army to surrender. I didn't know what that meant, or what consequences would occur from such an act, but I had no other choice. I didn't look back once as I crested the hill that would remove any sight of my village behind me.
Never look back. Never look back.
Those were words I told myself time and time again when I had to leave or say goodbye to others. Those were the words I chanted when I walked away from my charred childhood home, knowing that not a single soul but myself had survived. Those were the words I recited as I tried to block out the image of my mother's eyes, closed as if she were only asleep, but while my bloody father stared lifelessly up at me, eyes wide open. One parent looked so peaceful while the other looked so tortured, even in death.
As I trailed up another rolling hill, I concentrated on the cadence of my heartbeat to move my hungry and tired body forward. Beat after beat, I marched, until the sound of the beats grew in intensity. Glancing up toward the horizon, I realized that the sounds were not from me but from the approaching Maleficent army. I had found them, or they had found me.
I stood in place, hoping that zero movement on my behalf would signal to them from a distance that I meant no harm. I would not attack, nor try to run. How one sacrifices to save others, I didn't know. But all I could do now was stand in place and wait.
Luckily, my plan seemed to work as a large caravan of men, both marching and on horseback, approached me. A large, covered, wooden wagon with bars on the windows was being dragged by mules. It slowly made its way behind the soldiers. At a glance, I assumed it was a prison transport of some kind.
"So what do we have here?" a soldier asked as he rode up beside me, gazing down in both fascination and disgust. I knew I wasn't clean, and my tattered clothes reeked of filth, built up over days of no access to fresh water. I had long ago given up looking into a mirror because the ghastly woman who always stared back at me haunted my dreams.
"My name is Briar Rose. I am twenty-four years old and want to surrender myself to the Maleficent army. I come from Hollow Valley and am the only woman of age. Rather than wasting the time of your men to come fetch me, I decided it best to come and meet you instead." I desperately hoped that my attempt to ward the army off with my practiced speech would save my home from any destruction from these brutes.
The man laughed and called out over his shoulder to his men, "This little rat is by far the most foolish woman I have ever encountered. She is here to willingly give herself over to Maleficent."
The men laughed and mumbled their agreements in response, but I stood proud, refusing to let them take away the courage I was just given as a farewell gift.
The leader of the army focused his attention back on me as I willed my body not to shake before him. His stare bored into my skin and seemed to sear my frail bones. He licked his lips slowly as he clearly was considering all his options. "Very well. Since you have decided to make it easier on yourself by not putting up a fight, the least we can do is spare you the pain of one." He motioned for the man driving the mobile prison to dismount and take care of me. "Put this beauty to sleep, and let's get her back to join the others. We still have a few more villages to hit on our way before nightfall."
The man rushed to me and reached for my hand. He grabbed my index finger and flipped it over. He then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small metal syringe, and pricked my finger with the needle before I even had the chance to pull away. A small drop of blood remained. I studied the tiny droplet, confused, trying to figure out why he would have done such a thing. He glared up into my face with a wicked smile as my eyelids grew heavy and my vision blurred. I tried to blink away the menacing fog, but the wave of defenselessness grew in intensity.
The prick of the finger...
Every muscle in my body weakened as the last words I heard faintly in the far off distance were, "Sleep well, beauty."
______________________________________________________________
Saving Ella Warning:
Seduced by his music and drawn to his gaze, she will kneel before him; his to obey. If you tremble and wince at the thought of such blind obedience then this may not be the tale for you. But if the thought of absolute control makes your heart flutter, then turn the page!
Love,
Tabitha Black
Chapter One
"Brace yourself, Ella. You know you deserve this."
Placing her palms flat on the polished oak desk, Ella blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face and bit her lower lip. She knew what would happen next. It was always the same.
"Are you ready?" Nathan continued.
"For God's sake, just get on with it. As much as I know you enjoy dragging this out, I do have work to do," she said-rather snippishly, considering she was bent over a desk with her bared and vulnerable backside pointed forlornly at the ceiling.
"I'm well aware of your chores." Her stepbrother's tone was just as dismissive. "Your failure to complete them all on time is why you're here."
"It's absolutely impossible to complete all those chores on time, and you know that as well as I do," she snapped. "The only reason why I'm given such a ridiculous list every damn day is because your mother," she put extra emphasis on the word, "knows you get some kind of perverse kick out of punishing me this way. And how she loves to indulge her beloved son."
"That's a lie!" Nathan yelled, bringing the wooden paddle down with a resounding crack.
A blaze of pain seared across both Ella's buttocks and she gasped, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the desk harder in order to hold her position. Taking a deep breath, she debated briefly whether or not to keep taunting him. Fuck it.
"Most of those stupid tasks are pointless anyway," she went on. "Ever since we moved into this smaller house, the housework would be easily managed if we split it evenly between everyone. But oh, no... you and your darling sister get to lounge around all day while I have to do everything."
She bit her lip as Nathan brought the paddle down again, the thick wood landing in precisely the same spot, reigniting the burn. Once she'd absorbed the initial sting, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Tell me, darling brother," she said mockingly, "are you hard now?"
"Shut up!" The third and fourth swats landed in quick succession.
Ella closed her eyes, trying hard to keep her temper in check. It was so unfair. Ever since her father had died, she had become like the household slave, having to do everything for her stepmother, not to mention her step-siblings, Nathan and Anastasia. Every weekend, she watched enviously from her bedroom window as they left the house to go and party, all dressed up in the latest fashions, piling into cars filled with laughing, jubilant friends, while she herself still had endless and mundane housework to do.
I have no life. It's so unfair. Why did Father have to die? Theoretically, now that Ella was over eighteen, she should be able to leave home... but her stepmother, unwilling to lose free slave labor, had made it impossible. The evil woman had confiscated Ella's birth certificate and all other important paperwork, and Ella had never been permitted to learn how to drive-although, of course, her siblings had. With no friends and no social network outside the house, it was quite simple: she had nowhere else to go.
"Then why do you do this?" she panted, once Nathan had planted the fifth paddle swat lower, catching the tops of her thighs. "You could always just tell Mother that you carried out the punishment without actually having done it."
Nathan remained silent.
"You're just too much of a coward to lie," she went on taunting him. "And even though you won't admit it, you're some kind of sick sadist who enjoys paddling his stepsister."
"I swear to fucking God, Ella," Nathan snarled, "if you don't shut up right now, I'll... I'll-"
"You'll what?" She gave a hollow laugh. "Punish me? Send me to bed without any supper?" A great wave of fury consumed her and she used that surge of energy to push herself up off the desk and spin around to face him. "You don't seem to understand," she said, grimly. "There is absolutely nothing you could do to me to make my life worse. I have nothing. I am treated as though I were nothing. I am at your beck and call every hour of the day, and often during the night as well. I'm given impossible tasks purely so you and your evil witch of a mother can exercise your sadistic urges and find 'excuses' to punish me. I have no life!" Her heart pounding, she stared him down, trying to find some trace of humanity or humility in Nathan's eyes, but they were cold. Blank. Uncaring.
"Get back over the table," he said.
"No." She folded her arms over her chest, marveling at her own audacity but realizing at the same time that she had been speaking the truth-she really did have nothing to lose.
"I'll tell Mother."
"Tell her." Ella's backside throbbed and she was aware that she must look ridiculous with her pants and panties around her knees, standing up to a man who was only a year her senior, but at that moment, she didn't care. I've snapped, she thought suddenly. I've finally reached the end of my rope. It was curiously liberating.
"I'll ask you one more time. Get back down, take the remaining swats, and we'll pretend you never had that little outburst."
She had to hand it to him, he was still trying to maintain the façade of having the upper hand, even if he had lost. And, judging by the look in his eyes, he knew it.
"How many more?" she asked, lifting her chin. For some reason, the realization that she had won this little argument was enough for her to back off. For now. Truth be told, Ella was exhausted, and the sooner they got this little scenario over with, the sooner she could finish the remainder of her daily tasks and escape to bed. She had some serious thinking to do.
Nathan hesitated. "Seven."
"Three," she countered.
"Five. Final offer."
She almost smiled. "Fine. Five more." Feigning indifference, she turned once more, bending over the desk. "And hurry up."
The renewed burning, searing pain was an indication that Nathan was trying to make the most of his remaining swats, trying to punish her further for her outburst, but Ella's mind was on other things and she took each and every one without making a sound.
She wasn't sure why it had taken her so long to reach this point, but now she had. And she was going to make some changes in her life.
Nathan tossed the paddle aside without another word, and Ella was equally silent as she pulled up her panties and pants and left the study. Anastasia was hovering near the door, eavesdropping as usual, Ella thought bitterly, but she resolutely ignored her stepsister and marched purposefully up to her little attic bedroom. Once there, she flopped down on the bed, ignoring the dull ache in her buttocks, and looked up at the one thing that gave her life meaning.
Oh, Zainon, why can't you come in on a white charger and rescue me from all this? she thought ruefully, gazing up at the handsome, square jaw, the deep, intense eyes and the shaggy black hair of the man on the poster. Ella had tacked it to the sloping wall in such a way that she was able to see it comfortably when she was lying down.
Zainon Matthews was a musician-no, a rock god. His singles consistently hit the top of the indie charts and he regularly performed to sold out stadiums, with legions of screaming fans all scrambling to get a better look at their idol. He enjoyed the sort of adulation normally reserved for teen popstars; but this was no baby-faced industry puppet. He had real talent, could play several instruments (although no-one could beat him on the guitar) and had a raw, smoky voice which sent shivers down Ella's spine whenever she heard him sing.
In her view, his God-given good looks were just the icing on the cake.
Anastasia and Nathan, both also big fans, had every album he'd ever recorded, and Anastasia had so many posters of him that she'd once, in a rare moment of sisterly sympathy, given one to Ella. Of her two step-siblings, Anastasia was by far the kinder. Unfortunately, she was also timid, and rarely dared to speak out against Nathan or their mother's harsh treatment of Ella.
With a deep sigh, Ella closed her eyes, feeling the familiar ache in her chest at the thought that Zainon Matthews was scheduled to give a concert a mere hour's drive away in just a few days' time. Nathan and Anastasia both had tickets, of course. Ella had tried everything, she had even fallen to her knees and begged her stepmother to be allowed to go, but the bitch had simply given that infuriating smirk of hers.
"If you finish your chores on time," she'd said, looking down her nose at Ella.
"Then I can go?" Ella had been so full of hope she'd been unable to breathe.
"That's what I said."
What she hadn't said was that she would hand Ella a list of tasks so ridiculously long that there was no way she would ever be able to get them done in a month, let alone three days. But Ella was no fool, she'd had a feeling there would be some kind of catch. If not an unmanageable list of things to do, then it would have been something else impossible. There was no way she would ever be allowed to do something as wonderful as attend a concert. She never had before, why should things change?
You could go anyway, a small voice in the back of her head told her. After all, what have you got to lose? What would they do to you afterwards? Beat you? Keep you in the house and force you to work your fingers to the bone from morning till night, seven days a week?
Ella allowed herself a small smile at the irony of it all. But she didn't have any money, no means of transport, nothing to wear and, most important of all, no ticket.
It was all so unfair. Ignoring the dull ache in her bottom, she crossed one long leg over the other, folded her arms behind her head, and stared deeply into Zainon's light gray eyes, willing him to show her a way. One night. One night was all she was asking for. A few measly hours in exchange for a lifetime of servitude and drudgery, one magical experience about which she could dream and fantasize for the rest of her life. Something amazing to cling to while she scrubbed floors, polished windows, pruned plants, washed dishes, mended clothing, and did the thousand and one other things that toiling in her stepmother's house involved.
"Please, Zee," she whispered, reaching out to stroke his chiseled cheek. "Show me a way."
***
Unfortunately, the day before the concert, Ella still hadn't come any closer to finding a way to get there. Nor had she been able to make any significant progress on that ridiculous, mile-long list she'd been given.
"How are you coming along?" Her stepmother's voice was almost gleeful. "Do you think you'll finish on time? Time's a'ticking."
Ella dropped the sponge she'd been using to wash out the kitchen cupboards and spun around to face the tall, angular woman. "I've been asking you this question for years and you've never given me a decent answer. But I will ask again: why do you enjoy torturing me so?"
Griselda raised an arched eyebrow. "Torturing you, my dear? I cannot fathom what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean. I bet you don't even have a ticket for me. I bet you're just using this whole thing as yet another way to humiliate-" Her words died in her throat as her stepmother reached into her skirt pocket and produced a slip of paper.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, dear. Of course I have your ticket. It's right here."
Ella eyed the card suspiciously. "How do I know that's a real ticket?"
Griselda held it out. "You can see for yourself. Uh-uh, don't take it. You will be able to hold this in your grubby little hands once you've completed all the tasks."
Zainon Matthews Live, the ticket said. Ella's heart beat faster at the sight of the delicately embossed words. The date, the time, the location... it all seemed to be real. So close, and yet so far. "Please," she whispered in a strangled voice. "I've never asked you for anything. In all the years since Father died, I've cooked, cleaned, served and waited on you hand and foot. Not just you, but on Nathan and Anastasia as well. Never a single birthday gift, never a kind word in return, but I always still-"
"Always what?" Griselda barked. "Behaved? Did as you were told?" She gave a shrill laugh. "If that were truly the case, would we keep having to punish you? How many times has poor darling Nathan had to take the paddle or the strap to you-to no avail? And as for the ridiculous notion that I've never given you anything... is food and shelter nothing? You have a roof over your head, clothes on your back, enough to eat. You get a damn sight more than you deserve. Even now, you're getting a fair chance to attend this stupid event, although I cannot for the life of me fathom why you-any of you-would want to go. I've heard this... person... sing, and really, what he does cannot be called music. Not by any stretch of the imagination!"
Ella sighed, biting her lower lip as the ticket was once again removed from her sight and tucked back into Griselda's skirt pocket. She was too tired to argue. I might as well face facts... no matter what I do, I won't be able to go. Bitter tears of disappointment threatened to spill over and she swallowed them back past the sudden lump in her throat. "Fine," she said at length. "If you say so, Mother."
"Do not presume to take that tone with me, young lady," Griselda spat. "Else I'll think of some more things to add to that list."
"I don't think that would make any difference." Ella clenched her fists. "Your list as it stands is more than adequate. In fact, I might as well give up now. You know as well as I do that your demands are impossible. Ten people working around the clock couldn't complete those tasks in time for tomorrow evening."
Her stepmother gave a mocking chuckle. "Such a defeatist attitude, dear. So pathetic. Just like your father. I must admit, I was a little irritated when he died so young, leaving you in my care..." she eyed Ella as though she were a cockroach on a plate of food, "but in another way, I suppose it was a blessing of sorts. You have saved me a fortune I would otherwise have had to spend on real servants."
Before Ella could rush at the woman and claw her ugly eyes out, Griselda spun around and flounced out of the kitchen.
"I will never understand what he saw in you, you evil bitch," she muttered under her breath. "Oh, what's the use? I may as well just give up now." She picked up the sponge and flung it against the wall. Then the bucket full of soapy water caught her eye. She had just taken aim when Anastasia's voice startled her.
"Don't."
Ella paused. "Don't what?"
"Don't kick the bucket over. You're only making more work for yourself."
Ella eyed her suspiciously. "Why? What do you care? You don't have to clean it up."
"Well, no, but still..." Anastasia trailed off, emerging slowly from the corner in which she'd been standing, silent as a shadow.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Ella asked with a huff. "Why do you always stand around in corners, watching, listening? Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?"
"No." The slim girl was fidgeting, her long, dark hair hanging over her face, obscuring her features as always. "No, I don't. I feel bad for you."
"Not bad enough to stick up for me," Ella said bitterly, crossing the room to retrieve the sponge. Then she felt bad. Out of the three members of her family, Anastasia had always been the kindest by far; giving her the poster of Zainon, secretly giving her extra food, and even letting Ella have her old iPod when she'd received a new one for her birthday. It had been loaded with all the music Zainon Matthews had ever recorded, and Ella no longer knew what she'd have done without that single pleasure in her life. "It's all right," she said, catching sight of Anastasia's stricken face. "I know you don't dare."
"You're right, I am a coward. But that doesn't mean I don't feel bad for you."
"I don't need your pity." Ella added more soap to the sponge, then dropped it on the counter with a wet thud. "Ugh, what's the point? I won't be going tomorrow anyway, I may as well stop killing myself."
Anastasia glanced over her shoulder, then moved closer to Ella. "You will be going," she whispered urgently. "I'm going to help you."
"What?" It was some kind of trap, it must be... but even so, she felt a tiny flicker of hope in her breast.
"You heard me. I'm going to help you. We're going to get the ticket from Mom somehow, and you're going to the concert. With me."
"Are you serious? Why?" Ella narrowed her eyes. "What's in it for you? If Mother catches you, you'll be in for it."
Anastasia stole another glance around the kitchen, obviously terrified Griselda or Nathan would emerge at any moment. "Not here," she said. "Meet me in my room in ten minutes. If anyone comes in, I'll say I have mending for you to do. I'll explain there."
Before Ella could reply, her stepsister had slipped away as silently as she had come.
__________________________________________________________________________
Mr. Wolffe's Little Red Warning:
Be forewarned that within the dark, deep forest lies a cabin. The 'goodies' Little Red has gathered on her way will be used to remind her what happens when a little one is a naughty girl. This book contains the spanking of adult women, elements of age play including anal play, discipline delivered on a bare bottom and elsewhere, BDSM play and power exchange. Step over the threshold of that cabin at your own risk. While this twisted fairy tale is not all sugar and spice, I promise, Regina's very own big bad wolf will have your heart pounding and your panties dampening.
Happy Reading!
Maggie Ryan
Chapter One
"Finally, something that doesn't look like boring correspondence for a change."
Regina looked up from her desk to see Glenda standing beside the metal cart she pushed around to deliver mail and the occasional package to any one of the employees occupying several floors of the building.
"Hi, Glenda. What do you mean?"
"Just this," Glenda said, plucking something from one of the bins in the cart and waving it in the air. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
And it was. The deep red of the envelope was of a hue that had one thinking of the most beautiful rose, but it was the black wax seal that had been pressed against the flap that had Regina swallowing hard. The color did not bring a bouquet of roses to mind, but instead, had her tummy flipping, her heart pounding, her blood racing and, of course, her buttocks clenching. It took her a moment and hearing a very familiar word to snap her back to the present. Tearing her gaze from the envelope, she interrupted. "Wh... what did you say?"
"I asked whose party you were invited to..."
"No, I mean, what did you say just before that?"
Glenda looked puzzled and then grinned. "Ah, you mean naughty? I was just saying it's a bit naughty. If you ask me..." she looked around so as to reassure herself that no one was listening and leaned a little closer, "that fancy seal actually looks like someone's ass."
Regina could feel her face go hot and prayed the woman thought hearing such a word in a professional environment was the cause of her blush. "I'm sure you're mistaken," she said.
"Hmmm," Glenda said, making it a point to give the back of the envelope a closer inspection. "Nope, pretty sure it's a butt." She giggled and continued, "And, since it is for my dear friend, you can tell me how I can wrangle my own invitation. If the party is anything like that naughty seal, it sounds positively wicked."
Not about to agree to that request, Regina shrugged. "Just drop it on my desk. Mr. Evans needs me to run these notes upstairs."
"What? Aren't you the least bit curious? I mean, come on! How often does anyone get such a sexy piece of mail?"
"It's probably just some invitation to a fancy new restaurant opening," Regina said, standing and gathering a pile of papers she'd been working on, shoving them into folders. "You know how it is. Send the critics and reviewers' minions some sort of coupon for a meal they couldn't possibly afford on their own in hopes that we will persuade the powers that be to give the restaurant or chef a rave review. It happens all the time. Remember that new grill... um, what was the name? Pig Trough? We all got to go eat for free and then we all wound up with food poisoning?"
Glenda's expression of expectation disappeared as she sighed. "I suppose you're right." She dropped the envelope onto Regina's desk, added a few additional pieces of mail and then said, "Hey, a bunch of us are going out tonight. Can you come? It won't be free but the tapas bar won't send you to bed for the entire weekend either."
"Let me get back to you," Regina said, already opening her desk's top drawer and scooping the mail into it. "I've really got to get this stuff upstairs."
"All right, call me later," Glenda said, giving a wave and pushing her cart, disappearing into the warren of cubicles that sat outside Regina's office.
Regina yanked open the drawer, grabbed the red envelope, shoved it beneath some of the folders she held and hurried towards the elevator. Stabbing a button on the panel, she tried to control her thoughts as she watched the numbers change above the doors. She dashed out before the doors were completely open, turned left and, after a quick glance around, opened a heavy steel door. Within minutes, she stepped out onto the roof, taking what seemed like her first breath in the last several minutes. She scurried around several large protrusions housing various equipment that had always reminded her of ugly warts. It didn't help that they were painted a sickly looking green often used as make up for some evil witch. Regina slipped between two and out to her secret spot. Sinking down onto the overturned bucket she used as a chair, she closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that maybe she was wrong. Maybe the envelope really did contain some sort of coupon for a free meal or an invitation to a fancy party.
"What restaurant have you ever heard of that uses an exact likeness of your ass for its logo?" she murmured, opening her eyes to look down at her lap. No... she knew exactly who had sent her the envelope. She was pretty sure it was some sort of invitation but also sure it wasn't for a party... well, not the sort of party where a white, vest-wearing hare was ready to welcome guests down the proverbial rabbit hole. What she was suddenly very afraid to discover was exactly what sort of event she'd been invited to attend.
Placing the folders on the ground beside her, she ran her fingertip across the front where her name was written in beautiful calligraphy. Miss Regina Redd. Not the politically correct Ms.-no, he was far too proper to lower himself to use a title he'd consider inappropriate. One was either a "Miss or a Mrs." There was no in-between. Turning the envelope over, she felt her face heating anew as she gazed at the seal. She could remember the first time he'd shown it to her-her cheeks had flushed then as well. Knowing that he'd actually commissioned an artist to create a tool that, when pressed into hot wax, would replicate the very ass she was currently seated upon, had her finger shaking. Realizing that it was tapping against the seal as if... oh, God, spanking it, she jerked her finger away and with a final, hard swallow, she reached up to remove the antique hair pin helping to secure the mass of her curls in place, the auburn locks sliding down to cover her shoulders like a cape. Slipping the tip of the pin beneath the black wax, she gently lifted. The wax broke free of its hold, allowing the flap to loosen. Regina withdrew the heavy cardstock inside. It too was red, elegant and beautiful and yet, without reading the words, the black script was able to reduce her to a quivering mass of delighted anticipation as well as shuddering despair.
My darling little Red,
You do remember what happens to naughty little girls, don't you? That's right... they are required to make atonement for their naughtiness. When that naughtiness has been exceptional, the requirement moves to an entirely different level. Your attendance is required to discuss the progression from a simple chastisement to a much more, shall we say, involved punishment.
At six o'clock this evening, Mr. Grimm will arrive to escort you to me. You need not pack. Everything you need will be provided.
Prepare your mind to be ready to make your full confession. Prepare your heart to accept your discipline as you follow the instructions you'll be given to begin our little tale.
Any deviations from the rules will have additional consequences and, my naughty girl, as your current list will require a great deal to clear your slate, it would be in your best interest to follow every instruction to the letter.
Until you kneel naked at my feet...
All my love,
Master W
Yes, she knew what happened to naughty girls. They were punished... they were punished until they were very, very sorry for making bad choices; choices that she'd known were wrong but had hoped would go undetected. His instruction that she be ready to make a full confession had her mind scrambling, searching for each and every infraction of his rules... or even of his expectations. For some inexplicable reason, knowing she should be shaking in her boots, Regina found herself smiling instead. Her fingertip ran across his signature as if she could transfer her touch to his skin, her own flesh pebbling with tiny bumps as if already sensitizing itself for what she knew was coming. Returning the card back into the envelope, she tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. She'd slipped back into the narrow opening between the two pieces of equipment before remembering the folders. Returning, she bent over and as a sudden gust of wind lifted the back of her skirt, she froze. It was just a flash of memory and yet it was as vivid as if it were presently occurring.
