“Off to the cells with you, my girl,” he said, giving her a little nudge forward.
“Good,” she replied. “I needed a break from this place anyway.”
“Oh really?” His reply was as calm and falsely cheerful as her statement. “Well, we have a range of fine penal institutions spread across the country. I can arrange a stay for you in any one of them.”
“Penal institutions are probably the closest you get to anything penile,” Lily muttered under her breath.
“I heard