She'd been instructed to bend over, her arms locked around her legs, her cheek pressed to her knees. Her skin had flushed hot with shame when her Master had lowered her panties to her knees, her arousal evident on the gusset, her scent inhaled with each shaky breath she took knowing that the artist was seated behind her, sketching her... well, the portion of her that was totally bare and lifted high. Master W hadn't hesitated to crack his favorite rattan cane across her quivering buttocks, chastising her for her slightest deviation from the required, humiliating position. Every time she saw the seal that had been created after that session, she remembered that day. For if one looked very closely at the impression in the black wax, they'd see not a heart as she'd tried to convince herself it resembled, but a heart-shaped bottom with the fine line depicting the wheal his cane stroke had raised on her right cheek. If that weren't proof enough, the small birthmark at the crest of her left buttock, the one that he claimed meant that she'd never truly had a choice-that it was her fate, her destiny to belong solely to him-was also on the seal. Straightening, her hand reached back, not to rub at a painful welt as that had disappeared long ago, but to rub the spot that if one but lowered her panties the barest fraction of an inch, would show the head of a wolf lifted as if howling its dark depravity to the moon.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Her mind was empty of all thoughts except the ones trying to anticipate what he had in store for her. She gave a shrill shriek when a weight landed on her shoulder.
"Shit, Reggie, you scared me!"
A hand pressed to her chest, Regina swiveled about in her chair. "I scared you? Glenda, you almost gave me a heart attack!"
Glenda giggled, her face showing absolutely no remorse. "You should thank me. It looked like you were prepared to spend the entire night staring at that computer screen. Since you never called, I came back to see if..."
"Oh my God, what time is it?"
"Five thirty... Hey, where are you going? Aren't you coming with us?"
"I can't. I've got to get home!" Regina said, grabbing her purse from the bottom drawer and standing. "I'll talk to you on Monday."
"If you're sure? Hey, are you going to that party?"
Regina simply gave a wave over her shoulder and instead of waiting with her fellow coworkers at the elevator, she pushed through the door and tore down the stairs. With each flight, she prayed that traffic would cooperate. If not, if she didn't arrive home before six... She didn't need to contemplate the consequences... he'd said any infraction would add more to her atonement.
With a screech of brakes that caused her to jerk forward against the seat belt, she practically ripped the keys from the ignition of her VW Bug and reached for the door handle. With a curse at the lack of freedom, she fumbled with the seat belt catch, yanking it free. Grabbing her purse, she raced down the ramp of the parking garage and around to the front of her building. Her pounding heart leapt in her chest at the sight of a man, standing just inside the glass doors, his hands behind his back, his posture ramrod straight. When their eyes met through the glass, his arm came around and he pointedly looked down at the watch on his wrist. When he looked up, she felt her knees began to shake. His expression matched his name-well, probably his pretend name-but he did look very grim indeed. She never made it into the building as he strode to the doors and pushed through.
"I'm so sorry... there was a jam up on..."
"If you'll come this way?" he asked, his voice as calm as hers was frantic.
"Wait... I need to run up to my..."
"Miss Redd, you need to come with me," he countered as his eyes captured hers. "Unless, of course, you aren't concerned about keeping Mr. Wolffe waiting?"
Oh, she was concerned all right. She was suddenly extremely concerned. Glancing past him, she saw Paul, her doorman watching. "May I please tell Mr. Carter that I won't be home?"
"No need," the man said. "As Mr. Wolffe has already informed you, you need not worry. Everything has been taken care of." He paused and then lifted his hand, gesturing towards the curb where a sleek black sedan waited. "Shall we?"
"Ye... yes, of course," Regina said, managing to give Paul a shaky smile and a little wave before she turned to step in front of the driver, walk the few steps to the car and when he reached to open the door, managed a soft, "Thanks," before she bent to step into the vehicle.
"You are welcome, Miss Redd."
"Um... okay... um... I mean, thank you, Mr. Grimm."
"Remember to fasten your seat belt." With that, he closed the door, the sound causing her to give a little jump.
Geeze, just relax, she told herself. It's not like you are going to your execution. You'll be back in a couple of days. After fastening her seat belt, she remembered Glenda's words. No, she wouldn't be spending the weekend in bed with her tummy aching from food poisoning, but she'd most likely be spending it with her bottom... at the very least... aching from any one of a dozen implements that her love, the man who held her heart in his palm, would be using to exact the atonement he considered due.
____________________________________________________________________
Goldi in Chains Warning:
Three vengeful shifters... one thieving burglar caught red-handed... Beware! The following story contains serious caning, bondage, and all the anal and sexual punishment that ought to occur when someone is reckless enough to get caught in a were-bear's dungeon. When too big meets too hot, it's always just right.
Maren Smith
CHAPTER ONE
She was an independent career woman with a penchant for the seamy underside of life. But then, she was Goldi, and she didn't mind that. She had always walked her own path.
Lockpicks in hand, Goldi moved through the cool forest shadows. The assorted pick sizes jingled as she twirled the ring of them around her finger-flip, catch... flip, catch-and beneath her feet, crisp pine needles and brush twigs crunched softly as she slipped through the trees.
It was a remote house, the directions certainly were right about that. Not a mansion by any means, but far from a hovel and hidden well back amongst the old forest cedars that blended damn near seamlessly with the mossy roof shingles. Shadows cast by overhanging branches seemed to draw one hazy grey curtain over the river-rock walls, while the overgrown trellises of hollyhock and ivy drew another in green. From this distance, what bits of the house she could make out clearly looked more like the face of the mountainous cliffs just beyond it, or perhaps the jumble of some past landslide already grown over with vegetation. If it weren't for the glint of daylight that periodically reflected off a second floor window as she circled the property, she might have walked right past the place without even noticing.
And that would have been a pity, because her caller had promised to pay two grand for this job. Divorce-such a nasty business. Especially when one soon-to-be ex decided to be a dick about how much she really did make and yet was stupid enough to keep records. Not that Goldi was any kind of tender-hearted Robin Hood or Scarlet Pimpernel. Oh no. When she robbed someone, it was all about the money and she certainly didn't give it away once she got it. However, every now and then, it did give her warm, fuzzy feelings to know her impending thievery was about to shaft someone who really, genuinely deserved it. Be they male or female, exes, in her opinion, always deserved it. If they didn't, they'd still be married.
Dressed all in form-fitting black, Goldi circled the house. First from a distance, then cautiously moving in closer, she stayed in the shadows where she'd be harder to spot until she felt confident no one was at home. No thin wisps of smoke snaked from the chimney nor were there lights on inside, not from any of the many windows and most had the curtains wide open. In this day and age, that practically begged for someone to break in. Goldi was too damn good at her job to refuse.
She made one last circle, this time with all of her attention fixed on each avenue of entry. The front door faced a small clearing; she wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of boldly going in through the front. There was a side cellar-style door, half hidden behind a chopping block and enough neatly stacked cords of wood to keep a small village warm for at least six months, but it had a padlock on it. The lower floor windows were all high enough that she'd need something to stand on in order to reach them, but if worse came to worst, she supposed she could climb one of those wood stacks. She'd hold that in reserve for Plan B, since the house did have a back door. Nice and secluded, tucked behind a small porch and two ivy-covered trellises. A simple door latch. No deadbolt. One look at that and she was decided; she was totally a backdoor kind of girl.
Somewhere in the forest, a twig snapped. Goldi froze, but a quick scan of the trees behind her revealed no hint of danger, especially not the two-legged, just-returning-home kind. Still, she hesitated, waiting and listening, her eye following the dip of each breeze-bending fern and the rustle of the brush. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe it was the source of the noise she was looking for, but less than ten feet from where she had pressed herself to the trunk of a large evergreen, a pinecone suddenly dropped. Tic-toc-tac-it bounced off the thick branches high over her head and all the way down to the ground. This was a forest, she told herself, her wary eyes searching for signs of what had dropped it. Forests had animals. Squirrels and birds and all that shit.
Keep it together, Goldi, she told herself. When she got her phone call later today, she was not about to report she couldn't do the job because she'd let herself get spooked by a bunch of rodents chucking nuts at each other. She forced her attention back to the job.
The house remained still, with no signs of occupation behind any of those open windows. Slipping through the undergrowth, she approached the back door and climbed the steps. The ivy trellises hid her well, although that honestly didn't matter. The house was so remote, she could have done a striptease in the open yard without anyone ever knowing.
Tic-toc-tac! She jumped when another pinecone fell out of the trees, landing within feet of her. She looked up, seeing nothing but tree branches.
Fucking squirrels.
Somewhere, in the not quite so distant distance, brushes rustled.
Fucking bunnies, too. That sounded much too big and heavy to be a squirrel.
She fidgeted with the lock picks in her hand, anger growing as she swallowed her unease. Get in, she told herself. Get the finance ledger and get out again, only two grand richer. Eye on the prize, Goldi girl.
Eye on the prize.
The back lock was one of the easiest she'd ever picked, and the most unnecessary. Had she checked latch first, she'd have noticed the door was already unlocked. She tsked, as much at the owners as at herself. "Apparently, some people don't realize how dangerous the world can be."
Apparently, she didn't either. She was just about to go inside when a stick snapped behind her. Flattening into the shadows of the ivy trellis, Goldi peered through the wood slats and leaves. Her heart thumped to a sudden stop. Less than fifteen feet away, a shaggy brown bear was venturing from out behind two giant red cedars. Breathing heavily, nose to the air, it looked right at her.
"Oh shit," she breathed.
She didn't move. Neither did the bear, not for the longest time. In the end, easing herself over the threshold as slowly and as non-threateningly as she could, Goldi slipped into the house and shut the door. She locked it too, although fat lot of good that would do if the bear decided it wanted in. Both hands pressed against the door, she waited for her heart to either re-start or explode. She touched her chest, reassuring herself that it was indeed beating, and by the time she eventually peeked out through the side window, the bear was gone.
"Shit," she said again, craning her neck and leaving face and hand prints on the window that she then had to erase. But no, the bear really was gone. Give her five seconds and the ledger, and she'd be gone too.
Relieved, Goldi assessed the main floor of the house long enough to get her bearings. She was a little surprised, frankly. Although the caller had told her this was the home of a woman, there wasn't a single feminine frippery anywhere in evidence. In fact, the décor was singularly masculine. That didn't make sense. The furniture was blockish, wooden and looked like it had come straight out of a Medieval Dungeons R Us catalog. The dining table was long enough to double as a rack with a fathomless array of ropes and pulleys dangling from the ceiling above it. Of the four chairs arranged around it, one had thick leather straps on each arm and leg, as well as a seat that could be changed out. The one on it right now was perfectly normal, but there were three others stacked neatly against the wall-one with a giant hole in the seat, one with metal bumps and knobs, and one with a rather sizeable and suggestive protuberance positioned where one would have no choice but to sit directly on it. Her pussy underwent an involuntary spasm, though she wasn't at all convinced that was where such a protuberance was intended to go.
To the right, she saw far enough into the kitchen to recognize some of the tools hanging from the over-the-stove utensil rack and on the hooks on the wall were implements that would have been more at home in any gruesome mafia murder scene. To her left in the living room, positioned right in front of the unlit fireplace was a wooden horse. Again, it was blockish, but complete with neck and head and even a long, flowing mane. It was also complete with straps upon its back and at the top and bottom of all four legs.
"What sick bastard lives here?" she was startled enough to say out loud.
A puff of heavy breath was her immediate answer. Goldi jerked back from the door to find a giant black nose pressed up against the window right at face level. The bear was back and it was breathing in the air, picking and discarding through all the many scents until it found hers.
Goldi retreated from that thin pane of glass and only stopped retreating when she accidentally bumped up against the wooden horse. She leapt back from that now too, crashing into the wall where an array of wide to thin leather straps, braided whips, crops and canes were hanging. Two fell from their hooks to the floor. Her skin tingled, not just from where she'd touched the horse, but now feeling every place on her back, hips and buttocks where those now swaying implements had brushed her. Her stomach tightened. Her nerves tangled and twisted together in an odd and uncomfortable... warm but scared... unnerved and yet vaguely aroused sort of way. It moved through her in sinuous, serpentine motions, taking root deep in the pit of her fluttering belly, so low that that she could almost feel it prodding between her legs.
The ledger, she told herself. Get the ledger and get the hell out of this place.
And then she had it, that oh shit moment when for all her alertness and caution, she heard the slow shuffle of heavy footsteps crossing the hardwood floorboards of the room directly above her head. A lesser thief might have forgotten everything and bolted right then; not Goldi, although she did bolt. Out of that interrogation-slash-serial killer-style décor of a living room, down the hall past the corner staircase and into the study. The ledger was exactly where the directions she'd been given had said it would be. A stark black book almost a foot wide, twice that in length and heavy enough to balance out a baker's morning sack of flour-it was lying open on the desk where anybody could steal a gander at the contents.
Normally, Goldi would have been tempted, but now was not the time. Already those shuffling steps had reached the upper-floor staircase and now were coming down the steps. She ducked back out of the study, striving hard to be quiet even knowing she was trapped. With every step she took and every step she heard-it had to be a man; he sounded so heavy; what, did he weigh a ton?; and why did his boots on the stairs make a sound like claws scraping the wood?-she knew she wasn't going to make it out without being seen. For the first time in the whole of her nefarious career, she was caught.
Her heart thundering against her ribs, indecision froze her in the hallway. Huge shadows of movement were growing upon the wall of the corner landing to her right. The snuffling black nose of the bear was still exploring the back door's window straight ahead of her, and to her left, the only door-sized exit left available to her, was the front door.
It was locked. Padlocked, in fact.
From the inside.
Once upon a time, a wise man had told her that the downfall of man was destined to be greed. Another had immediately corrected him, saying that fate would always be caused by a woman. Well, Goldi knew better. They were both wrong. The downfall of man always had and ever would be his or her own morbid curiosity, and certainly she was not immune.
Heavy ledger clutched to her chest, Goldi couldn't save herself from her own awful curiosity. Just as the heavy shuffling footsteps turned the landing corner, she turned far enough to see what was even now staring back at her with beady black eyes. Not a man. No, it was another bear. A huge bear, bigger even than the one starting now to scratch for entrance at the back door.
They stared at one another and, for one horrible, heart-attack-like pause that gripped the interior of her chest, neither moved. Then animal muscle rippled under the dense fur of its pelt and the bear hupped up to stand on its back legs. Stretching out its massive neck, it opened its mouth and brayed the kind of bellow no girl wanted to hear from any creature as big as that or outside the protection of an extremely sturdy bear-proof cage.
She ran, the book still clutched tight to her chest (because if she made it out of this alive, it was still worth two thousand; a girl had to have priorities), and that bear in fast pursuit. It bounded down the stairs, chasing her the length of the hall. Its size was her best ally. When she rounded the corner, it hit the wall and she ducked into the first open door she saw. Slamming it fast between them, she almost fell down the stairs directly behind her before she realized she was trapped in the cellar instead of a closet.
It was very dark down below, but with a glimmer of light that reminded her there was another way out. The double cellar doors she had seen during her reconnaissance outside. Those doors were her way out, especially now that the bear had reached this one. She could hear it snuffling along the crack at the bottom and see the massive shadow of it blocking out the light. This door opened inward. All the bear had to do was shove and the jamb would shatter, and then the beast would be inside. With her.
Goldi fled blindly down the stairs, barely able to see the dim outline of each in the darkness. What she found when she reached the bottom did not make her happy. There were no windows. Her only avenue of escape lay in the cellar doors she'd seen from the outside. She ran to them, pushing and shoving and doing little but rattling the double doors on their very secure hinges. Shit; she'd forgotten they were padlocked.
"Damn it!" She slammed her shoulder against them, trying with all her might to force the doors up and open, but neither budged and the only other exit was currently being investigated by a very large and growling bear.
She turned in a full circle, her eyes gradually adjusting to the gloom enough for her to make out the sparse lines and hard edges of widely spaced furniture and even the dangling cord of a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Feeling the way with her feet, she reached for it, hoping the light might help her find another way out. It didn't, but it did help her see her situation more clearly.
This wasn't a cellar. It was a torture chamber and she was standing in the middle of it, mere feet away from some kind of cruel bondage bench. Like the horse upstairs only without the equine neck and head, it had four legs, a padded rail across the top, and multiple rings on all sides by which to affix whoever was stupid enough to get caught in this house.
Right now, that someone was her.
Everywhere she looked, she saw horror after horror. Neatly coiled ropes, straps, manacles, crops, paddles, and even hooks-hooks, hanging from other hooks-dangled off the stone walls. Blindfolds and masks lined the shelves amid more gag varieties than she'd ever known existed. Gags with balls, gags with bits, gags with round metal hook contraptions designed to force a jaw open and keep it that way no matter what.
Another hard thump pulsed through her, an unexpected echo of which landed, centered, and took command of her clit.
Once upon a time, a wise man had told her moments of stress could teach a person a lot about themselves. She had to stop talking to wise men because this wasn't at all something she wanted to learn.
The low, scraping footstep on a hard stone floor.
Goldi looked down at the stones she was rooted to, at her own feet which hadn't moved. Her heart thumped again, her clit hummed, and every fine hair on her body stood up on end as she heard the bellows-like exhale of beastly breath nowhere near far enough behind her.
Her own breath sounded abnormally loud and shaky as Goldi faced the third bear. It was even larger than the other two she had seen, and it was squaring itself against her from the far side of this entirely too small cellar. Facing it now too, she hugged the ledger tight against her.
She was going to die. She was a little surprised that she wasn't more scared. Her legs were shaking. She was clutching the book so tight that the edges of the hard cover bit into the fleshy parts of her fingers, making her knuckles ache and throb. But she didn't scream. The urge was there, choking up the back of her throat at tonsil level, but that was as far as it rose, even when the bear rose to stand. Twenty good feet separated them and it still towered over her, not roaring or growling, or making any noise apart from the heaviness of its breathing. Not moving either, apart from a faint pawing at the air and a twitch of its black nose.
_________________________________________________________________________
The Tower Warning:
When kings make bad decisions, sometimes it's the princesses who bear the burden. Tortured, tormented, and used for dark purposes, you're in for a ride. Tread lightly, the nightmare doesn't end when Rapunzel leaves The Tower this time.
Enjoy,
Jennifer Bene
Chapter One
Rebecca stretched as she walked across the empty apartment, the buzzing voices of the television keeping her company as she settled onto the couch. The shining white tile reflected the images moving across the screen, some sappy sweet romance movie had started while she'd been washing dishes.
No thanks.
Click. Cooking show. Click. Reality show. Click. Commercial. Click. Dad?
The volume was too low to understand the chipper looking woman on the screen, but she turned it up fast. "... to attend. Software magnate Daniel Sinclair is showing his softer side this week as he opens the Sinclair Shelter for Women. While Mr. Sinclair is well known for his contributions to technology, he's not often caught in the public eye, but he appeared today with his daughter Rebecca as they cut the ribbon to open this..." The voice on the screen faded in her ears as she watched the flashes of images. Her father cutting the ribbon, smiling and waving at the cameras, all blond hair and dimples - the perfect CEO. Then they were both waving, his arm around her waist - a picture perfect father and daughter.
Her voice came over the surround sound speakers and she cringed, hating herself for agreeing to that damn interview."Right. My father just wanted to, you know, do something to honor my mother's legacy. I'm really just, uh, glad to be here for it. It's nice."
Nice? You're such a fucking idiot.
The news mercifully switched back to her father, his vibrant voice filling the room for a minute as he walked the camera crew through a tour. The one and only Daniel Sinclair, practically perfect in every way.
Perfectly poised, perfectly dressed, and perfectly happy to spend all his time at the office.
She should have just gone skiing without him, invited a few friends and enjoyed herself - but no matter how childish it seemed, she missed him. Missed the days when it was just the two of them going for a run near the waterfront, or ordering Chinese and watching bad movies.
And how many years had it been since that happened?
'Too many', she answered inside her head.
As Rebecca sulked, taking a large drink of her wine, the reporter appeared in the frame again. "The facility is set to open in the next few weeks, and according to Mr. Sinclair's representatives they are already in active communication with support organizations throughout the city. We can only hope others follow in his footsteps. Back to you, Tom!"
When the news anchors took back over, she slid the volume back down a little and sighed. Tapping her phone, the display revealed 10:17 in bright numbers, and she contemplated texting him. To ask when, or if, he was coming home tonight, but that was ridiculous.
She was twenty-four, not some kid.
She shouldn't even be living at home, hell, she shouldn't be working for her father.
But it makes him happy.
Lying back on the couch, she tilted the wine glass back and forth, watching the pale chardonnay blur the skyline outside the floor to ceiling windows. The night sky was a black hole above the city, not a star in sight with all the light pollution. If she were smart, she'd move somewhere far away, somewhere she could wake up and walk outside without going down forty-two floors in an elevator. Out of the city. Somewhere she could be someone new. Being the daughter, and thus the charmed employee, of the head of Monarch Systems had some benefits - including the beautiful, spacious, two-floor penthouse that took up the top floors of The Tower - but it also meant that she spent her whole life here.
She worked in The Tower, she slept in The Tower, and unless her friends begged her to go out, she never left. And, lately, even that was a rare occurrence.
"You're pathetic," she growled and lifted the wineglass. Empty. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the couch and wandered back into the kitchen to refill. The stack of papers she'd printed out lurked underneath her laptop on the crisp dining table, tempting her to just bury herself in work.
To be just like Daddy.
It was what she'd always wanted. It was one of the few things that made him smile with pride. It was why she'd killed herself to get the business degree and the art history degree. Something she needed and something she loved, but only one of them was ever going to matter. After all, how was she going to shake off the dumb blonde perception of the board if she couldn't speak their language? If she didn't start showing them, she knew how the company was actually fucking doing?
The memory of how she'd looked on the news flashed behind her eyes. The form-fitting royal blue dress, the tasteful jewelry, her long pale hair falling to her waist, that perfect Sinclair smile - she'd looked more like she was trying out for Miss America, not preparing to be the heir to one of the most successful companies on the East Coast. Fuck, she wouldn't even take a girl like that seriously if they said they wanted to run Monarch Systems.
Damn it all.
"Let's just drink until we can't think. How does that sound, Rebecca?" Talking to herself, again, she grabbed the whole bottle of wine and headed back to the couch. Glass refilled, cold and biting as she swallowed, she zoned out on the newscast. Something about a shooting, police looking, blah blah blah. So much chaos in the world, so many angry people. As she took another sip, she heard the click of the door behind her and she smiled to herself.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
"Hey Dad," she called over her shoulder. "I want to show you something, come in here before you run off to your office!" Pressing the rewind button on the remote so she could show him the news report, she set the wine down. The stupid DVR went too fast and she had to stop it and fast-forward, cursing under her breath. "They were just talking about the facility on the news. I looked like a complete idiot, but you did great. Hold on, I'll show you. Did Patricia tell you this was airing tonight?"
He didn't answer her, but she clicked pause as soon as the image of the new building filled the screen. Was he on the phone and ignoring her again? Asshole.
Turning to find her father, she caught a dark shape in her vision, too close, and then the sharp pull of someone's fist in her hair made her gasp. Panic flooded her with an overdose of adrenaline and she kicked out, her foot colliding painfully with the coffee table, but she was caught. Her struggles only sent her wine crashing to the floor, and an instant later she was hauled over the back of the couch. Rebecca landed hard on the tile, but the adrenaline was now a live wire in her veins and she made it onto her knees, planning to run, when the hand returned to her hair. Air hissed between her teeth, a whimper rising up as the man tightened his grip and then forced her flat. A knee behind her shoulder blades pinning her painfully against the cold tile.
"Let me go!" she screamed as soon as she caught a breath, her voice breaking, but there was no one to hear her in the empty building. No one is coming. Fight. Reaching back, she dug her nails into gloved hands, trying in vain to tear his grip free. A growl rumbled above her just before he cracked her forehead against the floor. Pain flashed like a firework behind her eyes, turning her stomach while she tried to protect her face. Her ears were ringing, and for a moment she was so stunned that she didn't notice the jerking motions at her waist until she felt the cool tile on her lower belly.
Oh God, he was taking off her pants.
"NO!" Rebecca tried to push up from the tile, but he moved instantly and dropped his knee into her back again, crushing her until her ribs creaked. He was so heavy, too strong, and her fingers slid over the smooth tile finding no traction. Tears blurred her eyes as she whimpered, the sensation of his gloves brushing her thighs as he pushed the soft pajamas down making his motives all too clear.
This couldn't be happening. There was no way this was happening.
It was a nightmare.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
When he grabbed for her ankle to pull off the pants, she kicked her legs, and his knee dug harder into her back, pain radiating up her spine as it became almost impossible to breathe. "You want to fight me?" The rough voice preceded a hard spank across her ass, and then there was another, and another. Merciless, hot, and stinging. "Go on then. Let's see what you can do. Try and run, whore."
With a sharp tug, her pants were free of her legs, but then he was off her. Rebecca ripped air into her lungs, her ribs aching as she eased up onto her elbows. When he didn't grab for her, she lunged forward, scrambling to her feet to run for the security system by the front door.
Panic button.
She needed to hit the panic button so someone would come. So someone would know what was happening. Six-minute response time, she could make it six minutes.
Wait, why hadn't it gone off?
The red light was blinking on the front of the security panel, glowing confidently as if it were still armed, and she was barely five feet away when the full weight of the man slammed into her. The hard hit sent them both to the floor, bruising her knees as she caught herself on her hands. No! His arm wrapped across her throat, blood pounding behind her eyes as he began dragging her backwards-away from the panic button, away from the front door, away from escape. "That was pathetic," he hissed against her ear. "All of you rich bitches are the same."
She couldn't breathe, her lungs burning as she tried to claw at him, but his long sleeves were tucked into the gloves. Fight, dammit! She had to fight. Reaching behind out of desperation, she went for his eyes. Cloth. A mask. Before she could find the eyeholes he yanked his head back, and his grip on her throat tightened further, an oppressive blackness starting to creep in from the edges, her hearing fading like she was moving down a long tunnel.
No. No. No. No.
He twisted her suddenly and she found herself bent over the back of the couch with a fist in her long hair. For a moment she didn't even care as air returned to her once again, her lungs starving for it, but then his knees were spreading her thighs. Rebecca choked on her first attempt to scream, reaching back to try and push him away.
"Stop! Don't! Please, don't," she begged hoarsely as she tried uselessly to bring her legs together.
"Shut up, or I'm going to hurt you." The harsh voice came again, and she froze as she felt the sharp metal of a knife trace over her waist. Shivers made her muscles jump involuntarily, fear plucking away inside as the slow scratch of the blade kept her still. With a nudge, he spread her further.
"I -"
"I said shut up." There was a tug at the edge of her underwear, his fingers stretching the fabric, and then the tension gave way as he cut them off her. Tears burned her eyes, her heart still racing as she tried to catch her breath. Then she felt the draft of air between her thighs, cooling the wetness already gathered there.
Why? Why was she wet?
"Don't do this, you don't have to do this." A hard jerk at the hold he had on her hair silenced her, and then she heard the sound of his zipper. "Please!" She whimpered the word, but he ignored the plea as he pushed her legs wide.
____________________________________________________________________________
Nightmares in Wonderland Warning:
How deep into the woods are you willing to stroll? For the story ahead is truly dark and twisted. The horrors of thorny thickets and poisonous swamps await. You've been warned.
This is where the romance ends and the nightmares begin.
Love,
Addison Cain
Chapter One
Every childhood memory, every last horror over the years held one object in common: a stuffed white rabbit. Since I was a baby, the snowy toy sat on a shelf above my reach, high atop the nursery's sprigged walls. I had many playthingsI was not allowed to touch lining that shelf, the china faces of dolls with golden ringlets like mine in plenty. My mother was the one who told me to only look, never touch-that like me, these dolls were expected to remain immaculate and beautiful.
There were other rules: I was not permitted to muss my frock and pinafore, nor was I ever allowed to touch my hair. I was to be always clean, starched, crimped, and expressionless-my overlarge blue eyes lowered in a demure position should someone address me. It was never phrased so bluntly, but even as a small child I understood that, like the jewels of my nursery, my purpose was to serve as a pretty item for others to enjoy.
Often, I was put on display.
When Mama and Papa would throw their soirees, our house would transform into a fairyland-flowers, exotic foods, extra staff bustling about our London brownstone. After dark, the magic of music would seep upstairs, above the crowds of gentlemen in their dress coats and ladies stuffed in taffeta and ribbons. My nanny would spend the entire day preparing me to be seen for five minutes. In my fresh dress, scratchy lace at my throat and at the cuffs of my sleeves, she'd take my hand and lead me down the twisting staircase to where my proud parents waited.
If it were near Christmas or my birthday, before the crowds of Papa's friends, all eyes on me, Mother would give me a new doll to add to the collection on the shelf. Like clockwork, my arms would reach out and the new toy lain upon them. Always I would thank her for her generosity, tuck the doll carefully under my arm, and then to be sent right back upstairs.
The doll with its cold china face would be taken from me the moment I was restored to my nursery, placed upon the shelf with its myriad counterparts. I never minded the loss of the bauble. My favorite toys were my miniature porcelain tea set and the worn rocking horse at the foot of my bed.
Though I'd smiled as expected when my mother handed me the cursed thing, truth was the dolls' fixed expressions frightened me... all thanks to the rabbit nestled in their ranks.
Everything goes back to that rabbit.
I could not tell you how long it had been up there, who had given it to me... I could tell you nothing about it.
But I could tell you this: the dolls with their dead stares could be ignored. I could pretend they were not there. The same could not be said of that stuffed rabbit. Black glass eyes followed me wherever I played, when I napped, dressed, did my toilette. I was always watched... and there was no getting rid of it. One autumn morning, I had finally found the courage to climb atop my bureau and reach for the cursed thing. I threw it in the fire before my nanny might notice, and I watched it burn.
That afternoon, I had felt whole. I had not been afraid of the glass eyes or what they would bring when the house was asleep.
But, when I had returned to my nursery after the daily, elegant tea with my parents, my short-lived bravery died. In fact, I think a part of me died, sank right out from my toes and into the floorboards.
The rabbit was back, on the shelf innocently sitting, tucked between the dolls that looked like me. The white of its fur was pristine. There was no soot or rips. The glass eyes had not melted, they shone under the lamplight, glowering at me in judgment.
One look at the thing, and I had screamed my head off. My nanny had come running, and in the end, I'd earned a whipping for my noise. Like all good children, I was to be seen and never heard.
For the hundredth time, I'd begged her to take the white rabbit away.
My pleas fell on deaf ears.
Every few years, months, weeks, I don't know... I never slept, recalling time was a difficulty for me... I would again try to make my move against the rabbit. I had thrown it out my window and into the street to be run over by carriages and made dirty by the dust and shuffling of strangers. Other times, I had hidden it someplace else in the house: locked it in cabinets, buried it in the attic, set it upon the bed in the maid's room. The rabbit always came back.
I don't know why. I never know the why of anything.
Night after night that rabbit would infect my little nursery with evil. Tucked into my bed, alone, the house would be soundless save the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs. The growing noise of that clock was the herald of trouble: tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, louder and louder. No breaking storm could have roared through the house as furiously as that screaming timepiece.
Covers to my chin, my wide blue eyes would dart to and fro. Though the noise was wretched, I longed for it to continue into forever. I would rather feel it vibrate through my bones than face what came next. Because that cranking cog of noise would end abruptly, sometimes after hours, sometimes after just a few short moments. Then I would be trapped in deafening silence, with only the sound of blood racing through my ears to warn me danger had arrived.
Silence was unsafe. The dark was a living thing, monstrous. The thin slice of moonlight cutting through the curtains offering no succor. Casting the shape of my window's panes against the papered wall, that scant light illuminated a single horrid thing. If I let my gaze stray, peeked just a little to the right, I would see something that should not be.
The rabbit's stitched head had turned, those flat glass eyes staring right at me. And then they would come.
The first time I'd seen her grace my nursery, I had been very little-so young that I could not tell you what my age might have been. The apparition was naked, slender-a young woman, shoulders hunched forward in the shadows. Long hair, tangled and matted, hung messy to her waist. Every bit of her bared body was covered in wet blood. Before her, she'd rub her slippery hands together while pacing, back and forth, a terrible clicking coming from her throat.
One sight of her, and I had wet the bed.
Hours stretched by, her dark eyes shining behind the wet tangles of blood drenched hair, watching me, waiting. The monster's prowl endless, I cowered in sodden covers, tracking her every movement.
In my heart I knew that to place even a toe from that bed, to consider running for my nanny, would be the end of me. I didn't dare breathe. I knew that naked, bloody woman wanted badly to hurt me.
At daybreak, when my nanny arrived to prepare me for the day, she scolded me soundly for dirtying the sheets. I was marched in my soiled nightdress before my parents, intruding upon their private breakfast so that they too might echo the castigations of my nanny.
I had tried to tell them that there had been someone in my room. I tried to make them hear me. My father had scowled, his waxed mustache twitching.
Tantrums and melodramatics were not to be tolerated. I had earned myself a spanking and a day locked away in my room, made to lie on the same wet bed, where every time I closed my eyes, I was certain bloody hands would slip from some dark corner to strangle me.
Even after a sleepless night, even with the safety of the sun bright in the room, I could not find rest. It was too wet and cold, my blankets smelled, and I was ashamed of myself.
It was not until almost dark that the maid came to change my sheets and dress me in a clean gown for sleeping.
She should not have bothered.
The tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, of the grandfather clock crashed through the house so loud, so very loud I was certain the whole city must have heard that drumming.
Before I was fully prepared, before my childish prayers to Jesus were done, all went quiet.
Swallowing, I cut a glance where I should never have looked. Up high on the shelf, moonlight showing the perfect white fur, the rabbit had once again turned its head to watch me.
The woman was coming back, I knew it. She was coming and she'd figured out how to get me.
But then there was no wet slap of her sodden feet on the floor. No chesty, clicking breaths.
All was quiet and I began to breathe easy. It had just been a bad dream; the rabbit must always have been facing my direction. My papa was right; I was just a silly little girl full of nonsense.
I was so very wrong.
There were worse things than the bloody woman. In the silence, I heard a pair of soft, childish giggles. Spider-like hands crept up the side of my bed, fisting my covers.
Something was under my bed!
With a terrible yank, my blankets began to be dragged under the mattress, the childish laughter growing mean. I tried to make a grab for my only defense, but whatever was hidden beneath me was so much stronger. In vain, I toppled to the floor. Before I might clamber back up, hands shot out from the dark space under my bed, encircled my ankles, and yanked my little body across the floor.
Next thing I knew I was stuffed under my bed, prodded and scratched by the unseen nightmare.
Unlike the evening before when I had kept silent, doing my best not to draw the red woman's attention, I screamed. No one heard, no one came to save me. Scrambling to claw my way free, I fought and I kicked. My gown was ripped, white ruffles torn right off. I got myself to the nursery corner. Pressed my boney shoulders into the tasteful wallpaper and stared around the room, knees knocking together.
My arms smarted, my legs-I had been scratched so badly there were bleeding cuts all over me.
Then I saw them.
The first one leapt upon my bed and began jumping. The other took my sheet, threw it over his head, and ran about the room like a shrouded ghost. Two little boys... they were just two little half-dressed, emaciated boys.
Chortling as he bounded up and down on my mattress, the cruel-eyed waif grinned at me. His teeth had been filed into points, sharp and sinister. Looking at my wrist, I could see the bite marks those teeth had left behind-little puncture wounds that did not bleed much, but stung so badly my eyes watered.
His cohort was exactly the same.
The remainder of the night I spent pressed back against that corner. Sometimes I think the demented pair forgot I was there, or they had grown bored of me. They would play their vicious games; if one grew angry with his companion the play would grow violent. Turning their claws and teeth on one another, the scamps crashed about my room-knocking toys from shelves, breaking things.
When they would pull apart from their fighting, they turned their beady-eyed stare at me.
Snarls turned to giggles. In seeing my terror, the boys had found a new game to play. Trying to trick me, the pair of them worked in unison to sneak, to make a grab at my hands or feet, to drag me back screaming under the bed. My knees were bruised, elbows too, from all the times I had fallen trying to break free and hide from the pair of devils.
They were more cunning than one tired little girl.
_________________________________________
Buy your copy of The Dark Forest right now!
His Forbidden Submissive by Brandi Evans
To find happiness, she must do something she swore she'd never do again. Let a man control her.
After beating cancer, Vivian goes on a mission to cleanse her life. First on the list; kicking her cheating, controlling husband to the curb. Second, she must discover the answer to a question that's been haunting her. Is the love she harbors for Brock, her bad-boy brother-in-law, genuine or a chemotherapy-induced illusion?
Brock loves a woman he cannot have; his brother's wife. To claim her would be a betrayal. He knows loving her is wrong but he can't help it. So when circumstances bring them back together, he can no longer deny his forbidden attraction, and they unite in a fury of passion, lust-and bondage.
But Vivian isn't prepared for Brock's BDSM lifestyle, no matter how sexy he looks with his tats and leathers. After ten years with a controlling husband, submission is terrifying-but so is the thought of never being with Brock again.
Submission or freedom? No matter which path she chooses, her life will change forever.
Publisher's note: His Forbidden Submissive contains adult material, including very strong language, depictions of bondage and discipline, and graphic descriptions of sexuality. If you do not care to read such material, please do not open this book.
|
|
Please enjoy this free preview of His Forbidden Submissive:
Prologue
His sub was quite spectacular when she came.
Brock Michaels stood between the splayed legs of the woman tied open to him. Her ample breasts quivered with each unsteady breath she raked in. Creamy thighs invited his attention, the invitation complemented by the dark thatch of curls surrounding her pussy, the spot where his fingers were currently shoved, thrusting into her, this pretty little sub who had willingly given herself to him for the night. But only ever for the night. Until the sun rose, she was his to use, to enjoy.
To control.
"Sir," she said, and groaned through her fourth climax of the evening, the inner walls of her channel soaked and pulsating around his fingers.
Brock drank in every inch of her. "You are so animated when I make you come, little sub. It pleases me."
But she didn't please him. Not really. Not in any way that truly mattered. How could she?
She wasn't the woman he loved.
When her labored breaths transitioned into shallow puffs, he leaned close and examined her. Long brown curls clung to her sweat-glistened forehead, her cheeks. He drew a knuckle over her jaw.
"What do you think? Have I made you come enough for the night, sub? Or would you like more?"
As he waited for her response, he twisted and turned his fingers inside her. The sheer amount of honeyed heat sent lust rocketing straight to his groin, working his cock from aroused to rock-fucking-hard. Maybe tonight, if he tried really hard, he could get more than his cock to participate in their scene, but he wasn't holding his breath.
His excitement hadn't extended above waist level for the past year.
"I'd like more, Sir." She lifted her head and stared at him through glassy eyes. "Please."
"Good answer. But this time..." He withdrew his fingers from her body and grabbed one of the condoms littering the nearby table. "I'm going to fuck you to climax."
"Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you."
He wasted no time freeing the erection straining his leathers and then rolling the rubber onto his length. He wasted even less time plunging deep into her ravished pussy and pounding like crazy.
"Sir!" she screamed as he fucked her, begging him to take her harder, and he did his best to keep her screaming as long as he could.
In no time, he had her teetering on the edge of another apex, but his climax was a totally different story. He still needed more, but what he needed he couldn't get from the beauty on the end of his cock, or any of the random subs who had come before her. He needed the one woman in the cosmos he could never have.
No. Brock closed his eyes and forced down the sudden images threatening to overwhelm him. No. He couldn't have her, and thinking about her would only cause him more heartache. But keeping her memory at bay was like trying to hold back a raging river with a bottle of Krazy Glue and a handful of popsicle sticks.
"Fuck!"
With the fury of a tsunami racing toward a coastline, images of the woman he lovedbombarded him.
Vivian.
Emotions he hadn't been able to purge stampeded through him, infused him with a need that only sliding into her petite body would slake. Image after image filtered through his mind. Despite their separation, he still wanted her with every fucking breath he took.
What would it take to finally get her out from under his skin?
If gallivanting the globe, putting the finishing touches on the house he'd built, and launching his own brand-spanking-new BDSM club and BDSM-themed restaurant didn't do the trick, what the fuck would? He needed Viv like a Dom needed a sub, but he couldn't have her. Not unless-
He throttled the rest of the thought before it could fully manifest. He loved Viv, yes, but he couldn't have her. To claim her would be a betrayal, even if the man he'd be betraying didn't deserve his loyalty. And if by some miracle he ever could have Viv, he'd have to tell her about his BDSM lifestyle, which would probably send her screaming for the hills.
No two ways about it; fate had dealt him one shitty hand.
Pounding into his sub faster, harder, Brock let his frustrations fuel his moves. He pistoned into his sub's heat, but his near-frantic thrusts did jack shit to mend the gaping wound in his chest. Nothing, no one, would ever be able to heal that wound. No one except Vivian.
His forbidden submissive.
Little Victorian Ladies by Five Bestselling Authors
Welcome to the Victorian era, where the men are dominant, handsome and loving, the nannies are stern but fair, and the ladies are innocent until corrupted. This is a collection of previously published, classic Victorian ageplay titles by five bestselling authors who have mastered this unique, popular genre. If you like explicit themes including creative punishments, hot bottoms and Daddy Doms, this set is for you!
The Abbeyville Way by Tabitha Black
Sara Lyttle has spent her entire childhood looking forward to one thing - her wedding day - but life as an Abbeyville wife is nothing like she imagined. Her new husband David doesn't waste any time introducing his new bride to nannies, strict discipline and the pleasurable, sometimes frustrating delights of an ageplay lifestyle. The Duke's Possession by Zoe Blake Charlotte thought marrying a Duke meant expensive gowns, champagne and elegant balls. Her new husband had other ideas. Marriage to the Duke of Cumberland will mean childish dresses, bottles of warm milk and an early bedtime in a nursery and any defiance will be met with strict discipline at his hand. DeAkeney's Bride by Darla Phelps Marriage is nothing like convent-raised Margot has been led to believe. Her new husband treats her more like a little girl, forcing her to live in the nursery with a companion who rules over her like the strictest governess. Margot soon learns to submit but how can she ever call him 'Papa' when her emotions toward him feel anything but familial? Miss Summer's School by Maggie Ryan When Lord Maximilian Hollister enrolls his new bride, Alexandria Bannister, in Miss Summers' exclusive finishing school, he is praying that the unusual curriculum is the answer he seeks. These women need more than a husband to fulfill all their needs - they need a firm and loving Papa, as well. Enrolling Little Etta by Alta Hensley & Allison West Can Etta fully surrender in ways she has never imagined? Can she submit to discipline and sexual training as the purity of her inner child blends with the fire of her sexual desires? And is it possible for her to truly become the little love that Headmaster Philip Hartley demands? |
|
Stryder by Alta Hensley and Maggie Ryan is live! Grab this hot bad boy now!
BUY NOW: #FREE with #KindleUnlimited
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2iBiTvy
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2lPI7nO
ADD TO GOODREADS: http://bit.ly/2jz3aMq
USA Today Bestselling Authors Maggie Ryan and Alta Hensley join forces again to bring you the second novel in this action-packed, romantic suspense trilogy full of bad boys and the women who love them.
Dark… seductive… promise
Stryder Steele, along with his two brothers and father, lives by one code: Help all in need. Even if it means saving those who walk among the most sinister criminals in the world. Known as The Black Stallions, their mission is simple – provide rescue and safety to the innocents drawn into the evil depths of the underground.
Zoya Morozova has been kidnapped and ready to be sold at an underground human auction in Moscow. Being sold to the highest bidder, she has no idea her life is about to change when her new Master is the dark and mysterious… Stryder Steele.
Bad boy Stryder remembers the pain of being unable to save another but he’ll put his life on the line to save this beautiful Russian farm girl. When he buys Zoya with the purpose of rescuing her, he has no idea that she may have the power to rescue him as well.
Flown to The Black Stallion Ranch, and with the help of Zoya and the knowledge of the human sex trade she has, can the Steeles put together the pieces in time to save all the innocent women who had been sold to the monsters of the underground, or will they lose to the mastermind of it all?
Publisher's Note: This book contains graphic sex and BDSM elements.
About the Authors:
Alta Hensley is a USA TODAY bestselling erotic romance author who has had #1 top-selling books in Dark, contemporary, BDSM, erotic science fiction, humor, and historical. She writes the naughty… and then the cure for it.
Being a multi-published author in the power exchange genre, Alta is known for her dark, gritty alpha heroes, sometimes sweet love stories, hot eroticism, and engaging tales of the constant struggle between dominance and submission.
Website: www.altahensley.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AltaHensleyAuthor/
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2gGu6sY
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/AltaHensley
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AltaHensley
Join her mailing list: http://www.subscribepage.com/i0n8g9
A USA Today and #1 international best selling author, Maggie Ryan has been writing stories as long as she can remember. She enjoys writing both contemporary erotica as well as historical books set in ages past. She loves developing characters that are able to tell their own stories. Her heroines are multi-faceted women who are strong, intelligent and capable in their own right but find a deep need to share their lives with those strong, sexy and dominant alpha males that capture their hearts. Her heroes recognize the gift of submission for the gift it is, loving and protecting the women that offer that gift. She enjoys sweet, romantic stories with just a taste of domestic discipline as well as one that explore the harsher D/S lifestyle. She also enjoys writing age-play stories set both in Victorian era where women didn't have a great deal of power in their lives as well as in today's present time where women still find their happiness is greatly enhanced in offering the gift of submission. Her hope is that you settle back in your favorite chair and allow her books to entertain you and let you escape into another world.
Website: http://www.maggieryanauthor.com/
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2haGM92
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265794.Maggie_Ryan?from_search=true
Twitter: www.twitter.com/_Maggie_Ryan
New and FREE Today from Lynn Forest and Rayanna Jamison
Are erotic fantasies best left in the pages of a book?
As a mousy, straight-laced librarian by day, and an erotic book blogger by night, that is the question that haunts Nora Simmons day in and day out. She fantasizes about finding her own dominant man, and acting out her favorite scenes from her favorite books-as well as some new ones-but girls like her don't belong in that world in real life, or so she tells herself.
Everything changes when one of her favorite authors writes to her about a job opening at their publishing company. When her well-meaning but insanely bossy best friend kidnaps her for an innocent sounding girls' weekend and then drags her to a party where women willingly place themselves over a dominant man's lap, she has a choice to make. Does she have the courage to do some personal research and ask for the discipline she's craved forever, or will she pass up the chance to discover whether fantasy can become her delicious new reality?
DISCLAIMER: This book contains the elements of power exchange and domestic discipline. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.
|
Naughty Nora's Valentine by Rayanna Jamison
What happens when art comes to life?
Newly married Lucinda Harris is a promising Atlanta artist. During the course of a passionate bedtime romp with her husband Michael, she realizes that having her bottom warmed only adds to her pleasure, and begins to wonder how she can get Michael to explore that avenue further.
Lucinda's erotic paintings become her way of conveying her domestic discipline fantasies to her husband, and life comes to imitate art in their cozy suburban love nest. But her erotic art also becomes popular with the public, and when she fails to deal with criticism in a mature way, she has to acknowledge that as well as for pleasure, she also needs Michael's firm hand to keep her career on an even keel.
Publisher's Note: This is a newly released version of a previous title by the same name with the author writing as Carl Hamlin. It contains elements of domestic discipline and explicit scenes.
|
Cheri's New Rules by Markie Morelli
**Weekend promo ~ $2.99 until Monday, February 6**
Every marriage has its ups and downs and for twenty years, Judge Michael Reynolds has been reminding himself of that fact. His wife, Chéri, is the epitome of the perfect suburban wife. Chéri works for an advertising agency, raises their twin sons, and micromanages them all to within an inch of their lives. It's working, he reassures himself. It's not working well, but it's working. He keeps his nose to the grindstone and stays out of her way as best he can, avoiding confrontations and acting as a buffer between her and the boys. Even now he isn't sure if he is having a mid-life crisis or it has something to do with the boys going off to college - but one day he's had enough, more than enough! It's time for some new rules, and for the first time in a very long marriage, he feels capable of enforcing them. Michael tries not to present them as an ultimatum, but Chéri knows what they are just the same. Her husband is tired of her domineering, controlling ways. While he readily accepts his part of the blame for what their marriage has become, he is not willing to continue with the status quo.
What he wants shocks her to the core. At the same time, there is a certain aspect of his idea that appeals to her in a way she never would have suspected. You see, Michael wants to take over. He wants to be the one in charge of their household and especially of her, as he's convinced it will improve their love life as well as their marriage. He wants to try age-play. They will start slowly, he assures her. On the weekends he will become her daddy. She will leave her troubles and adult responsibilities at the door when she walks in the house on Fridayevening. From then on, it is his turn to take care of her. He will provide for all her needs, love and care for her, and discipline her when the need arises. In return for her obedience, she will be pampered and sexually satisfied in ways only he is aware of.
For sure it is a leap of faith, but Chéri takes it, and finds far more than she bargained for as this forty-something couple learns you can teach an old dog new rules.
DISCLAIMER: This book contains the the dynamics of domestic discipline, age-play, elements of power exchange, and sexually explicit scenes including anal play. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.
|
|
Enjoy this free preview of Cheri's New Rules:
Chapter One
The sound of his footsteps coming down the hall sent a shiver of trepidation through her. Even though they'd played this game dozens of times, he still had the power to reduce her to a frightened little girl with very little effort.
He loved her, of that she had no doubt. He'd always wanted what was best for her, all throughout their long relationship. Time and again he'd rescued her from herself when she was headed for a major meltdown. It was ironic really. She took care of everyone else, every tiny detail. Her job was one of the most stressful careers she could have chosen. Her family was high demand or high maintenance as they called it now.
His steps stopped. Obviously he'd forgotten something or a call had come in. She breathed a little sigh of relief. Lying on the bed, she closed her eyes and wondered how it had come to this. She recalled a commercial she'd seen as a really young girl. I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan... It was about men's cologne or something and she'd watched, fascinated. Yes, there was a beautiful woman who did it all, had it all, and she could too she remembered thinking. And she had done it and done it well. Almost too well. Somewhere along the way she'd forgotten how to relax, how to have fun. Micromanaging every nanosecond of her life and those around her was her mission and she had control, until he took it from her.
Funny, when the kids were younger and there was not a minute to call her own, she'd managed; at least she'd thought so at the time. It wasn't until they went off to college and the demands at home slowed down that she realized how much had changed over time. For years he'd been the back drop of her life, the color palette that adjusted itself to her mood and temperament, always allowing her to stand out, to lead, to shine. She thought they were happy; thought he was happy. Quiet, supportive, encouraging, he seemed content. It was all about her; her job, her goals, her plans. He'd step up when needed, of course he would. They were a team. But he rarely challenged her decisions and they almost never argued. She was a 5'2" powerhouse, bulldozing her way through rough terrain. He was the solitary mountain behind her.
It started slow, an evening here, a weekend there. The man who never argued with her demands had some of his own it seemed. He'd been patient, he said. But he wasn't getting any younger and neither was she. He wanted her to at least try something new. In his opinion, she needed it, although she couldn't quite fathom that. It would be a way for her to let go, release some of the tension he knew was building inside her. She'd smirked, there were a lot of ways to release tension and this didn't sound like one she'd ever be fond of.
He frowned.
"Chéri, haven't I always supported you, your decisions, your desires?" he demanded softly, using a finger to tip her chin up and look into her eyes.
"Yes," she replied, surprised. For the first time in a long time she remembered why she'd been attracted to him. He loomed above her, his once black hair now streaked with silver at the temples; his eyes looked like rich dark chocolate as they held hers. A day's worth of stubble on his face made her long to run her fingers across it, but his expression seemed much too serious for that.
"I ask this not only for myself, but for you," he continued, brushing her hair back from her cheek. "I hoped when the children left to start their own lives you would relax a little. Instead, you've become fragile, almost brittle in some ways. I feel a storm approaching, it's in the very air around us. Something is brewing between us and I can't let it destroy what we've worked so hard to achieve."
He took her hands in his. Using his thumbs, he rubbed her wrists and lower palms until she opened her hands and uncurled her fingers. In truth, she hadn't been aware her hands had fisted, but he'd missed nothing.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered as he kissed each of her palms in turn. "It sounds a little bizarre."
"Who knows you better than me, Chéri?" he asked.
Cheryl snorted.
"You don't even know my name," she insisted for the millionth time.
"I prefer Chéri, I always have." Smiling, he pulled her to the couch and sat, bringing her down on his lap, something he hadn't done in years. "It suits you and everyone adopted it years ago. Does anyone call you Cheryl anymore?"
"Only my mother," she admitted.
"See, I was right then and I'm right now. I know you, darling, maybe better than you know yourself at this point. You're floundering," he sighed, pressing her head to his chest. "You've carried everything on these soft little shoulders for a very long time and I've allowed it because it was what you seemed to want. Our lives have changed now, and rightly so. Let me be what you need. I'm ready, willing and able," he informed her.
Wiggling on his lap she felt the proof of his words pressing against her bottom.
They discussed it over a bottle of wine at the dining room table. Michael had done his research, or so it seemed. Some of the things he mentioned made her quiver with delicious apprehension, others had her quaking in fear. He appeared to be taking the whole thing seriously and encouraged her to do the same. Once she agreed, there would be no reneging as far as he was concerned. She would give it a fair chance or suffer the consequences which he explained in explicit detail while she squirmed on her chair. Alternately giggling and blushing, she finally consented to try. She picked a safe word for times she absolutely could not continue, and he reminded her it would not get her out of something they'd done before. This was not a game in the sense she could stop playing anytime it didn't suit her. Everything would be open for discussion and revision before and after, but not on the nights allocated for him. Unless she used her safe word, he had free reign.
She'd been quite tipsy when he carried her upstairs that night and made slow passionate love to her. In the morning, she could hardly meet his eyes and he seemed to find that quite amusing.
"I'm going to make some changes in the guest room," he informed her. "I want you to stay out of there until I tell you otherwise."
"But I've always decorated the house," she protested as she poured a cup of coffee.
"Not this time, not that room," he stated simply.
"But-"
"Chéri," he said in warning.
She looked at him in surprise. He almost never used that tone. She'd heard it often enough when the kids were young, but never with her. He looked different this morning. Bigger somehow, stronger, more...more something. She cocked her head to one side as she looked up at him.
"All right," she finally conceded with a sigh. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Good girl," he said approvingly with a grin that softened his whole demeanor. "I'm cooking today. What would you like?"
Chéri hopped up onto a stool at the island. "Pancakes."
She watched him move confidently around the kitchen, whistling as he worked and made no comment when he set a plate bearing two Mickey Mouse pancakes before her.
That was three years ago. They'd made mistakes, plenty of them and had arguments that ended badly, for her at least. They'd fumbled and stumbled, but Michael was convinced they were on the right track and would not be moved. For a woman who'd spent nearly all her life in charge, submitting was difficult at times. There were things he did she absolutely adored and others she found highly humiliating but all of it made her scream like a banshee when he allowed her to come. Unfortunately, she never knew what he had planned and he was always full of surprises. Wet panties became a way of life.
What started out as a couple of nights a month, turned into every weekend as long as the kids weren't home for a visit and had begun to color their weeknights on occasion. Thankfully, the twins went to the same university and had the same holidays. If they wondered why the door to the guest room was always locked, they didn't mention it, too happy to spend time with their friends.
Michael also began to take more and more responsibility from her shoulders. He hired a maid who came in twice a week and cleaned everything but the guest room. He took over paying the household accounts allowing Chéri more time to read, go to the salon or indulge in the old movies she loved.
They took turns cooking and she was expected to eat what he prepared. When he served fish three times in one week, she returned the favor by making liver, which he hated. She went to bed with a sore bottom that night and never made it again. Michael also agreed to limit seafood to once a week.
One thing he was adamant about was that she not bring work home on the weekend. She could do what she had to during the week, but Fridays were off limits as far as he was concerned. She was to come home, have a snack if she wanted and go up to the guest room to take a nap. Frankly, this was one of the strange rules he came up with that she loved.
Stretching, she yawned and listened to him moving back down the hall. Today was Friday.
Chéri watched him as he entered the room. He was very well put together she acknowledged and in great shape for a man the other side of forty. The charcoal gray suit fit his tall frame perfectly, and despite it being the end of a very long day, he still looked fresh and neat.
Michael took off his jacket and hung it tidily over a chair before approaching the bed.
"How are you, babygirl?" he asked, leaning over to kiss her. His lips nibbled on hers for a moment before he straightened up. "You look pretty today. Did you have a good day?" he asked as he unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling up his sleeves.
Chéri shook her head in the affirmative.
"Ah, no words today," he remarked casually. "I wonder what that means."
Chéri shrugged her shoulders. Sometimes she actually had nothing to say. She found the deep timber of his voice soothing, the quiet of the room exhilarating as though it too held its breath waiting to see what would happen.
"That's all right, Chéri. I like you quiet and pliant. Later I'm sure I'll hear plenty of moans and squeals, won't I?"
Raising her suddenly wide eyes to his, she watched him smile.
"Roll over, baby," he instructed.
Chéri obeyed and felt the cool air caress her as he lifted her short blue and white polka dot skirt. His hands took hold of the top of her pantyhose and pulled them down and off her feet.
"I hate the marks these leave on your delicate skin," he told her, gently tracing the indent around her waist before slowly peeling down her panties. Pulling a straight back chair next to the single bed he sat beside her, just looking.
She could only imagine what she looked like to his eyes, but it was enough to make her squirm. Her panties were bunched around her knees, her too round bottom fully exposed. Saying her bottom was too large would be a mistake, a big one, so she remained quite even though it was still embarrassing after all this time. Soon she felt his large hand cup her cheeks, both at the same time.
"Have I told you recently how much I adore your sweet ass?" he asked.
Chéri nodded.
"Good, I'd hate to think I'd neglected any part of our relationship, no matter how small."
She couldn't help it, a snort escaped. Small indeed she almost said. The slap that followed was not gentle. The sound reverberated around the room like a gun shot.
"Derogatory comments, or snorts to be more specific, are not allowed, little one, and you know it," he barked, smacking her bottom again. "Apologize to Daddy."
"Sorry," she mumbled into her pillow.
It was quiet after that. He didn't spank her again. She heard the nightstand drawer open and clenched her cheeks. It wouldn't do any good but it was still an automatic response to what she knew was coming next.
"Pillow," he snapped.
Chéri reached above her head and grasped the round bolster covered in the same floral fabric as the drapes. Passing it back to him she kept her face averted. The slight pop that meant he'd opened the petroleum jelly had her clenching tighter. With what seemed like very little effort, he slid an arm under her tummy and lifted, placing the pillow in exactly the position he favored. It raised her buttocks and he withdrew his arm.
"All right, my little love," he said kindly. "No fussing tonight if you please. Daddy has many things to do, including make your dinner. Let's get this over with minimal drama. You know I'm always going to take your temperature to make sure you're not running a fever before we start our night. I want you as healthy as can be for what I have planned."
Strong, tapered fingers swiftly separated her bottom cheeks, and without further ado, the small, slippery glass rod slid into her bottom. Her gasp made no difference but her feet drumming against the bed did. Michael withdrew the thermometer and leaned down close to her ear, keeping his hand firmly on her bottom.
"All good little girls get their temperature taking regularly by their daddies. Bad little girls get a good hard spanking first. Which kind of little girl are you?" he asked, his breath fanning her neck.
"A good one," she quickly whispered.
"That's what I thought," he replied with a chuckle. He spread her cheeks again and slipped the rod home, pushing it almost all the way in and keeping only his fingertips on it.
Chéri kept quiet this time. She knew he had bigger ones in that drawer and she wanted no part of them. Finally, after what seemed like at least fifteen minutes, he withdrew it and pronounced her fever free. Immediately, she tried to scoot off the pillow, holding her bottom up, but his big hand settled firmly on the small of her back, keeping her in place.
"Not so fast, sweetie," he informed her. "Daddy is not quite done."
Oh God.
1
This week's Flashback Sale
 Innocent Beauty by Maryse Dawson
Louisa Tomlinson, having recently arrived at her new home in Dorset, manages to make a bad impression on the handsome Finlay Armitage. He finds her a little wild and in need of taming. She finds him high-handed and overbearing, but living in close proximity means they will encounter one another often.
A man of little tolerance, Louisa learns that Finlay has his own methods of controlling her willful nature by turning her over his knee for a sound spanking.
When Finlay asks her to be his wife, she refuses, having fallen under the spell of the charlatan Clarence Pencutt, a man of dubious character. Finlay tries to warn her away and win her affections, but Louisa is not so sure. In her innocence, she cannot see Clarence for who he really is. Besides, does she really want a husband that will take her in hand and curb her defiant spirit?
Regularly priced at $4.99, but on sale this week for a special "flashback" sale of $2.99 until thisSaturday, January 28th.
________________________________________________________
|
|
Rocky Mountain Rpgue by Lee Savino
Rancher Ciaran O'Connor is one of the best and most successful equine and canine trainers in the Northwest. Finding a date is never hard for him, but unearthing a woman who meets all of his particular expectations and is not too needy herself is more challenging. He is ready to wait for as long as it takes when he spots Nurse Katherine Franklin and makes a horse trade to get better acquainted with her. Ciaran soon finds that, just like with his wild or abused animals, he must slowly work at the puzzle of Katie's past to find the jewel hidden beneath all that manipulation. It will take all the tools in his arsenal to reach his goal.
Katie has a reputation with the men in the community; she's known for being hard to catch and impossible to keep, but Ciaran O'Connor makes her blood run hot. He is honest, protective, a hard worker, and the most gentle man she has ever known. This rancher expects the woman he loves to allow him to take care of her, which includes her obedience when he asks for it... and a red hot bottom when she doesn't. Ciaran doesn't need someone like Katie, whose past screams for her to run while her heart begs her to stay.
Can Ciaran convince Katherine that his take-charge lifestyle is not only what she needs, but everything she craves? Or is she going to turn away from the future she desires because of the past she has endured?
Regularly priced at $4.99, but on sale this week for a special "flashback" sale of $2.99 until thisSaturday, January 28th.
________________________________________________________
|
|
Begin Again by Jane Henry
Things are going well for Meredith and her husband, Paolo - until a terrible car accident leaves him disabled. As he distances himself from her emotionally, Meredith finds herself increasingly seeking consolation in her fantasy world. Escaping into her erotic romance books helps keep the loneliness at bay, and awakens in her a curiosity about the Dominant/submissive lifestyle.
The day she stumbles across a website forum for real-life submissives and Dominants, her life is forever changed. These are not characters created by authors. They are real people, who are both familiar with and willing to discuss the D/s lifestyle with her. As Meredith's knowledge and understanding increase, she realizes that there is one question only she can answer - is she truly submissive, or is the fantasy better left in the pages of books?
In a last ditch attempt to discover who she really is, she agrees to pledge her obedience to an anonymous, online Dom. After all, it can't really be considered cheating if he is just a faceless entity in cyberspace, surely? The first time she's given an order, however, the scenario becomes all too real, leaving her with some serious thinking to do. Will her devotion to her online Dominant take precedence over her real, flesh and blood husband?
Will Meredith's journey of self-discovery destroy her marriage, or will she and Paolo somehow find a way to begin again?
Regularly priced at $2.99, but on sale this week for a special "flashback" sale of $1.99 until thisSaturday, January 28th.
________________________________________________________
|
|
A Beautiful Ranch by Misty Malone
Dalton Henderson has his life and his ranch under control and running smoothly... until his sister, Daphne, asks him whether her old school friend can stay with him on his ranch for a little while. Lily is an artist who paints mostly scenery, and is trying to recover from a bad personal experience. Lily needs a new start, with new scenery to look at, in order to get her inspiration back.
Dalton reluctantly agrees, and his previously quiet, orderly life quickly changes. Lily loves staying at the ranch, and is inspired by her new surroundings. She sees beauty where others don't, and, by seeing his own ranch through her eyes, Dalton finds himself impressed - both by her and her artistic talent. But although Lily is quick to see the beauty around her, she can't - or won't - see the potential dangers. Dalton is determined to keep her safe, even if it takes an occasional trip across his knee.
His unique method of protecting her seems to be working well, until the two find themselves confronted by an unknown but serious threat. And until Dalton manages to find out who is behind it, he will have his hands full keeping both of them safe.
Regularly priced at $4.99, but on sale this week for a special "flashback" sale of $2.99 until thisSaturday, January 28th.
________________________________________________________
|
1
Now Available to Purchase: The Dark Forest: A Collection of Erotic Fairytales
The most controversial book of 2017 ~ Carolyn Faulkner
Enjoy seven wicked tales from seven bestselling authors, each more deliciously deviant than the last!
Nothing is as it seems in our dark and twisted fairyland. Princes are not charming and the path to happily ever after is paved with creative punishments and supplication. Do not fret for our fair maidens. These are still fairytales. Love will conquer all in the end.
⇨ Amazon: http://amzn.to/2kknQoU
⇨ iBooks: coming soon!
⇨ Nook: http://bit.ly/2j5XR3w
⇨ Kobo: http://bit.ly/2ji5dUW
BEAUTIFULLY PRIMAL A Beauty and the Beast tale by Zoe Blake Beatrice the Beastly will be tamed by no man. Prince Rhys is determined to possess her on his terms. Will she respond to his rough handling or deny them both their destiny? SLEEP, MY BEAUTY A Sleeping Beauty story by Alta Hensley Briar Rose has one choice. Submit or die. But when she meets her trainer, a sadistic and damaged man named Prince, she soon realizes that her choices are not so black and white. In a world cast in an apocalyptic nightmare, is it possible for one woman to find her happily ever after? MR. WOLFFE'S LITTLE RED A Little Red Riding Hood story by Maggie Ryan Regina Redd is a young professional woman during the week... and becomes Little Red when with her Dom/daddy, Drake Wolffe. How will Master Wolffe guide his Little Red through this erotic, intimate journey to push her limits, to learn she can soar so much higher than she ever dreamed?
SAVING ELLA
A Cinderella tale by Tabitha Black
Trapped in a life of endless drudgery, Ella has just one joy; rock god Zainon Matthews. Every night before falling into an exhausted sleep, she wishes he would magically appear and whisk her away to a happily ever after. She has no idea how close she is to getting that wish... or the dark,
sadistic desires Zainon will expose her to. THE TOWER A Rapunzel story by Jennifer Bene When one of her father's enemies rips Rebecca 'Rapunzel' Sinclair from The Tower and takes her prisoner she is dropped into a nightmare of pain and pleasure. As her masked captor works to break her down will she be able to face the darkness in her past, and the dangerous desires she's discovering inside herself? NIGHTMARES IN WONDERLAND An Alice in Wonderland tale by Addison Cain When darkness falls, Alice hears the tick-tock of the grandfather clock, and the hosts of Wonderland come out to play. The Hatter has all the power, loves to twist and taunt, and is eager to draw sweet Alice into a never-ending nightmare of degradation and fun. Tea anyone? GOLDI IN CHAINS A Goldilocks story by Maren Smith Breaking into that house was every bit as easy as Goldi had been led to believe. What it wasn't, was empty and shifters (particularly were-bears) were not known to be forgiving. Now, trapped in the terrifying dark of their basement dungeon, Goldi knows she's in for a long night of carefully exacted revenge.
*Publisher's Warning - This anthology is extremely dark, twisted, and will push your comfort level. There are taboo, and high kink level acts, graphic sex, anal play, ménage, age play, and whatever else your darkest mind can think of. Do not buy this book if you are expecting your typical hearts and flowers romance.
|
|
 |
 |
_______________________________________________________________
Enjoy this free preview of The Dark Forest:
_________________
Beautifully Primal Warning
You hear the bark and fear the bite but cannot escape the Beast's dark embrace. Your wild nature calls to his own and demands to be tamed. Resistance will not be tolerated, the Beast will have his way.
Enjoy!
Zoe Blake
Chapter One
A purple mist snaked its way through the deep, dark forest. The malevolent moon cast an ominous glow on the barren earth below. The unsettling scream of a raven could be heard high above the crippled and twisted tree branches.
Her breath came in tortured gasps as her slippered feet slid and tripped along the slick, frozen ground. Reaching out blindly in the darkness, she fell against a tree trunk. The sharp edges of the bark pressing against her soft cheek and the palms of her hands. Heedless of the bite of pain, she withered to the cold ground. Her rich, velvet gown pooling about her like a death shroud. Casting large anxious eyes about, desperate to see through the gloom, she searched the shadows.
Is it gone?
Did she lose it in the mist?
The sickening sound of splintering wood cracked like a whip through the unnaturally silent forest. A heavy thunderous tread rolled closer and closer still. The rattle and crunch of crushed underbrush was punctuated by guttural snorts and grunts.
Forcing her stiff and cold limbs into motion, she grasped the roughened tree trunk, using it to pull herself upright.
She must keep running.
It was getting closer.
Her skirts felt wet and heavy with frosted dew, chilling her fingers as she fisted large swaths high above her ankles. Willing herself on, she ran deeper into the forest.
Her mouth opened on a startled scream as her body was wrenched forward, then ruthlessly back by a heavy weight on her skirt train. Desperately pulling on the fabric, she looked down to see it pinned under one large, black paw.
Screeching in terror, she fell to the ground. Twisting her body till she was on her back, her fingers digging into the frigid dirt as she tried to claw her way backwards. Her feet helplessly kicking through her skirts, trying to dislodge her attacker.
There was a low, feral snarl.
She stilled.
A second paw pressed against her hip. Through the mist, the beast, covered in sleek, ebony fur slowly came into focus, shifting its massive weight to hover over her slight form. The first paw moved, stepping on her thick curls as they fell in waves about her, forcing her to remain prone and still. A thick obsidian mane framed a long, powerful snout and startlingly bright green eyes. It was the beast's eyes which mesmerized her. Captured her. She forgot to scream. Forgot to breathe as she fell under their spell. Filled with almost human emotion, she could read their primal intent.
"Please," she begged.
The beast cocked its head to the side, as if it understood her plea. Its muscles bunched and shifted as it leaned forward on its paws. Its strong chest bearing down on her breasts. Pinning her under its weight, his snout pressing against her neck. The beast was learning her scent. Reflexively, she inhaled. It smelled of moss, cedarwood and honeycomb. Her brow wrinkled, confused. She had expected the sick, acrid scent of blood.
The warmth radiating from the creature's body spread over her own, banishing the night's chill. The silken strands of its mane brushed her cheek as its snout moved downward. Her body trembled with an unnatural response as the tip of the beast's tongue lapped along the ridge of her exposed collarbone. Alarmed, she tried to get away. Rising on her elbows, ignoring the sting of pain as her hair trapped under his paw pulled and tugged.
The beast's mouth opened on a low growl, exposing long, white teeth. The points so thin and sharp they appeared almost opaque. With a whimper, she sank back to the ground, lying helpless under its restraining weight.
Watching its captured prey intently, the beast lowered its snout to trail between her breasts, down her middle. Again, reading an almost human response in the evergreen depths of its eyes, her breath grew ragged and uneven. As its powerful body prowled closer to her hidden core, fear of both it and her own response overcame all else.
Springing upward, she latched onto its mane, filling her small hands with its silken weight. The beast reared back with a roar, pulling her with it. On its hind legs, it towered over her petite frame. Her slippered toes barely skimming the icy peaks of grass that covered the earth. Her body was forced flush against the beast's powerful chest as it dangled, held aloft only by her faltering grip on the beast's fur.
As the beast's head tipped back on a deafening bellow, the ebony fur morphed into red, moth-eaten rags. The sharp teeth became blackened and blunted. Its majestic snout, shortened to a broad, flat nose. The beautiful emerald greens eyes become a colorless, watery gray. His deep-throated roar shifted into a high-pitched cackle.
It was the gypsy woman from the fair two summers ago.
Loosening her grip, she fell to the ground, staring at the shriveled woman in horror.
Pointing one gnarled hand towards her, the gypsy woman, spat out, "I curse you! You, who are arrogant, who hold yourself above all those around you. Your beauty is your curse. You shall only know happiness through pain, will only find love through supplication to the beast. Be forced to yield to the hand of your master or face your destiny alone!"
***
Beatrice awoke with a start. Her legs tangled in the heavy, velvet bed covers. Her breath visible in the frigid bedchamber. It was a dream, she told herself. Just a dream.
_______________________________________________
Sleep, My Beauty Warning:
Sleep, my beauties. But when you dream, be warned. You will discover dark taboos, delicious fantasies, and sexual delights you may never want to wake from.
Alta Hensley
Chapter One
Briar
Once upon a time, there were blue skies, and bright sunrays. But today, and any other day from this point on, the ash fell from the sky, casting a thick layer of darkness and despair. I leaned against the open doorway, reached out with my palm, and allowed the grey particles to fall into my hand.
"I have to. There is no other choice," I said in a low voice. I looked over my shoulder at the three women I had grown to love who sat by a low burning fire, and swallowed the large lump in the back of my throat. "I don't want to leave you. But if I don't leave now, they will come and take me anyway, punishing all who try to stop them."
The frailest of the women nodded in understanding. Dear Jane could barely stand nowadays, but still had a strong spirit I admired greatly. "They will come for you regardless, true." The other women, Anna and Ruth, nodded silently in agreement. You could see that it pained them to do so, but these women had always been honest and direct with me since the day they found me and offered shelter in their home.
Word had spread that the Maleficent Army was moving in, and it was a matter of a day, maybe even hours, before they would storm our small village, looting and killing all to get what they wanted.
Women.
They wanted women.
They were on the hunt for all the young, beautiful females under the age of twenty-five, by order of the most powerful man left standing on this charred and destroyed earth-Grimm Maleficent. Decades of war, bombs, violent attacks, and a ruthless way of living had left very little of what once was a modern, high-tech society. The thick layer of grey destruction dripped from the atmosphere, casting what was left of civilization into a deep and dark slumber from the life we once lived. The world had changed drastically. People merely survived. Their souls cast in an eternal sleep.
Nothing but simple existence.
Nothing but emotionless breaths purely to meet the basic needs of life.
Nothing but a walking nightmare underneath the doom of suffocating air.
The weak became weaker. The poor even poorer. Very few people of power existed, but the few who remained were the most evil of them all.
Chills ran up my spine at the mere thought of Grimm Maleficent. The tales of a pure monster were enough to have the man feared by all. He and his army had risen from the ashes and had become even stronger with the embers of the world sizzling around him. I knew his army was marching my way, and when they reached my small village consisting of less than ten structures, they would slowly and mercilessly kill all who stood in their way.
I had no choice. I couldn't run. Where would I run to? I couldn't hide. They would find me. I couldn't fight. They would win. And since I was the only woman under the age of twenty-five who resided in Hollow Valley, I needed to surrender without a fight, for the sake of everyone else. It wouldn't be fair to the women, who watched me with tears in their eyes, to attempt to harbor what Maleficent would eventually obtain anyway. They would die trying-I knew this-but I couldn't allow that to happen. I would sacrifice. I had no choice.
"When I think about the things they will do to you," Ruth said as she dabbed the tears in her eyes with a handkerchief that had long lost its stark white color only to be replaced with a dull grey. Grey like the world. "We can't just sit here and do nothing, knowing... well, just knowing."
"Ruth! Hush," Jane scolded. "She doesn't need to be thinking of those awful things right now. We need to help her stay strong. They're coming, and there isn't anything we can do about it."
My shoulders sagged in defeat as I watched the older lady scowl. They knew. I knew. Every single woman who wasn't diseased or maimed-which was rare-would eventually belong to Maleficent. His appetite for sexual pleasures that crossed into a realm of dark erotic horrors were tales that kept any innocent awake with nightmares. Devious kinks, perverse taboos going beyond the most devilish of imaginations. Maleficent was a sadist, and although I really did not know what that truly meant, I did know that it was something to fear.
"It's time, child," Anna said, motioning for me to come sit on the small wooden stool that rested at her feet.
I knew what the woman wanted, and what all the women would want to do as well. It was custom. A tradition. A way to say goodbye but forever mark the person leaving. The people saying goodbye would all leave a lasting farewell. A slice of the skin-a scar forever to remind.
Walking over to the stool, I unbuttoned the top buttons of my tunic while taking the slow but deliberate steps toward the final parting from the only women I knew and cared about. Silently sitting down, with my back facing Anna, I lowered the fabric of my shirt, exposing my shoulder blade fully. From the corner of my eye, I could see Ruth reaching for the only knife in the house. The one we used to carve the dried meat of old wild game carcasses we stumbled on while foraging, or to divide a discovered root into four equal parts for the daily meal. It wasn't the sharpest, but it would do for what its purpose would be today.
Anna held her hand out, and Ruth placed it on her open palm. "As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of courage." She sliced the knife in a straight line down the flesh of my shoulder, ignoring the hiss of pain that escaped between my clenched teeth. "May you always have it."
Jane pushed her chair over with her feet, grunting as the extra exertion took whatever reserves of energy she had left. She reached for the blade, and sliced another line down my shoulder. "As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of endurance. May you always have it."
The searing sting from the cuts brought tears to my eyes, but I refused to allow them to fall. The cuts were gifts of love, and I needed to fight the superficial pain and concentrate on the deeper emotion and energy connecting me to the women as they offered the only thing they had of any worth, though not of monetary value. As tradition dictated, the loved ones would offer a trait of theirs that they valued greatly but would be willing to sacrifice to another. This farewell ceremony consisted only of three bloody slices to my flesh, a far cry from what others had endured. As a child, I could remember when villagers would say goodbye to the soldiers, both men and women, leaving for battle, and each remaining person-not able to fight-would mark the back of the departing with the same bloody knife, offering their farewell gift. The sign of a true warrior who had left behind all that they once loved would be a shoulder or back scarred with marks from people who were forced to say goodbye forever.
In this world, everything was forever. The belief of hope had long expired, and no one believed or lived by looking toward the future for a possible good outcome. Hope dissipated right along with the sunrays-nothing but grey, dread, and despair in its place.
Ruth helped Anna out of her seat and to another so that she could sit behind me with the blade. She placed the tip of the metal to my flesh and pressed firmly, barely breaking the skin. "As I say goodbye to you forever," she slowly lowered the knife down the length of my shoulder, "I give you the gift of submission." As Ruth reached the end of the cut, I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the blood from my wounds drip down the side of my back, running along the grooves of my ribcage. "May you always have it... and understand it fully."
I glanced over my shoulder to stare at the woman, slightly confused as to why she would alter a time honored tradition and ceremony by changing the verse. Although, when I looked into Ruth's eyes, I could see the woman had wanted to offer something extra. It was her final farewell gift, and she simply wanted to give a little bit more.
Raising my tunic-not caring about the bloodstains that would occur-I watched my dirty fingers fiddling with the buttons as an excuse not to look at the women. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to break down and shake with fear. It was my duty to remain strong. I was no different than all the others who had left before me. Everyone would eventually leave one way or another.
Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the doorway and paused with my back to the women. Without turning to face them, I said, "As I say goodbye to you forever, I give you the gift of memory. May you always have it."
Walking out the door and down the dirt path, I knew it would only be a matter of time until I walked right up to the army to surrender. I didn't know what that meant, or what consequences would occur from such an act, but I had no other choice. I didn't look back once as I crested the hill that would remove any sight of my village behind me.
Never look back. Never look back.
Those were words I told myself time and time again when I had to leave or say goodbye to others. Those were the words I chanted when I walked away from my charred childhood home, knowing that not a single soul but myself had survived. Those were the words I recited as I tried to block out the image of my mother's eyes, closed as if she were only asleep, but while my bloody father stared lifelessly up at me, eyes wide open. One parent looked so peaceful while the other looked so tortured, even in death.
As I trailed up another rolling hill, I concentrated on the cadence of my heartbeat to move my hungry and tired body forward. Beat after beat, I marched, until the sound of the beats grew in intensity. Glancing up toward the horizon, I realized that the sounds were not from me but from the approaching Maleficent army. I had found them, or they had found me.
I stood in place, hoping that zero movement on my behalf would signal to them from a distance that I meant no harm. I would not attack, nor try to run. How one sacrifices to save others, I didn't know. But all I could do now was stand in place and wait.
Luckily, my plan seemed to work as a large caravan of men, both marching and on horseback, approached me. A large, covered, wooden wagon with bars on the windows was being dragged by mules. It slowly made its way behind the soldiers. At a glance, I assumed it was a prison transport of some kind.
"So what do we have here?" a soldier asked as he rode up beside me, gazing down in both fascination and disgust. I knew I wasn't clean, and my tattered clothes reeked of filth, built up over days of no access to fresh water. I had long ago given up looking into a mirror because the ghastly woman who always stared back at me haunted my dreams.
"My name is Briar Rose. I am twenty-four years old and want to surrender myself to the Maleficent army. I come from Hollow Valley and am the only woman of age. Rather than wasting the time of your men to come fetch me, I decided it best to come and meet you instead." I desperately hoped that my attempt to ward the army off with my practiced speech would save my home from any destruction from these brutes.
The man laughed and called out over his shoulder to his men, "This little rat is by far the most foolish woman I have ever encountered. She is here to willingly give herself over to Maleficent."
The men laughed and mumbled their agreements in response, but I stood proud, refusing to let them take away the courage I was just given as a farewell gift.
The leader of the army focused his attention back on me as I willed my body not to shake before him. His stare bored into my skin and seemed to sear my frail bones. He licked his lips slowly as he clearly was considering all his options. "Very well. Since you have decided to make it easier on yourself by not putting up a fight, the least we can do is spare you the pain of one." He motioned for the man driving the mobile prison to dismount and take care of me. "Put this beauty to sleep, and let's get her back to join the others. We still have a few more villages to hit on our way before nightfall."
The man rushed to me and reached for my hand. He grabbed my index finger and flipped it over. He then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small metal syringe, and pricked my finger with the needle before I even had the chance to pull away. A small drop of blood remained. I studied the tiny droplet, confused, trying to figure out why he would have done such a thing. He glared up into my face with a wicked smile as my eyelids grew heavy and my vision blurred. I tried to blink away the menacing fog, but the wave of defenselessness grew in intensity.
The prick of the finger...
Every muscle in my body weakened as the last words I heard faintly in the far off distance were, "Sleep well, beauty."
______________________________________________________________
Saving Ella Warning:
Seduced by his music and drawn to his gaze, she will kneel before him; his to obey. If you tremble and wince at the thought of such blind obedience then this may not be the tale for you. But if the thought of absolute control makes your heart flutter, then turn the page!
Love,
Tabitha Black
Chapter One
"Brace yourself, Ella. You know you deserve this."
Placing her palms flat on the polished oak desk, Ella blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face and bit her lower lip. She knew what would happen next. It was always the same.
"Are you ready?" Nathan continued.
"For God's sake, just get on with it. As much as I know you enjoy dragging this out, I do have work to do," she said-rather snippishly, considering she was bent over a desk with her bared and vulnerable backside pointed forlornly at the ceiling.
"I'm well aware of your chores." Her stepbrother's tone was just as dismissive. "Your failure to complete them all on time is why you're here."
"It's absolutely impossible to complete all those chores on time, and you know that as well as I do," she snapped. "The only reason why I'm given such a ridiculous list every damn day is because your mother," she put extra emphasis on the word, "knows you get some kind of perverse kick out of punishing me this way. And how she loves to indulge her beloved son."
"That's a lie!" Nathan yelled, bringing the wooden paddle down with a resounding crack.
A blaze of pain seared across both Ella's buttocks and she gasped, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the desk harder in order to hold her position. Taking a deep breath, she debated briefly whether or not to keep taunting him. Fuck it.
"Most of those stupid tasks are pointless anyway," she went on. "Ever since we moved into this smaller house, the housework would be easily managed if we split it evenly between everyone. But oh, no... you and your darling sister get to lounge around all day while I have to do everything."
She bit her lip as Nathan brought the paddle down again, the thick wood landing in precisely the same spot, reigniting the burn. Once she'd absorbed the initial sting, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Tell me, darling brother," she said mockingly, "are you hard now?"
"Shut up!" The third and fourth swats landed in quick succession.
Ella closed her eyes, trying hard to keep her temper in check. It was so unfair. Ever since her father had died, she had become like the household slave, having to do everything for her stepmother, not to mention her step-siblings, Nathan and Anastasia. Every weekend, she watched enviously from her bedroom window as they left the house to go and party, all dressed up in the latest fashions, piling into cars filled with laughing, jubilant friends, while she herself still had endless and mundane housework to do.
I have no life. It's so unfair. Why did Father have to die? Theoretically, now that Ella was over eighteen, she should be able to leave home... but her stepmother, unwilling to lose free slave labor, had made it impossible. The evil woman had confiscated Ella's birth certificate and all other important paperwork, and Ella had never been permitted to learn how to drive-although, of course, her siblings had. With no friends and no social network outside the house, it was quite simple: she had nowhere else to go.
"Then why do you do this?" she panted, once Nathan had planted the fifth paddle swat lower, catching the tops of her thighs. "You could always just tell Mother that you carried out the punishment without actually having done it."
Nathan remained silent.
"You're just too much of a coward to lie," she went on taunting him. "And even though you won't admit it, you're some kind of sick sadist who enjoys paddling his stepsister."
"I swear to fucking God, Ella," Nathan snarled, "if you don't shut up right now, I'll... I'll-"
"You'll what?" She gave a hollow laugh. "Punish me? Send me to bed without any supper?" A great wave of fury consumed her and she used that surge of energy to push herself up off the desk and spin around to face him. "You don't seem to understand," she said, grimly. "There is absolutely nothing you could do to me to make my life worse. I have nothing. I am treated as though I were nothing. I am at your beck and call every hour of the day, and often during the night as well. I'm given impossible tasks purely so you and your evil witch of a mother can exercise your sadistic urges and find 'excuses' to punish me. I have no life!" Her heart pounding, she stared him down, trying to find some trace of humanity or humility in Nathan's eyes, but they were cold. Blank. Uncaring.
"Get back over the table," he said.
"No." She folded her arms over her chest, marveling at her own audacity but realizing at the same time that she had been speaking the truth-she really did have nothing to lose.
"I'll tell Mother."
"Tell her." Ella's backside throbbed and she was aware that she must look ridiculous with her pants and panties around her knees, standing up to a man who was only a year her senior, but at that moment, she didn't care. I've snapped, she thought suddenly. I've finally reached the end of my rope. It was curiously liberating.
"I'll ask you one more time. Get back down, take the remaining swats, and we'll pretend you never had that little outburst."
She had to hand it to him, he was still trying to maintain the façade of having the upper hand, even if he had lost. And, judging by the look in his eyes, he knew it.
"How many more?" she asked, lifting her chin. For some reason, the realization that she had won this little argument was enough for her to back off. For now. Truth be told, Ella was exhausted, and the sooner they got this little scenario over with, the sooner she could finish the remainder of her daily tasks and escape to bed. She had some serious thinking to do.
Nathan hesitated. "Seven."
"Three," she countered.
"Five. Final offer."
She almost smiled. "Fine. Five more." Feigning indifference, she turned once more, bending over the desk. "And hurry up."
The renewed burning, searing pain was an indication that Nathan was trying to make the most of his remaining swats, trying to punish her further for her outburst, but Ella's mind was on other things and she took each and every one without making a sound.
She wasn't sure why it had taken her so long to reach this point, but now she had. And she was going to make some changes in her life.
Nathan tossed the paddle aside without another word, and Ella was equally silent as she pulled up her panties and pants and left the study. Anastasia was hovering near the door, eavesdropping as usual, Ella thought bitterly, but she resolutely ignored her stepsister and marched purposefully up to her little attic bedroom. Once there, she flopped down on the bed, ignoring the dull ache in her buttocks, and looked up at the one thing that gave her life meaning.
Oh, Zainon, why can't you come in on a white charger and rescue me from all this? she thought ruefully, gazing up at the handsome, square jaw, the deep, intense eyes and the shaggy black hair of the man on the poster. Ella had tacked it to the sloping wall in such a way that she was able to see it comfortably when she was lying down.
Zainon Matthews was a musician-no, a rock god. His singles consistently hit the top of the indie charts and he regularly performed to sold out stadiums, with legions of screaming fans all scrambling to get a better look at their idol. He enjoyed the sort of adulation normally reserved for teen popstars; but this was no baby-faced industry puppet. He had real talent, could play several instruments (although no-one could beat him on the guitar) and had a raw, smoky voice which sent shivers down Ella's spine whenever she heard him sing.
In her view, his God-given good looks were just the icing on the cake.
Anastasia and Nathan, both also big fans, had every album he'd ever recorded, and Anastasia had so many posters of him that she'd once, in a rare moment of sisterly sympathy, given one to Ella. Of her two step-siblings, Anastasia was by far the kinder. Unfortunately, she was also timid, and rarely dared to speak out against Nathan or their mother's harsh treatment of Ella.
With a deep sigh, Ella closed her eyes, feeling the familiar ache in her chest at the thought that Zainon Matthews was scheduled to give a concert a mere hour's drive away in just a few days' time. Nathan and Anastasia both had tickets, of course. Ella had tried everything, she had even fallen to her knees and begged her stepmother to be allowed to go, but the bitch had simply given that infuriating smirk of hers.
"If you finish your chores on time," she'd said, looking down her nose at Ella.
"Then I can go?" Ella had been so full of hope she'd been unable to breathe.
"That's what I said."
What she hadn't said was that she would hand Ella a list of tasks so ridiculously long that there was no way she would ever be able to get them done in a month, let alone three days. But Ella was no fool, she'd had a feeling there would be some kind of catch. If not an unmanageable list of things to do, then it would have been something else impossible. There was no way she would ever be allowed to do something as wonderful as attend a concert. She never had before, why should things change?
You could go anyway, a small voice in the back of her head told her. After all, what have you got to lose? What would they do to you afterwards? Beat you? Keep you in the house and force you to work your fingers to the bone from morning till night, seven days a week?
Ella allowed herself a small smile at the irony of it all. But she didn't have any money, no means of transport, nothing to wear and, most important of all, no ticket.
It was all so unfair. Ignoring the dull ache in her bottom, she crossed one long leg over the other, folded her arms behind her head, and stared deeply into Zainon's light gray eyes, willing him to show her a way. One night. One night was all she was asking for. A few measly hours in exchange for a lifetime of servitude and drudgery, one magical experience about which she could dream and fantasize for the rest of her life. Something amazing to cling to while she scrubbed floors, polished windows, pruned plants, washed dishes, mended clothing, and did the thousand and one other things that toiling in her stepmother's house involved.
"Please, Zee," she whispered, reaching out to stroke his chiseled cheek. "Show me a way."
***
Unfortunately, the day before the concert, Ella still hadn't come any closer to finding a way to get there. Nor had she been able to make any significant progress on that ridiculous, mile-long list she'd been given.
"How are you coming along?" Her stepmother's voice was almost gleeful. "Do you think you'll finish on time? Time's a'ticking."
Ella dropped the sponge she'd been using to wash out the kitchen cupboards and spun around to face the tall, angular woman. "I've been asking you this question for years and you've never given me a decent answer. But I will ask again: why do you enjoy torturing me so?"
Griselda raised an arched eyebrow. "Torturing you, my dear? I cannot fathom what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean. I bet you don't even have a ticket for me. I bet you're just using this whole thing as yet another way to humiliate-" Her words died in her throat as her stepmother reached into her skirt pocket and produced a slip of paper.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean, dear. Of course I have your ticket. It's right here."
Ella eyed the card suspiciously. "How do I know that's a real ticket?"
Griselda held it out. "You can see for yourself. Uh-uh, don't take it. You will be able to hold this in your grubby little hands once you've completed all the tasks."
Zainon Matthews Live, the ticket said. Ella's heart beat faster at the sight of the delicately embossed words. The date, the time, the location... it all seemed to be real. So close, and yet so far. "Please," she whispered in a strangled voice. "I've never asked you for anything. In all the years since Father died, I've cooked, cleaned, served and waited on you hand and foot. Not just you, but on Nathan and Anastasia as well. Never a single birthday gift, never a kind word in return, but I always still-"
"Always what?" Griselda barked. "Behaved? Did as you were told?" She gave a shrill laugh. "If that were truly the case, would we keep having to punish you? How many times has poor darling Nathan had to take the paddle or the strap to you-to no avail? And as for the ridiculous notion that I've never given you anything... is food and shelter nothing? You have a roof over your head, clothes on your back, enough to eat. You get a damn sight more than you deserve. Even now, you're getting a fair chance to attend this stupid event, although I cannot for the life of me fathom why you-any of you-would want to go. I've heard this... person... sing, and really, what he does cannot be called music. Not by any stretch of the imagination!"
Ella sighed, biting her lower lip as the ticket was once again removed from her sight and tucked back into Griselda's skirt pocket. She was too tired to argue. I might as well face facts... no matter what I do, I won't be able to go. Bitter tears of disappointment threatened to spill over and she swallowed them back past the sudden lump in her throat. "Fine," she said at length. "If you say so, Mother."
"Do not presume to take that tone with me, young lady," Griselda spat. "Else I'll think of some more things to add to that list."
"I don't think that would make any difference." Ella clenched her fists. "Your list as it stands is more than adequate. In fact, I might as well give up now. You know as well as I do that your demands are impossible. Ten people working around the clock couldn't complete those tasks in time for tomorrow evening."
Her stepmother gave a mocking chuckle. "Such a defeatist attitude, dear. So pathetic. Just like your father. I must admit, I was a little irritated when he died so young, leaving you in my care..." she eyed Ella as though she were a cockroach on a plate of food, "but in another way, I suppose it was a blessing of sorts. You have saved me a fortune I would otherwise have had to spend on real servants."
Before Ella could rush at the woman and claw her ugly eyes out, Griselda spun around and flounced out of the kitchen.
"I will never understand what he saw in you, you evil bitch," she muttered under her breath. "Oh, what's the use? I may as well just give up now." She picked up the sponge and flung it against the wall. Then the bucket full of soapy water caught her eye. She had just taken aim when Anastasia's voice startled her.
"Don't."
Ella paused. "Don't what?"
"Don't kick the bucket over. You're only making more work for yourself."
Ella eyed her suspiciously. "Why? What do you care? You don't have to clean it up."
"Well, no, but still..." Anastasia trailed off, emerging slowly from the corner in which she'd been standing, silent as a shadow.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Ella asked with a huff. "Why do you always stand around in corners, watching, listening? Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?"
"No." The slim girl was fidgeting, her long, dark hair hanging over her face, obscuring her features as always. "No, I don't. I feel bad for you."
"Not bad enough to stick up for me," Ella said bitterly, crossing the room to retrieve the sponge. Then she felt bad. Out of the three members of her family, Anastasia had always been the kindest by far; giving her the poster of Zainon, secretly giving her extra food, and even letting Ella have her old iPod when she'd received a new one for her birthday. It had been loaded with all the music Zainon Matthews had ever recorded, and Ella no longer knew what she'd have done without that single pleasure in her life. "It's all right," she said, catching sight of Anastasia's stricken face. "I know you don't dare."
"You're right, I am a coward. But that doesn't mean I don't feel bad for you."
"I don't need your pity." Ella added more soap to the sponge, then dropped it on the counter with a wet thud. "Ugh, what's the point? I won't be going tomorrow anyway, I may as well stop killing myself."
Anastasia glanced over her shoulder, then moved closer to Ella. "You will be going," she whispered urgently. "I'm going to help you."
"What?" It was some kind of trap, it must be... but even so, she felt a tiny flicker of hope in her breast.
"You heard me. I'm going to help you. We're going to get the ticket from Mom somehow, and you're going to the concert. With me."
"Are you serious? Why?" Ella narrowed her eyes. "What's in it for you? If Mother catches you, you'll be in for it."
Anastasia stole another glance around the kitchen, obviously terrified Griselda or Nathan would emerge at any moment. "Not here," she said. "Meet me in my room in ten minutes. If anyone comes in, I'll say I have mending for you to do. I'll explain there."
Before Ella could reply, her stepsister had slipped away as silently as she had come.
__________________________________________________________________________
Mr. Wolffe's Little Red Warning:
Be forewarned that within the dark, deep forest lies a cabin. The 'goodies' Little Red has gathered on her way will be used to remind her what happens when a little one is a naughty girl. This book contains the spanking of adult women, elements of age play including anal play, discipline delivered on a bare bottom and elsewhere, BDSM play and power exchange. Step over the threshold of that cabin at your own risk. While this twisted fairy tale is not all sugar and spice, I promise, Regina's very own big bad wolf will have your heart pounding and your panties dampening.
Happy Reading!
Maggie Ryan
Chapter One
"Finally, something that doesn't look like boring correspondence for a change."
Regina looked up from her desk to see Glenda standing beside the metal cart she pushed around to deliver mail and the occasional package to any one of the employees occupying several floors of the building.
"Hi, Glenda. What do you mean?"
"Just this," Glenda said, plucking something from one of the bins in the cart and waving it in the air. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
And it was. The deep red of the envelope was of a hue that had one thinking of the most beautiful rose, but it was the black wax seal that had been pressed against the flap that had Regina swallowing hard. The color did not bring a bouquet of roses to mind, but instead, had her tummy flipping, her heart pounding, her blood racing and, of course, her buttocks clenching. It took her a moment and hearing a very familiar word to snap her back to the present. Tearing her gaze from the envelope, she interrupted. "Wh... what did you say?"
"I asked whose party you were invited to..."
"No, I mean, what did you say just before that?"
Glenda looked puzzled and then grinned. "Ah, you mean naughty? I was just saying it's a bit naughty. If you ask me..." she looked around so as to reassure herself that no one was listening and leaned a little closer, "that fancy seal actually looks like someone's ass."
Regina could feel her face go hot and prayed the woman thought hearing such a word in a professional environment was the cause of her blush. "I'm sure you're mistaken," she said.
"Hmmm," Glenda said, making it a point to give the back of the envelope a closer inspection. "Nope, pretty sure it's a butt." She giggled and continued, "And, since it is for my dear friend, you can tell me how I can wrangle my own invitation. If the party is anything like that naughty seal, it sounds positively wicked."
Not about to agree to that request, Regina shrugged. "Just drop it on my desk. Mr. Evans needs me to run these notes upstairs."
"What? Aren't you the least bit curious? I mean, come on! How often does anyone get such a sexy piece of mail?"
"It's probably just some invitation to a fancy new restaurant opening," Regina said, standing and gathering a pile of papers she'd been working on, shoving them into folders. "You know how it is. Send the critics and reviewers' minions some sort of coupon for a meal they couldn't possibly afford on their own in hopes that we will persuade the powers that be to give the restaurant or chef a rave review. It happens all the time. Remember that new grill... um, what was the name? Pig Trough? We all got to go eat for free and then we all wound up with food poisoning?"
Glenda's expression of expectation disappeared as she sighed. "I suppose you're right." She dropped the envelope onto Regina's desk, added a few additional pieces of mail and then said, "Hey, a bunch of us are going out tonight. Can you come? It won't be free but the tapas bar won't send you to bed for the entire weekend either."
"Let me get back to you," Regina said, already opening her desk's top drawer and scooping the mail into it. "I've really got to get this stuff upstairs."
"All right, call me later," Glenda said, giving a wave and pushing her cart, disappearing into the warren of cubicles that sat outside Regina's office.
Regina yanked open the drawer, grabbed the red envelope, shoved it beneath some of the folders she held and hurried towards the elevator. Stabbing a button on the panel, she tried to control her thoughts as she watched the numbers change above the doors. She dashed out before the doors were completely open, turned left and, after a quick glance around, opened a heavy steel door. Within minutes, she stepped out onto the roof, taking what seemed like her first breath in the last several minutes. She scurried around several large protrusions housing various equipment that had always reminded her of ugly warts. It didn't help that they were painted a sickly looking green often used as make up for some evil witch. Regina slipped between two and out to her secret spot. Sinking down onto the overturned bucket she used as a chair, she closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that maybe she was wrong. Maybe the envelope really did contain some sort of coupon for a free meal or an invitation to a fancy party.
"What restaurant have you ever heard of that uses an exact likeness of your ass for its logo?" she murmured, opening her eyes to look down at her lap. No... she knew exactly who had sent her the envelope. She was pretty sure it was some sort of invitation but also sure it wasn't for a party... well, not the sort of party where a white, vest-wearing hare was ready to welcome guests down the proverbial rabbit hole. What she was suddenly very afraid to discover was exactly what sort of event she'd been invited to attend.
Placing the folders on the ground beside her, she ran her fingertip across the front where her name was written in beautiful calligraphy. Miss Regina Redd. Not the politically correct Ms.-no, he was far too proper to lower himself to use a title he'd consider inappropriate. One was either a "Miss or a Mrs." There was no in-between. Turning the envelope over, she felt her face heating anew as she gazed at the seal. She could remember the first time he'd shown it to her-her cheeks had flushed then as well. Knowing that he'd actually commissioned an artist to create a tool that, when pressed into hot wax, would replicate the very ass she was currently seated upon, had her finger shaking. Realizing that it was tapping against the seal as if... oh, God, spanking it, she jerked her finger away and with a final, hard swallow, she reached up to remove the antique hair pin helping to secure the mass of her curls in place, the auburn locks sliding down to cover her shoulders like a cape. Slipping the tip of the pin beneath the black wax, she gently lifted. The wax broke free of its hold, allowing the flap to loosen. Regina withdrew the heavy cardstock inside. It too was red, elegant and beautiful and yet, without reading the words, the black script was able to reduce her to a quivering mass of delighted anticipation as well as shuddering despair.
My darling little Red,
You do remember what happens to naughty little girls, don't you? That's right... they are required to make atonement for their naughtiness. When that naughtiness has been exceptional, the requirement moves to an entirely different level. Your attendance is required to discuss the progression from a simple chastisement to a much more, shall we say, involved punishment.
At six o'clock this evening, Mr. Grimm will arrive to escort you to me. You need not pack. Everything you need will be provided.
Prepare your mind to be ready to make your full confession. Prepare your heart to accept your discipline as you follow the instructions you'll be given to begin our little tale.
Any deviations from the rules will have additional consequences and, my naughty girl, as your current list will require a great deal to clear your slate, it would be in your best interest to follow every instruction to the letter.
Until you kneel naked at my feet...
All my love,
Master W
Yes, she knew what happened to naughty girls. They were punished... they were punished until they were very, very sorry for making bad choices; choices that she'd known were wrong but had hoped would go undetected. His instruction that she be ready to make a full confession had her mind scrambling, searching for each and every infraction of his rules... or even of his expectations. For some inexplicable reason, knowing she should be shaking in her boots, Regina found herself smiling instead. Her fingertip ran across his signature as if she could transfer her touch to his skin, her own flesh pebbling with tiny bumps as if already sensitizing itself for what she knew was coming. Returning the card back into the envelope, she tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. She'd slipped back into the narrow opening between the two pieces of equipment before remembering the folders. Returning, she bent over and as a sudden gust of wind lifted the back of her skirt, she froze. It was just a flash of memory and yet it was as vivid as if it were presently occurring.
She'd been instructed to bend over, her arms locked around her legs, her cheek pressed to her knees. Her skin had flushed hot with shame when her Master had lowered her panties to her knees, her arousal evident on the gusset, her scent inhaled with each shaky breath she took knowing that the artist was seated behind her, sketching her... well, the portion of her that was totally bare and lifted high. Master W hadn't hesitated to crack his favorite rattan cane across her quivering buttocks, chastising her for her slightest deviation from the required, humiliating position. Every time she saw the seal that had been created after that session, she remembered that day. For if one looked very closely at the impression in the black wax, they'd see not a heart as she'd tried to convince herself it resembled, but a heart-shaped bottom with the fine line depicting the wheal his cane stroke had raised on her right cheek. If that weren't proof enough, the small birthmark at the crest of her left buttock, the one that he claimed meant that she'd never truly had a choice-that it was her fate, her destiny to belong solely to him-was also on the seal. Straightening, her hand reached back, not to rub at a painful welt as that had disappeared long ago, but to rub the spot that if one but lowered her panties the barest fraction of an inch, would show the head of a wolf lifted as if howling its dark depravity to the moon.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Her mind was empty of all thoughts except the ones trying to anticipate what he had in store for her. She gave a shrill shriek when a weight landed on her shoulder.
"Shit, Reggie, you scared me!"
A hand pressed to her chest, Regina swiveled about in her chair. "I scared you? Glenda, you almost gave me a heart attack!"
Glenda giggled, her face showing absolutely no remorse. "You should thank me. It looked like you were prepared to spend the entire night staring at that computer screen. Since you never called, I came back to see if..."
"Oh my God, what time is it?"
"Five thirty... Hey, where are you going? Aren't you coming with us?"
"I can't. I've got to get home!" Regina said, grabbing her purse from the bottom drawer and standing. "I'll talk to you on Monday."
"If you're sure? Hey, are you going to that party?"
Regina simply gave a wave over her shoulder and instead of waiting with her fellow coworkers at the elevator, she pushed through the door and tore down the stairs. With each flight, she prayed that traffic would cooperate. If not, if she didn't arrive home before six... She didn't need to contemplate the consequences... he'd said any infraction would add more to her atonement.
With a screech of brakes that caused her to jerk forward against the seat belt, she practically ripped the keys from the ignition of her VW Bug and reached for the door handle. With a curse at the lack of freedom, she fumbled with the seat belt catch, yanking it free. Grabbing her purse, she raced down the ramp of the parking garage and around to the front of her building. Her pounding heart leapt in her chest at the sight of a man, standing just inside the glass doors, his hands behind his back, his posture ramrod straight. When their eyes met through the glass, his arm came around and he pointedly looked down at the watch on his wrist. When he looked up, she felt her knees began to shake. His expression matched his name-well, probably his pretend name-but he did look very grim indeed. She never made it into the building as he strode to the doors and pushed through.
"I'm so sorry... there was a jam up on..."
"If you'll come this way?" he asked, his voice as calm as hers was frantic.
"Wait... I need to run up to my..."
"Miss Redd, you need to come with me," he countered as his eyes captured hers. "Unless, of course, you aren't concerned about keeping Mr. Wolffe waiting?"
Oh, she was concerned all right. She was suddenly extremely concerned. Glancing past him, she saw Paul, her doorman watching. "May I please tell Mr. Carter that I won't be home?"
"No need," the man said. "As Mr. Wolffe has already informed you, you need not worry. Everything has been taken care of." He paused and then lifted his hand, gesturing towards the curb where a sleek black sedan waited. "Shall we?"
"Ye... yes, of course," Regina said, managing to give Paul a shaky smile and a little wave before she turned to step in front of the driver, walk the few steps to the car and when he reached to open the door, managed a soft, "Thanks," before she bent to step into the vehicle.
"You are welcome, Miss Redd."
"Um... okay... um... I mean, thank you, Mr. Grimm."
"Remember to fasten your seat belt." With that, he closed the door, the sound causing her to give a little jump.
Geeze, just relax, she told herself. It's not like you are going to your execution. You'll be back in a couple of days. After fastening her seat belt, she remembered Glenda's words. No, she wouldn't be spending the weekend in bed with her tummy aching from food poisoning, but she'd most likely be spending it with her bottom... at the very least... aching from any one of a dozen implements that her love, the man who held her heart in his palm, would be using to exact the atonement he considered due.
____________________________________________________________________
Goldi in Chains Warning:
Three vengeful shifters... one thieving burglar caught red-handed... Beware! The following story contains serious caning, bondage, and all the anal and sexual punishment that ought to occur when someone is reckless enough to get caught in a were-bear's dungeon. When too big meets too hot, it's always just right.
Maren Smith
CHAPTER ONE
She was an independent career woman with a penchant for the seamy underside of life. But then, she was Goldi, and she didn't mind that. She had always walked her own path.
Lockpicks in hand, Goldi moved through the cool forest shadows. The assorted pick sizes jingled as she twirled the ring of them around her finger-flip, catch... flip, catch-and beneath her feet, crisp pine needles and brush twigs crunched softly as she slipped through the trees.
It was a remote house, the directions certainly were right about that. Not a mansion by any means, but far from a hovel and hidden well back amongst the old forest cedars that blended damn near seamlessly with the mossy roof shingles. Shadows cast by overhanging branches seemed to draw one hazy grey curtain over the river-rock walls, while the overgrown trellises of hollyhock and ivy drew another in green. From this distance, what bits of the house she could make out clearly looked more like the face of the mountainous cliffs just beyond it, or perhaps the jumble of some past landslide already grown over with vegetation. If it weren't for the glint of daylight that periodically reflected off a second floor window as she circled the property, she might have walked right past the place without even noticing.
And that would have been a pity, because her caller had promised to pay two grand for this job. Divorce-such a nasty business. Especially when one soon-to-be ex decided to be a dick about how much she really did make and yet was stupid enough to keep records. Not that Goldi was any kind of tender-hearted Robin Hood or Scarlet Pimpernel. Oh no. When she robbed someone, it was all about the money and she certainly didn't give it away once she got it. However, every now and then, it did give her warm, fuzzy feelings to know her impending thievery was about to shaft someone who really, genuinely deserved it. Be they male or female, exes, in her opinion, always deserved it. If they didn't, they'd still be married.
Dressed all in form-fitting black, Goldi circled the house. First from a distance, then cautiously moving in closer, she stayed in the shadows where she'd be harder to spot until she felt confident no one was at home. No thin wisps of smoke snaked from the chimney nor were there lights on inside, not from any of the many windows and most had the curtains wide open. In this day and age, that practically begged for someone to break in. Goldi was too damn good at her job to refuse.
She made one last circle, this time with all of her attention fixed on each avenue of entry. The front door faced a small clearing; she wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of boldly going in through the front. There was a side cellar-style door, half hidden behind a chopping block and enough neatly stacked cords of wood to keep a small village warm for at least six months, but it had a padlock on it. The lower floor windows were all high enough that she'd need something to stand on in order to reach them, but if worse came to worst, she supposed she could climb one of those wood stacks. She'd hold that in reserve for Plan B, since the house did have a back door. Nice and secluded, tucked behind a small porch and two ivy-covered trellises. A simple door latch. No deadbolt. One look at that and she was decided; she was totally a backdoor kind of girl.
Somewhere in the forest, a twig snapped. Goldi froze, but a quick scan of the trees behind her revealed no hint of danger, especially not the two-legged, just-returning-home kind. Still, she hesitated, waiting and listening, her eye following the dip of each breeze-bending fern and the rustle of the brush. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe it was the source of the noise she was looking for, but less than ten feet from where she had pressed herself to the trunk of a large evergreen, a pinecone suddenly dropped. Tic-toc-tac-it bounced off the thick branches high over her head and all the way down to the ground. This was a forest, she told herself, her wary eyes searching for signs of what had dropped it. Forests had animals. Squirrels and birds and all that shit.
Keep it together, Goldi, she told herself. When she got her phone call later today, she was not about to report she couldn't do the job because she'd let herself get spooked by a bunch of rodents chucking nuts at each other. She forced her attention back to the job.
The house remained still, with no signs of occupation behind any of those open windows. Slipping through the undergrowth, she approached the back door and climbed the steps. The ivy trellises hid her well, although that honestly didn't matter. The house was so remote, she could have done a striptease in the open yard without anyone ever knowing.
Tic-toc-tac! She jumped when another pinecone fell out of the trees, landing within feet of her. She looked up, seeing nothing but tree branches.
Fucking squirrels.
Somewhere, in the not quite so distant distance, brushes rustled.
Fucking bunnies, too. That sounded much too big and heavy to be a squirrel.
She fidgeted with the lock picks in her hand, anger growing as she swallowed her unease. Get in, she told herself. Get the finance ledger and get out again, only two grand richer. Eye on the prize, Goldi girl.
Eye on the prize.
The back lock was one of the easiest she'd ever picked, and the most unnecessary. Had she checked latch first, she'd have noticed the door was already unlocked. She tsked, as much at the owners as at herself. "Apparently, some people don't realize how dangerous the world can be."
Apparently, she didn't either. She was just about to go inside when a stick snapped behind her. Flattening into the shadows of the ivy trellis, Goldi peered through the wood slats and leaves. Her heart thumped to a sudden stop. Less than fifteen feet away, a shaggy brown bear was venturing from out behind two giant red cedars. Breathing heavily, nose to the air, it looked right at her.
"Oh shit," she breathed.
She didn't move. Neither did the bear, not for the longest time. In the end, easing herself over the threshold as slowly and as non-threateningly as she could, Goldi slipped into the house and shut the door. She locked it too, although fat lot of good that would do if the bear decided it wanted in. Both hands pressed against the door, she waited for her heart to either re-start or explode. She touched her chest, reassuring herself that it was indeed beating, and by the time she eventually peeked out through the side window, the bear was gone.
"Shit," she said again, craning her neck and leaving face and hand prints on the window that she then had to erase. But no, the bear really was gone. Give her five seconds and the ledger, and she'd be gone too.
Relieved, Goldi assessed the main floor of the house long enough to get her bearings. She was a little surprised, frankly. Although the caller had told her this was the home of a woman, there wasn't a single feminine frippery anywhere in evidence. In fact, the décor was singularly masculine. That didn't make sense. The furniture was blockish, wooden and looked like it had come straight out of a Medieval Dungeons R Us catalog. The dining table was long enough to double as a rack with a fathomless array of ropes and pulleys dangling from the ceiling above it. Of the four chairs arranged around it, one had thick leather straps on each arm and leg, as well as a seat that could be changed out. The one on it right now was perfectly normal, but there were three others stacked neatly against the wall-one with a giant hole in the seat, one with metal bumps and knobs, and one with a rather sizeable and suggestive protuberance positioned where one would have no choice but to sit directly on it. Her pussy underwent an involuntary spasm, though she wasn't at all convinced that was where such a protuberance was intended to go.
To the right, she saw far enough into the kitchen to recognize some of the tools hanging from the over-the-stove utensil rack and on the hooks on the wall were implements that would have been more at home in any gruesome mafia murder scene. To her left in the living room, positioned right in front of the unlit fireplace was a wooden horse. Again, it was blockish, but complete with neck and head and even a long, flowing mane. It was also complete with straps upon its back and at the top and bottom of all four legs.
"What sick bastard lives here?" she was startled enough to say out loud.
A puff of heavy breath was her immediate answer. Goldi jerked back from the door to find a giant black nose pressed up against the window right at face level. The bear was back and it was breathing in the air, picking and discarding through all the many scents until it found hers.
Goldi retreated from that thin pane of glass and only stopped retreating when she accidentally bumped up against the wooden horse. She leapt back from that now too, crashing into the wall where an array of wide to thin leather straps, braided whips, crops and canes were hanging. Two fell from their hooks to the floor. Her skin tingled, not just from where she'd touched the horse, but now feeling every place on her back, hips and buttocks where those now swaying implements had brushed her. Her stomach tightened. Her nerves tangled and twisted together in an odd and uncomfortable... warm but scared... unnerved and yet vaguely aroused sort of way. It moved through her in sinuous, serpentine motions, taking root deep in the pit of her fluttering belly, so low that that she could almost feel it prodding between her legs.
The ledger, she told herself. Get the ledger and get the hell out of this place.
And then she had it, that oh shit moment when for all her alertness and caution, she heard the slow shuffle of heavy footsteps crossing the hardwood floorboards of the room directly above her head. A lesser thief might have forgotten everything and bolted right then; not Goldi, although she did bolt. Out of that interrogation-slash-serial killer-style décor of a living room, down the hall past the corner staircase and into the study. The ledger was exactly where the directions she'd been given had said it would be. A stark black book almost a foot wide, twice that in length and heavy enough to balance out a baker's morning sack of flour-it was lying open on the desk where anybody could steal a gander at the contents.
Normally, Goldi would have been tempted, but now was not the time. Already those shuffling steps had reached the upper-floor staircase and now were coming down the steps. She ducked back out of the study, striving hard to be quiet even knowing she was trapped. With every step she took and every step she heard-it had to be a man; he sounded so heavy; what, did he weigh a ton?; and why did his boots on the stairs make a sound like claws scraping the wood?-she knew she wasn't going to make it out without being seen. For the first time in the whole of her nefarious career, she was caught.
Her heart thundering against her ribs, indecision froze her in the hallway. Huge shadows of movement were growing upon the wall of the corner landing to her right. The snuffling black nose of the bear was still exploring the back door's window straight ahead of her, and to her left, the only door-sized exit left available to her, was the front door.
It was locked. Padlocked, in fact.
From the inside.
Once upon a time, a wise man had told her that the downfall of man was destined to be greed. Another had immediately corrected him, saying that fate would always be caused by a woman. Well, Goldi knew better. They were both wrong. The downfall of man always had and ever would be his or her own morbid curiosity, and certainly she was not immune.
Heavy ledger clutched to her chest, Goldi couldn't save herself from her own awful curiosity. Just as the heavy shuffling footsteps turned the landing corner, she turned far enough to see what was even now staring back at her with beady black eyes. Not a man. No, it was another bear. A huge bear, bigger even than the one starting now to scratch for entrance at the back door.
They stared at one another and, for one horrible, heart-attack-like pause that gripped the interior of her chest, neither moved. Then animal muscle rippled under the dense fur of its pelt and the bear hupped up to stand on its back legs. Stretching out its massive neck, it opened its mouth and brayed the kind of bellow no girl wanted to hear from any creature as big as that or outside the protection of an extremely sturdy bear-proof cage.
She ran, the book still clutched tight to her chest (because if she made it out of this alive, it was still worth two thousand; a girl had to have priorities), and that bear in fast pursuit. It bounded down the stairs, chasing her the length of the hall. Its size was her best ally. When she rounded the corner, it hit the wall and she ducked into the first open door she saw. Slamming it fast between them, she almost fell down the stairs directly behind her before she realized she was trapped in the cellar instead of a closet.
It was very dark down below, but with a glimmer of light that reminded her there was another way out. The double cellar doors she had seen during her reconnaissance outside. Those doors were her way out, especially now that the bear had reached this one. She could hear it snuffling along the crack at the bottom and see the massive shadow of it blocking out the light. This door opened inward. All the bear had to do was shove and the jamb would shatter, and then the beast would be inside. With her.
Goldi fled blindly down the stairs, barely able to see the dim outline of each in the darkness. What she found when she reached the bottom did not make her happy. There were no windows. Her only avenue of escape lay in the cellar doors she'd seen from the outside. She ran to them, pushing and shoving and doing little but rattling the double doors on their very secure hinges. Shit; she'd forgotten they were padlocked.
"Damn it!" She slammed her shoulder against them, trying with all her might to force the doors up and open, but neither budged and the only other exit was currently being investigated by a very large and growling bear.
She turned in a full circle, her eyes gradually adjusting to the gloom enough for her to make out the sparse lines and hard edges of widely spaced furniture and even the dangling cord of a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Feeling the way with her feet, she reached for it, hoping the light might help her find another way out. It didn't, but it did help her see her situation more clearly.
This wasn't a cellar. It was a torture chamber and she was standing in the middle of it, mere feet away from some kind of cruel bondage bench. Like the horse upstairs only without the equine neck and head, it had four legs, a padded rail across the top, and multiple rings on all sides by which to affix whoever was stupid enough to get caught in this house.
Right now, that someone was her.
Everywhere she looked, she saw horror after horror. Neatly coiled ropes, straps, manacles, crops, paddles, and even hooks-hooks, hanging from other hooks-dangled off the stone walls. Blindfolds and masks lined the shelves amid more gag varieties than she'd ever known existed. Gags with balls, gags with bits, gags with round metal hook contraptions designed to force a jaw open and keep it that way no matter what.
Another hard thump pulsed through her, an unexpected echo of which landed, centered, and took command of her clit.
Once upon a time, a wise man had told her moments of stress could teach a person a lot about themselves. She had to stop talking to wise men because this wasn't at all something she wanted to learn.
The low, scraping footstep on a hard stone floor.
Goldi looked down at the stones she was rooted to, at her own feet which hadn't moved. Her heart thumped again, her clit hummed, and every fine hair on her body stood up on end as she heard the bellows-like exhale of beastly breath nowhere near far enough behind her.
Her own breath sounded abnormally loud and shaky as Goldi faced the third bear. It was even larger than the other two she had seen, and it was squaring itself against her from the far side of this entirely too small cellar. Facing it now too, she hugged the ledger tight against her.
She was going to die. She was a little surprised that she wasn't more scared. Her legs were shaking. She was clutching the book so tight that the edges of the hard cover bit into the fleshy parts of her fingers, making her knuckles ache and throb. But she didn't scream. The urge was there, choking up the back of her throat at tonsil level, but that was as far as it rose, even when the bear rose to stand. Twenty good feet separated them and it still towered over her, not roaring or growling, or making any noise apart from the heaviness of its breathing. Not moving either, apart from a faint pawing at the air and a twitch of its black nose.
_________________________________________________________________________
The Tower Warning:
When kings make bad decisions, sometimes it's the princesses who bear the burden. Tortured, tormented, and used for dark purposes, you're in for a ride. Tread lightly, the nightmare doesn't end when Rapunzel leaves The Tower this time.
Enjoy,
Jennifer Bene
Chapter One
Rebecca stretched as she walked across the empty apartment, the buzzing voices of the television keeping her company as she settled onto the couch. The shining white tile reflected the images moving across the screen, some sappy sweet romance movie had started while she'd been washing dishes.
No thanks.
Click. Cooking show. Click. Reality show. Click. Commercial. Click. Dad?
The volume was too low to understand the chipper looking woman on the screen, but she turned it up fast. "... to attend. Software magnate Daniel Sinclair is showing his softer side this week as he opens the Sinclair Shelter for Women. While Mr. Sinclair is well known for his contributions to technology, he's not often caught in the public eye, but he appeared today with his daughter Rebecca as they cut the ribbon to open this..." The voice on the screen faded in her ears as she watched the flashes of images. Her father cutting the ribbon, smiling and waving at the cameras, all blond hair and dimples - the perfect CEO. Then they were both waving, his arm around her waist - a picture perfect father and daughter.
Her voice came over the surround sound speakers and she cringed, hating herself for agreeing to that damn interview."Right. My father just wanted to, you know, do something to honor my mother's legacy. I'm really just, uh, glad to be here for it. It's nice."
Nice? You're such a fucking idiot.
The news mercifully switched back to her father, his vibrant voice filling the room for a minute as he walked the camera crew through a tour. The one and only Daniel Sinclair, practically perfect in every way.
Perfectly poised, perfectly dressed, and perfectly happy to spend all his time at the office.
She should have just gone skiing without him, invited a few friends and enjoyed herself - but no matter how childish it seemed, she missed him. Missed the days when it was just the two of them going for a run near the waterfront, or ordering Chinese and watching bad movies.
And how many years had it been since that happened?
'Too many', she answered inside her head.
As Rebecca sulked, taking a large drink of her wine, the reporter appeared in the frame again. "The facility is set to open in the next few weeks, and according to Mr. Sinclair's representatives they are already in active communication with support organizations throughout the city. We can only hope others follow in his footsteps. Back to you, Tom!"
When the news anchors took back over, she slid the volume back down a little and sighed. Tapping her phone, the display revealed 10:17 in bright numbers, and she contemplated texting him. To ask when, or if, he was coming home tonight, but that was ridiculous.
She was twenty-four, not some kid.
She shouldn't even be living at home, hell, she shouldn't be working for her father.
But it makes him happy.
Lying back on the couch, she tilted the wine glass back and forth, watching the pale chardonnay blur the skyline outside the floor to ceiling windows. The night sky was a black hole above the city, not a star in sight with all the light pollution. If she were smart, she'd move somewhere far away, somewhere she could wake up and walk outside without going down forty-two floors in an elevator. Out of the city. Somewhere she could be someone new. Being the daughter, and thus the charmed employee, of the head of Monarch Systems had some benefits - including the beautiful, spacious, two-floor penthouse that took up the top floors of The Tower - but it also meant that she spent her whole life here.
She worked in The Tower, she slept in The Tower, and unless her friends begged her to go out, she never left. And, lately, even that was a rare occurrence.
"You're pathetic," she growled and lifted the wineglass. Empty. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the couch and wandered back into the kitchen to refill. The stack of papers she'd printed out lurked underneath her laptop on the crisp dining table, tempting her to just bury herself in work.
To be just like Daddy.
It was what she'd always wanted. It was one of the few things that made him smile with pride. It was why she'd killed herself to get the business degree and the art history degree. Something she needed and something she loved, but only one of them was ever going to matter. After all, how was she going to shake off the dumb blonde perception of the board if she couldn't speak their language? If she didn't start showing them, she knew how the company was actually fucking doing?
The memory of how she'd looked on the news flashed behind her eyes. The form-fitting royal blue dress, the tasteful jewelry, her long pale hair falling to her waist, that perfect Sinclair smile - she'd looked more like she was trying out for Miss America, not preparing to be the heir to one of the most successful companies on the East Coast. Fuck, she wouldn't even take a girl like that seriously if they said they wanted to run Monarch Systems.
Damn it all.
"Let's just drink until we can't think. How does that sound, Rebecca?" Talking to herself, again, she grabbed the whole bottle of wine and headed back to the couch. Glass refilled, cold and biting as she swallowed, she zoned out on the newscast. Something about a shooting, police looking, blah blah blah. So much chaos in the world, so many angry people. As she took another sip, she heard the click of the door behind her and she smiled to herself.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
"Hey Dad," she called over her shoulder. "I want to show you something, come in here before you run off to your office!" Pressing the rewind button on the remote so she could show him the news report, she set the wine down. The stupid DVR went too fast and she had to stop it and fast-forward, cursing under her breath. "They were just talking about the facility on the news. I looked like a complete idiot, but you did great. Hold on, I'll show you. Did Patricia tell you this was airing tonight?"
He didn't answer her, but she clicked pause as soon as the image of the new building filled the screen. Was he on the phone and ignoring her again? Asshole.
Turning to find her father, she caught a dark shape in her vision, too close, and then the sharp pull of someone's fist in her hair made her gasp. Panic flooded her with an overdose of adrenaline and she kicked out, her foot colliding painfully with the coffee table, but she was caught. Her struggles only sent her wine crashing to the floor, and an instant later she was hauled over the back of the couch. Rebecca landed hard on the tile, but the adrenaline was now a live wire in her veins and she made it onto her knees, planning to run, when the hand returned to her hair. Air hissed between her teeth, a whimper rising up as the man tightened his grip and then forced her flat. A knee behind her shoulder blades pinning her painfully against the cold tile.
"Let me go!" she screamed as soon as she caught a breath, her voice breaking, but there was no one to hear her in the empty building. No one is coming. Fight. Reaching back, she dug her nails into gloved hands, trying in vain to tear his grip free. A growl rumbled above her just before he cracked her forehead against the floor. Pain flashed like a firework behind her eyes, turning her stomach while she tried to protect her face. Her ears were ringing, and for a moment she was so stunned that she didn't notice the jerking motions at her waist until she felt the cool tile on her lower belly.
Oh God, he was taking off her pants.
"NO!" Rebecca tried to push up from the tile, but he moved instantly and dropped his knee into her back again, crushing her until her ribs creaked. He was so heavy, too strong, and her fingers slid over the smooth tile finding no traction. Tears blurred her eyes as she whimpered, the sensation of his gloves brushing her thighs as he pushed the soft pajamas down making his motives all too clear.
This couldn't be happening. There was no way this was happening.
It was a nightmare.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
When he grabbed for her ankle to pull off the pants, she kicked her legs, and his knee dug harder into her back, pain radiating up her spine as it became almost impossible to breathe. "You want to fight me?" The rough voice preceded a hard spank across her ass, and then there was another, and another. Merciless, hot, and stinging. "Go on then. Let's see what you can do. Try and run, whore."
With a sharp tug, her pants were free of her legs, but then he was off her. Rebecca ripped air into her lungs, her ribs aching as she eased up onto her elbows. When he didn't grab for her, she lunged forward, scrambling to her feet to run for the security system by the front door.
Panic button.
She needed to hit the panic button so someone would come. So someone would know what was happening. Six-minute response time, she could make it six minutes.
Wait, why hadn't it gone off?
The red light was blinking on the front of the security panel, glowing confidently as if it were still armed, and she was barely five feet away when the full weight of the man slammed into her. The hard hit sent them both to the floor, bruising her knees as she caught herself on her hands. No! His arm wrapped across her throat, blood pounding behind her eyes as he began dragging her backwards-away from the panic button, away from the front door, away from escape. "That was pathetic," he hissed against her ear. "All of you rich bitches are the same."
She couldn't breathe, her lungs burning as she tried to claw at him, but his long sleeves were tucked into the gloves. Fight, dammit! She had to fight. Reaching behind out of desperation, she went for his eyes. Cloth. A mask. Before she could find the eyeholes he yanked his head back, and his grip on her throat tightened further, an oppressive blackness starting to creep in from the edges, her hearing fading like she was moving down a long tunnel.
No. No. No. No.
He twisted her suddenly and she found herself bent over the back of the couch with a fist in her long hair. For a moment she didn't even care as air returned to her once again, her lungs starving for it, but then his knees were spreading her thighs. Rebecca choked on her first attempt to scream, reaching back to try and push him away.
"Stop! Don't! Please, don't," she begged hoarsely as she tried uselessly to bring her legs together.
"Shut up, or I'm going to hurt you." The harsh voice came again, and she froze as she felt the sharp metal of a knife trace over her waist. Shivers made her muscles jump involuntarily, fear plucking away inside as the slow scratch of the blade kept her still. With a nudge, he spread her further.
"I -"
"I said shut up." There was a tug at the edge of her underwear, his fingers stretching the fabric, and then the tension gave way as he cut them off her. Tears burned her eyes, her heart still racing as she tried to catch her breath. Then she felt the draft of air between her thighs, cooling the wetness already gathered there.
Why? Why was she wet?
"Don't do this, you don't have to do this." A hard jerk at the hold he had on her hair silenced her, and then she heard the sound of his zipper. "Please!" She whimpered the word, but he ignored the plea as he pushed her legs wide.
____________________________________________________________________________
Nightmares in Wonderland Warning:
How deep into the woods are you willing to stroll? For the story ahead is truly dark and twisted. The horrors of thorny thickets and poisonous swamps await. You've been warned.
This is where the romance ends and the nightmares begin.
Love,
Addison Cain
Chapter One
Every childhood memory, every last horror over the years held one object in common: a stuffed white rabbit. Since I was a baby, the snowy toy sat on a shelf above my reach, high atop the nursery's sprigged walls. I had many playthingsI was not allowed to touch lining that shelf, the china faces of dolls with golden ringlets like mine in plenty. My mother was the one who told me to only look, never touch-that like me, these dolls were expected to remain immaculate and beautiful.
There were other rules: I was not permitted to muss my frock and pinafore, nor was I ever allowed to touch my hair. I was to be always clean, starched, crimped, and expressionless-my overlarge blue eyes lowered in a demure position should someone address me. It was never phrased so bluntly, but even as a small child I understood that, like the jewels of my nursery, my purpose was to serve as a pretty item for others to enjoy.
Often, I was put on display.
When Mama and Papa would throw their soirees, our house would transform into a fairyland-flowers, exotic foods, extra staff bustling about our London brownstone. After dark, the magic of music would seep upstairs, above the crowds of gentlemen in their dress coats and ladies stuffed in taffeta and ribbons. My nanny would spend the entire day preparing me to be seen for five minutes. In my fresh dress, scratchy lace at my throat and at the cuffs of my sleeves, she'd take my hand and lead me down the twisting staircase to where my proud parents waited.
If it were near Christmas or my birthday, before the crowds of Papa's friends, all eyes on me, Mother would give me a new doll to add to the collection on the shelf. Like clockwork, my arms would reach out and the new toy lain upon them. Always I would thank her for her generosity, tuck the doll carefully under my arm, and then to be sent right back upstairs.
The doll with its cold china face would be taken from me the moment I was restored to my nursery, placed upon the shelf with its myriad counterparts. I never minded the loss of the bauble. My favorite toys were my miniature porcelain tea set and the worn rocking horse at the foot of my bed.
Though I'd smiled as expected when my mother handed me the cursed thing, truth was the dolls' fixed expressions frightened me... all thanks to the rabbit nestled in their ranks.
Everything goes back to that rabbit.
I could not tell you how long it had been up there, who had given it to me... I could tell you nothing about it.
But I could tell you this: the dolls with their dead stares could be ignored. I could pretend they were not there. The same could not be said of that stuffed rabbit. Black glass eyes followed me wherever I played, when I napped, dressed, did my toilette. I was always watched... and there was no getting rid of it. One autumn morning, I had finally found the courage to climb atop my bureau and reach for the cursed thing. I threw it in the fire before my nanny might notice, and I watched it burn.
That afternoon, I had felt whole. I had not been afraid of the glass eyes or what they would bring when the house was asleep.
But, when I had returned to my nursery after the daily, elegant tea with my parents, my short-lived bravery died. In fact, I think a part of me died, sank right out from my toes and into the floorboards.
The rabbit was back, on the shelf innocently sitting, tucked between the dolls that looked like me. The white of its fur was pristine. There was no soot or rips. The glass eyes had not melted, they shone under the lamplight, glowering at me in judgment.
One look at the thing, and I had screamed my head off. My nanny had come running, and in the end, I'd earned a whipping for my noise. Like all good children, I was to be seen and never heard.
For the hundredth time, I'd begged her to take the white rabbit away.
My pleas fell on deaf ears.
Every few years, months, weeks, I don't know... I never slept, recalling time was a difficulty for me... I would again try to make my move against the rabbit. I had thrown it out my window and into the street to be run over by carriages and made dirty by the dust and shuffling of strangers. Other times, I had hidden it someplace else in the house: locked it in cabinets, buried it in the attic, set it upon the bed in the maid's room. The rabbit always came back.
I don't know why. I never know the why of anything.
Night after night that rabbit would infect my little nursery with evil. Tucked into my bed, alone, the house would be soundless save the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs. The growing noise of that clock was the herald of trouble: tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, louder and louder. No breaking storm could have roared through the house as furiously as that screaming timepiece.
Covers to my chin, my wide blue eyes would dart to and fro. Though the noise was wretched, I longed for it to continue into forever. I would rather feel it vibrate through my bones than face what came next. Because that cranking cog of noise would end abruptly, sometimes after hours, sometimes after just a few short moments. Then I would be trapped in deafening silence, with only the sound of blood racing through my ears to warn me danger had arrived.
Silence was unsafe. The dark was a living thing, monstrous. The thin slice of moonlight cutting through the curtains offering no succor. Casting the shape of my window's panes against the papered wall, that scant light illuminated a single horrid thing. If I let my gaze stray, peeked just a little to the right, I would see something that should not be.
The rabbit's stitched head had turned, those flat glass eyes staring right at me. And then they would come.
The first time I'd seen her grace my nursery, I had been very little-so young that I could not tell you what my age might have been. The apparition was naked, slender-a young woman, shoulders hunched forward in the shadows. Long hair, tangled and matted, hung messy to her waist. Every bit of her bared body was covered in wet blood. Before her, she'd rub her slippery hands together while pacing, back and forth, a terrible clicking coming from her throat.
One sight of her, and I had wet the bed.
Hours stretched by, her dark eyes shining behind the wet tangles of blood drenched hair, watching me, waiting. The monster's prowl endless, I cowered in sodden covers, tracking her every movement.
In my heart I knew that to place even a toe from that bed, to consider running for my nanny, would be the end of me. I didn't dare breathe. I knew that naked, bloody woman wanted badly to hurt me.
At daybreak, when my nanny arrived to prepare me for the day, she scolded me soundly for dirtying the sheets. I was marched in my soiled nightdress before my parents, intruding upon their private breakfast so that they too might echo the castigations of my nanny.
I had tried to tell them that there had been someone in my room. I tried to make them hear me. My father had scowled, his waxed mustache twitching.
Tantrums and melodramatics were not to be tolerated. I had earned myself a spanking and a day locked away in my room, made to lie on the same wet bed, where every time I closed my eyes, I was certain bloody hands would slip from some dark corner to strangle me.
Even after a sleepless night, even with the safety of the sun bright in the room, I could not find rest. It was too wet and cold, my blankets smelled, and I was ashamed of myself.
It was not until almost dark that the maid came to change my sheets and dress me in a clean gown for sleeping.
She should not have bothered.
The tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, of the grandfather clock crashed through the house so loud, so very loud I was certain the whole city must have heard that drumming.
Before I was fully prepared, before my childish prayers to Jesus were done, all went quiet.
Swallowing, I cut a glance where I should never have looked. Up high on the shelf, moonlight showing the perfect white fur, the rabbit had once again turned its head to watch me.
The woman was coming back, I knew it. She was coming and she'd figured out how to get me.
But then there was no wet slap of her sodden feet on the floor. No chesty, clicking breaths.
All was quiet and I began to breathe easy. It had just been a bad dream; the rabbit must always have been facing my direction. My papa was right; I was just a silly little girl full of nonsense.
I was so very wrong.
There were worse things than the bloody woman. In the silence, I heard a pair of soft, childish giggles. Spider-like hands crept up the side of my bed, fisting my covers.
Something was under my bed!
With a terrible yank, my blankets began to be dragged under the mattress, the childish laughter growing mean. I tried to make a grab for my only defense, but whatever was hidden beneath me was so much stronger. In vain, I toppled to the floor. Before I might clamber back up, hands shot out from the dark space under my bed, encircled my ankles, and yanked my little body across the floor.
Next thing I knew I was stuffed under my bed, prodded and scratched by the unseen nightmare.
Unlike the evening before when I had kept silent, doing my best not to draw the red woman's attention, I screamed. No one heard, no one came to save me. Scrambling to claw my way free, I fought and I kicked. My gown was ripped, white ruffles torn right off. I got myself to the nursery corner. Pressed my boney shoulders into the tasteful wallpaper and stared around the room, knees knocking together.
My arms smarted, my legs-I had been scratched so badly there were bleeding cuts all over me.
Then I saw them.
The first one leapt upon my bed and began jumping. The other took my sheet, threw it over his head, and ran about the room like a shrouded ghost. Two little boys... they were just two little half-dressed, emaciated boys.
Chortling as he bounded up and down on my mattress, the cruel-eyed waif grinned at me. His teeth had been filed into points, sharp and sinister. Looking at my wrist, I could see the bite marks those teeth had left behind-little puncture wounds that did not bleed much, but stung so badly my eyes watered.
His cohort was exactly the same.
The remainder of the night I spent pressed back against that corner. Sometimes I think the demented pair forgot I was there, or they had grown bored of me. They would play their vicious games; if one grew angry with his companion the play would grow violent. Turning their claws and teeth on one another, the scamps crashed about my room-knocking toys from shelves, breaking things.
When they would pull apart from their fighting, they turned their beady-eyed stare at me.
Snarls turned to giggles. In seeing my terror, the boys had found a new game to play. Trying to trick me, the pair of them worked in unison to sneak, to make a grab at my hands or feet, to drag me back screaming under the bed. My knees were bruised, elbows too, from all the times I had fallen trying to break free and hide from the pair of devils.
They were more cunning than one tired little girl.
_________________________________________
Buy your copy of The Dark Forest right now!
⇨ Amazon: http://amzn.to/2kknQoU ⇨ iBooks: coming soon! ⇨ Nook: http://bit.ly/2j5XR3w ⇨ Kobo: http://bit.ly/2ji5dUW
1
The Green Card by Kate Bantam
How far would you go to escape a life of quiet desperation?
When Mandy is offered a marriage arranged solely to keep a British citizen from losing his US work visa, she is faced with that very decision.
Her prospective husband, Matthew, is good looking and has a good income, but his expectations of a wife seem very old-fashioned indeed to Mandy, as does the way he intends to encourage her to live up to those expectations.
He is very open about the rules she must follow, as well as the consequences for her if she fails to do so. But he also offers the life change Mandy has been longing for, and she is young and bold enough that she is sure she can handle the challenge while still retaining her freedom.
However, neither is quite prepared for the difficulties of melding two strangers from very different walks of life into a cohesive married couple. And Mandy is definitely unprepared for the more physical difficulties she undergoes over Matthew's lap while he reminds her, with a hard hand on her bottom, that his rules are meant to be obeyed.
Still, Matthew manages to stay on course and teach his new and very inexperienced wife that discipline works best when tempered with large doses of love.
Publisher's Note: The Green Card includes depictions of adult, consensual spanking, as well as adult sexual behavior. If such subject matter is not to your taste, please read no further.
|
|
Enjoy this free preview of The Green Card:
Chapter One
It was very unusual for Mandy Lessing to be late for anything. Being late gave her anxiety. The morning Mandy was supposed to meet Carly, her mother had promised to drive her, but first she had to finish her make-up, then she had to make a phone call, then she remembered she had to go across town, so it would actually be inconvenient for her to bring Mandy to meet Carly, so Mandy had taken that as her hint to volunteer to walk. So when Mandy finally made it to Crumpet, the café where Carly had told her to meet her, Mandy was not only fifteen minutes late, she was anxious, exhausted, and sweating from the mile-and-a-half walk in the North Carolina humidity.
"You look like hell," came a voice that instantly caused a smile to spread across Mandy's sweaty face.
"Carly!" Mandy said, running and wrapping her arms around the taller woman.
"You're lucky I love you, little sister, otherwise I wouldn't hug you when you're so gross." Carly's voice was gentle in its teasing, and she stood hugging Mandy tightly for several moments, each soaking in the warmth of the other.
"It's been too long," Mandy said.
"Way too long."
When they finally pulled apart, Carly tucked a piece of Mandy's hair behind her ear and shook her head. "Please tell me you didn't walk here."
Mandy shrugged. "It's no big deal."
"Why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up!"
"It wasn't worth bothering you. But I'm sorry I'm late," Mandy said.
Carly waved her hand. "I only just got here. Are you hungry?"
"Starved!"
Carly smiled. "As always. Come on, let's go in."
The café was painted in pastels with little accents everywhere, which made it the ideal brunch spot for women who wanted to chat over coffee and whole-grain pancakes they could pretend were healthy, which was just what Mandy and Carly intended to do.
Carly and Mandy were not really sisters, but they considered biology a technicality. Carly was three years older than Mandy. She had been volunteering as a mentor for the church youth program and had been assigned to be Mandy's Big Sister. The two had immediately formed a close bond, and Mandy considered Carly to be truer family than those she actually shared a last name with. As soon as they had been paired at church, Mandy had become Carly's little shadow, cheering her on at track meets, proudly wearing her hand-me-downs, and jumping up and down with her when Carly got accepted to college in New York City. She had cried for days after Carly left for New York, and lived for their regular video calls. She was maid of honor at Carly and David's wedding, even though she had secretly worried about her friend getting married so quickly and so young, but Carly seemed so happy that Mandy kept her mouth shut.
Almost a year had passed since the wedding. Carly was still her sweet and caring self, but her video chats with Mandy had suddenly gone from four times a week to once or twice, and Carly always signed off right at ten pm, no matter what they were discussing. Mandy tried to be understanding of the fact that marriage was hard and Carly had to pay attention to her husband, but Mandy missed her sister. This was Carly's first trip back home since the wedding, and though Mandy was thrilled to have some time together, she was a little concerned Carly was about to tell her she was dying or something, since Carly had been so insistent they have brunch the first morning of Carly's trip.
The moment the waitress walked away, Carly placed her hands on the table. "So," she said, but then paused.
"So?" Mandy said, trying not to let her voice show her anxiety.
"I need to talk to you about something."
"Okay." Mandy braced herself to hear news of some terrible diagnosis, or upcoming move to China, or a realization that she no longer wanted anything to do with Mandy. The seconds it took for Carly to speak again were agonizing, and just when Mandy was about to shake Carly and demand she spill whatever it was she was trying to say, Carly spoke again.
"Do you remember Matthew Arden from the wedding? He was one of the groomsmen."
"Not ringing a bell."
"You met him; he was the only guy there taller than David. He has light brown hair. He was the one who tied David's brother's tie for him."
"Oh, the British guy!" Mandy said, now remembering the English accent scolding David's younger brother for not being able to tie a tie properly.
"Right, the British guy! You remember him, right?"
"Yeah, I met him when we were taking the pictures, but I only said, like, five words to him. Why?"
"Well, you know, he's from England."
"Yeah, I figured, since he has a British accent," Mandy said, with a laugh in her voice.
"So, he's not American."
"Funny how that works, huh?" Mandy said, getting frustrated that it was taking so long to get to the point. "Carly, what is going on?"
Carly sighed. "Look, Matthew's been living in America for, like, ten years. He came here for school, then stayed for grad school, and then he was working here. And it's always been fine, only now, it's not. And he's been told he needs to leave the country in, like, a month, unless he can find a reason to stay."
"A reason like a wife?"
"A wife who is a US citizen, yeah. And who would be willing to get married, and move to New York. Soon."
"And you thought of me?"
"Well, yeah! You're my best friend; Matthew is David's best friend. It's perfect!"
Mandy went over this in her mind. "You're trying to set me up as some kind of mail-order-bride and the best explanation you can offer is that I'm your best friend?"
Carly bit her bottom lip, which Mandy knew well meant she was nervous. "Well, there are certain elements of my marriage to David that Matthew wants in his own marriage, so he's looking for a girl who would be open to that, and that's really why I thought of you."
"What kind of elements?"
"It's rather traditional, let's put it that way. Old fashioned." Carly spoke slowly, as though hand picking each word.
"What does that mean?" Mandy asked incredulously.
"It just means he wears the pants. It's not that I don't have a say, but at the end of the day, he's the head of the family, and I accept that. He makes certain rules and if I break them, I get-" She paused for a second before continuing. "Punished."
Mandy gave Carly a confused look as the waitress set plates of beautifully decorated pancakes in front of each of them. Once she was gone, Mandy's eyebrows shot back up.
"Punished?"
"Yeah. I mean, it's not like he beats the crap out of me or anything," Carly said, as she cut her food.
"So what does it mean?"
Carly sighed, and lowered her voice. "He spanks me."
Mandy gave her head a slight shake. "Excuse me?"
"He spanks me."
"You mean, like, one little smack on the ass?"
Carly took a breath. "I mean he pulls me over his lap and he spanks me."
"And you let him?" Mandy asked, trying to match Carly's hushed tone, which was difficult, given her surprise.
Carly nodded. "I do. I like it. I mean, I hate it, in the moment, but ultimately, I like it."
"Is it, like, a sex thing?"
Carly let out a short laugh at this. "No. It's not. It's intimate, but it's not about sex. It's a punishment, and I definitely don't feel sexy when I'm over his lap being spanked for breaking a rule or something."
Mandy furrowed her eyebrows. "So why do you put up with it?"
"Because ultimately, I love it. I signed on for this and I know this is what I want. I know our marriage is stronger for it. I know I'm a better person for it. I feel so secure with David. We don't fight. No one threatens to leave. Issues don't simmer. No one throws tantrums or freezes the other out. When something comes up, we deal with it. We are accountable to each other, we are open and honest, and we communicate all the damn time," she said, laughing as she spoke the last sentence. "It's annoying how much he insists on communication! But no matter what comes up, we talk it out. There's no running from each other, no storming out, just talking, dealing with stuff, and yes, some spanking."
"But doesn't it hurt?"
"It doesn't tickle!" Carly laughed, which made Mandy smile in response. "Yeah, it hurts. But it's also so comforting to know that I can push him and he won't cave or let me do something to hurt me or him or our relationship. And it's sexy as hell to know that he is protecting our marriage like that."
"Do you spank him?" Mandy asked, trying to make sense of it all.
Carly laughed. "Oh, definitely not. Have you seen my husband? He's huge." Mandy laughed at the mental image of her petite friend trying to hold the six-two David over her lap. "But he holds himself to a higher standard because he's head of the household, and he doesn't take that lightly. When he screws up, he owns it, and he does what he can to make it right."
Mandy thought it over for a few seconds. She had to admit it sounded really nice-not so much the getting spanked part, but the rest of it. And she couldn't truthfully say she hadn't indulged in her own fantasies and Internet perusals of similar subjects. "And Matthew wants this, too?"
Carly nodded. "He does."
"So why did you think of me?"
"Because I know you," Carly said. "You're my sister, and I know that you want to be taken care of. I know you need someone to protect you. And I really think this would be good for you."
Mandy nodded as she tried to digest everything. "Oh," was all she could say, and she busied herself with drowning her pancakes in syrup.
"He's coming for dinner tomorrow night. If you say no, it's fine. The boys will just have a shoptalk dinner, and I'll pretend to be interested. But if you're open to it, you'll come, too." Carly said. "Dinner is at seven. You have until then to decide."
Mandy shook her head. "I don't need until then."
"Oh," Carly said, looking down at her food and picking her fork and knife back up. "Okay, I get it. Don't worry about it. I really don't know what-"
Mandy put her hand on top of Carly's to stop her. "I'm in."
***
It had been a long time since Carly had last gotten to play Beauty Parlor with Mandy, but as soon as she picked Mandy up the next day, she seemed determined to make up for lost time. She instantly dismissed the clothes Mandy had brought as "rejects from the Wal-Mart Geriatric Collection of 1972" and threatened to burn them. She drove them to a nearby department store and told Mandy she was not interested in her opinions, and since she was buying, Mandy had no say.
To anyone else, the bossiness might have seemed harsh, but it made Mandy smile from ear to ear. This was Carly showing love; she was taking charge, helping Mandy, and giving Mandy her undivided attention. She wouldn't let Mandy argue her way out of a certain dress, because she knew Mandy would only point out every flaw she imagined herself having. Carly saw her with Big Sister eyes, and was determined to bring out the strong, beautiful woman lying dormant beneath the layers of stress, exhaustion, and loneliness.
At six-fifteen they heard the door to the hotel room open, just as Carly was trying to decide which earrings Mandy should wear.
"Babe, is that you?" Carly called.
"Excuse me?" came the reply of a man's voice.
"Oh, crap," Carly said, and she quickly handed Mandy the three earrings she had been holding as she deliberated. "Try the green and the pink, and I'll come check. Stay here!"
She was gone from the room before Mandy could ask what was going on. Mandy laughed as she put one of each earring set on each earlobe, and tried to eavesdrop, as was a best friend's duty.
She definitely heard Carly saying hi and was pretty sure she recognized David's voice. But then she thought she heard a whimper, and what she was almost certain was the sound of a smack, but not on flesh-on clothing, maybe? And then another whimper. And then some muffled talking she couldn't quite make out.
Mandy was tempted to poke her head out, but she heard footsteps, and then Carly saying, "Five minutes! Ten, tops!" as she came back into the bedroom.
"What's going on?" Mandy asked, as soon as Carly had closed the door.
"Dave's back. I told him I was dressing you, but we have to hurry."
"Lady, I have been ready for the last hour. You're the one who keeps changing her mind about my accessories!" Mandy said with a pointed look.
Carly laughed. "Fine. The green ones bring out your eyes. Now I have to change." She had been doing her makeup while Mandy blew out her hair, so all that was left was for Carly to put on her own dress. "Do you like the red long one or the blue short one?" She held both up for Mandy to see.
"The blue."
"I think I should revisit the purple." She tossed both dresses she had been holding on the bed and went back to the closet.
"Carly!"
"I have to look my best!" Carly said, as she hurriedly slipped out of the jeans and top she'd been wearing while doing Mandy's make-over.
"What for? You're already married," Mandy said, as she reapplied her own lipstick.
"Yeah, but I may need to bribe my way out of a spanking later. Patience isn't my husband's strong suit," she said with a smile.
As if on cue, David's voice came through the door. "Carly Jane, this is your two-minute warning."
"I get it; we're coming!" Carly called back, and she took hold of her hair, and walked over to Mandy. "Quick, zip me up!"
"That won't be necessary," said David, as he came into the room. "Hello, Mandy. It's lovely to see you again."
"Hi, David," Mandy said, smiling up at him.
She had always liked David. He was kind and spoke to her like an adult. And though Mandy still resented him for taking her best friend away from her, she had to admit that David had been good for Carly. She'd never seen Carly with such a sparkle in her eye.
"Mandy, I hate to ask, but could you excuse us for a minute?" David asked in a gentle but firm tone. "We need to have a quick discussion, but we'll be right out,"
"Oh, of course. Should I wait in the living room?"
"Please," David said, giving her a small nod. "And do me a favor and turn on the news. I want to know if we should bring an umbrella tonight, and I don't trust my weather app."
Mandy suspected she knew what was about to happen, and she wanted to stay and protect Carly, but David Sampson had a certain air about him that made one just know not to argue with him. Mandy went out to wait in the living room, but caught sight of herself in the mirror on the back of the front door to the suite. She was not a vain person, but she hadn't had a chance to get a good look at Carly's finished product, so she couldn't help herself as she went to gaze at her own reflection.
She was actually a bit mesmerized. The black dress Carly had picked out fit her perfectly, accentuating her slim waist and hitting just at the knee. It was modest and sweet, but still form-fitting and flattering. The heels showed off legs that were strong from years of walking everywhere, and Mandy noticed that Carly had been right-the green earrings brought out the flecks of green in her eyes. She looked and felt beautiful for the first time in a long while.
She was pulled out of her reverie by the sound of a hard smack falling. It was unmistakable this time. She heard Carly cry out, and Mandy gasped. Before she had even exhaled, she heard the sound again and again. Mandy stood, torn between wanting to run and push David away from her big sister, and-though she would never admit it-wanting to poke her head in to get a better look. She couldn't explain it, but some part of her desperately craved that kind of connection, and Mandy felt equal parts pain and envy for her sister.
But soon the sounds of flesh meeting flesh and crying stopped, and were replaced by sounds of kisses and muffled soft words. Mandy stood at the door, not knowing what to do, until she heard footsteps from the other side coming closer.
"Crap!" She whispered, and ran over to the couch, but her high heel snagged on the carpet and she found herself landing face down on the floor with a loud thud.
"Are you all right?" David asked, standing over her.
"I, um, yeah, I'm fine," Mandy stammered out.
David stooped down. "Are you sure? Here, let me help you up." With a hand on her back, he eased her up to sit. "Don't stand yet. Let me have a look at you. Shoot, I think your elbow's scratched."
"Oh, shit. I think I smacked it on the edge of the coffee table."
David gave her a stern look. "Don't swear."
"Sorry."
"It's all right. Let's get you cleaned up." David eased her onto her feet and led her to the couch. "I'm going to get you some ice," he said, heading over to the bathroom and running the tap.
Mandy cursed her klutziness and rubbed her sore elbow. She was lucky the dress wasn't torn. Carly would have killed her if it had been.
"So what's the forecast?" David asked, walking back over to her.
Mandy's eyes went wide. She had no idea.
David smiled as he sat beside her on the couch and applied the damp cloth to her arm. "Cloudy with a chance of eavesdropping?"
"I wasn't-" Mandy began, but David raised his eyebrows.
"Please do not insult my intelligence by lying." His voice wasn't angry, just matter-of-fact. "It's probably for the best, anyway. I'm sure you're curious, after what Carly told you." David released Mandy's arm, the small bit of blood now wiped away, and the memory of his grip confirming that he was not a man to be messed with. It was intimidating, but alluring. David stood, and went to the bedroom door. "Sweetheart, are you about ready?"
Mandy heard a muffled reply, and then Carly emerged in the purple dress. Her eyes were a bit red and shiny, but her make-up was still flawless, and Mandy realized she needed to stop rolling her eyes when Carly made a big deal about only using waterproof make-up. Clearly, it was working.
David took Carly's hand and led her to the couch where he sat and guided his wife to sit on his lap. He kept an arm wrapped around her waist, and she leaned against him.
"So, Miss Mandy, I'm sure you've got questions. Let's hear them," David said, giving her a gentle smile.
Mandy stared at them both. They were clearly so at peace with one another, but Mandy couldn't forget the sounds of smacks and cries she had heard only moments before. She had many questions, but none of them seemed to be able to find their way to her lips.
Finally, she looked at Carly and asked, "Are you okay?"
Carly nodded. "I'm all right. I may not enjoy sitting at dinner, but I'm okay."
David lifted his head to place a soft kiss on Carly's cheek, then looked back at Mandy. "Do you understand what just happened?"
"I guess so. You spanked her, right?" Mandy asked.
David nodded. "I did. Carly has a problem with time management and with her attitude when she is rushing."
Mandy couldn't help smiling at this. She had learned long ago to tell Carly things were scheduled at least fifteen minutes before they actually were, in hopes Carly would then have a chance of being close to on time.
David smiled, as well, as though reading Mandy's thoughts, but then continued. "She was told to be ready by six-fifteen this evening. She was not. I gave her a warning. She continued to dawdle, and she was snippy with me. She went over my knee. She is not seriously injured, she just has a nice red bottom to sit on through dinner to remind her to respect others and their time and do as she is told. Isn't that right, Carly Jane?" he asked, rubbing Carly's back.
"Yes sir." Carly said quietly.
"And tonight, Carly will be getting another spanking for her tardiness, as I already promised her, because this is a repeat issue, and thus deserving of a harsher consequence." Carly let out a small whine as David spoke, but he simply patted her thigh and went on. "She won't be happy, but she will be all right, and she will sleep soundly in my arms." David spoke as though explaining the simplest way to drive to the restaurant, seemingly oblivious to Carly's bright red face, or Mandy's bewildered facial expression. "Now, I'm sure you ladies would like to speak, so I'm going to change. We leave at six-thirty sharp!" He patted Carly's thigh again and helped her to sit on the couch, and then walked back into the bedroom.
As soon as he was gone, Mandy turned to Carly and spoke in a worried, rushed whisper. "Oh Carly, I'm so sorry, you poor thing!" She wrapped her arms tight around the taller woman's neck.
Carly returned the hug, but shook her head.
"I'm all right, Manda, I really am."
Mandy pulled back and looked her sister squarely in the face. "But how can you possibly be all right? He hit you!"
"No, he didn't." Carly smiled sweetly. "He spanked me. But I knew I had it coming and we agreed a long time ago that I needed to work on being on time and not dawdling. If I had really thought it was unfair, I would have said so, and it would have stopped. We both agree to this."
"But-but why? I know you've been crying, and that sounded awful," Mandy said. Carly didn't cry easily, so it scared Mandy to see this in her eyes.
"I'm crying because he spanks really hard, and it hurts! And because I'm embarrassed because this is admittedly weird. I don't love having a spanking overheard by my best friend. And in the moment, no; I don't want it and I'm not happy about being spanked. But I know this is what I want. Like I said before, this is good for us. We have a rock-solid marriage, because we communicate and we're accountable to each other. We make each other better and we are as close as can be." Carly spoke with joy evident in her voice, and Mandy had to admit she genuinely seemed happy. "It's not for everyone, Mandy, and if it's not for you, that's okay. If you want to back out, I understand," she said, giving Mandy her patent big-sister smile.
Mandy glanced at the clock. Six forty-two. She looked back at Carly and saw the sparkle in her eye, the smile on her face, and the peaceful glow that was so apparent in her countenance and hadn't been there before David came into the picture. Mandy held out her hand to her sister, took a breath and said, "Let's do this."
1
Little Conspiracy by Lucy Wild
An innocent governess. A disgraced Lord. A dark secret.
Vanessa White has never met her benefactor but when his regular monthly payments to her landlord abruptly stop, she is thrown out of her house and left destitute. Offered a place at a private school, Vanessa accepts but when she arrives, she discovers she must enroll as one of the headmaster's littles and accept whatever disciplinary measures the establishment sees fit.
When Nathaniel Crow finds Vanessa waiting for him at his school, it only takes one look at her innocent beauty for him to fall for her, an action that soon threatens to destroy them both.
When a stranger returns to claim Vanessa and ruin Nathaniel, he finds himself forced to take extreme measures to keep his little girl safe, whether she wants him to or not.
DISCLAIMER: This book includes the spanking of adult women, explicit sexual scenes including anal play, and elements of age-play and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.
|
|
Enjoy this free preview of Little Conspiracy:
Chapter One
York, 1868
Vanessa White awoke to the sound of hammering on her front door. Whoever it was sounded angry, their ferocious knocking echoing inside her skull as she climbed reluctantly out of bed. "All right," she muttered. "I'm coming."
"I know you're in there," a man's voice shouted up through the letterbox. "Get down here, Miss White."
Fear rose up in Vanessa's stomach. It was the voice she least liked to hear, that of her landlord. Frantically, she dressed, still tying up her hair as she ran downstairs.
"Mr. Woodhouse," Vanessa said with a smile as she pulled open the door. "What can I do for you?"
"Do not attempt to talk your way out of this one, Miss White. Two months to the day. I have come to take back my house."
"I can explain. My benefactor's payments have not been forthcoming this month-"
"Or last month."
"Quite. But I have had assurances that the money will be with me shortly. I just need a little time, that's all."
"There is always an excuse with you people."
"What do you mean by 'you people,' Mr. Woodhouse? Is there something about me that offends you?"
"It is your lack of payment that offends me, Miss White. I should never have let to someone so young, this is what I get for dealing with children."
"I am twenty years old, Mr. Woodhouse, I am no more a child than you are."
Mr. Woodhouse grunted before shaking his head. "No, you are not a child. You are an adult and you have a responsibility to ensure your rent is paid. You have not paid so I am here to take possession and that is an end to the matter."
"But, Mr. Woodhouse, I need only a little more time. I am certain my benefactor will make good the money you are owed, if you would only grant me another week." She took his hands in hers, her eyes widening as she looked up at him. "Please."
Snatching his hands away, Mr. Woodhouse shook his head again. "Do not use that look on me, it was that look that made me give you this place against my better judgment and on a monthly rental instead of an annual term. I was a fool to trust you."
"Please. A little more time."
"You have the length of time it takes me to empty your belongings onto the street."
"You wouldn't, not to an innocent woman?"
"Innocent, my foot! You want something for nothing, same as everyone else in this city." He pushed past her, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Vanessa out on the street.
She tried the door but it was already locked. "You can't do this to me!" she shouted through the letterbox. "I demand you let me in." Her voice began to falter, "I have nowhere else to go."
"Then I suggest you go and see your benefactor," Mr. Woodhouse shouted back through the door.
"Get me my money."
"I do not know where he lives. I have never dealt with him personally."
"Well, isn't that convenient? Here." The landlord's hand emerged from the letterbox, thrusting out an envelope.
"What's this?"
"Your payments came from that address. I suggest you make haste to pay them a visit, Miss White. My patience with your excuses is at an end."
Vanessa tore open the envelope. In her landlord's poor handwriting the letters were hard to decipher but eventually she was able to read:
10 Micklegate
So that was where he lived, a mere few streets away from her. All this time he had lived so close to her and yet she knew nothing of him, not even what he looked like. When the letter had first arrived at her single garret room, informing her that he would pay for any house she chose, that all bills incurred would be paid by him, it had seemed too good to be true. Yet how quickly she had become used to having her every extravagance funded by her anonymous benefactor.
She had spent readily and easily once the first few bills were paid. She did not know how he was able to ascertain to whom she owed money at any given time but whoever she bought from, no receipts were ever issued, no bills of sale given, yet the accounts were always settled by the next time an urge to spend struck her.
As she walked through the streets towards Micklegate, she began to ponder. She had not once thought about the oddity of her bills being paid by someone she'd never met. Why had she taken for granted that her rent would be paid without fail? Why had it never occurred to her to have a contingency plan for this eventuality? All good things came to an end, she knew that. Yet she had wilfully ignored it, and now here it was biting her on the behind. She was to be made homeless if she did not secure two month's rent from whoever was waiting for her at 10 Micklegate.
Crossing the road, she passed under the arch of the medieval walls and down the cobbled hill, clutching the envelope tightly in her hand whilst wondering who might be waiting for her there. She stopped outside number ten, surprised to find herself looking at the tall glass windows of an office rather than a house. It was part of a terraced row of tidy Georgian houses and stood out as the only commercial premises amongst the fine properties that surrounded it.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. From behind a desk, an elderly gentleman in a dark blue suit looked up from his ledger. "Good morning," he said, inclining his head slightly as he rose to his feet. "May I help you?"
"I hope so," Vanessa replied, taking a tentative step towards him. "This may sound strange but I was told this was the address of my benefactor."
"Your benefactor? Forgive me, my dear, but this is merely an administration office. Perhaps you have been given the wrong address?"
"This is 10 Micklegate, is it not?"
"Yes, but I do not think I can help you."
"Perhaps it is someone else working here whom I seek. My name is Vanessa White; does that mean anything to you?"
"I am afraid not. Now if you don't mind, I'm rather busy this morning." He began ushering her towards the door.
"You must help me," Vanessa replied, digging her heels into the rug at her feet. "For the last two years, all my bills have been paid by whoever runs this place but now they have stopped and my landlord has thrown me out of my house. I was given this address. Please, I have nowhere else to go. I beg you to help me."
The man sighed. "Wait here a moment, would you?" He vanished through a door in the back wall of the office.
Vanessa paced up and down in front of the windows, waiting for him to return. What if he came back and said no, what if she had been given the wrong address, what if this was just a cruel trick her landlord was playing on her? What then, homeless once more, back on the streets she thought she'd left behind forever? She shuddered at the very idea, taking a lock of her hair in her hand and twirling it round her finger at an ever increasing speed.
The door opened so suddenly it made her jump. She looked across to see the old man holding a sheaf of papers, smiling up at her. "You are in luck, Miss White. I have looked into the paperwork and your benefactor does exist."
"Wonderful, where is he?"
"He is not here but I believe you may find him at his school. You are welcome to visit and find out for yourself if you wish."
"A school? But my landlord is currently tossing my possessions out onto the street! Could you not lend me the money yourself?"
"That I cannot do. I can give you the address of his school, nothing more. Anything else is up to you."
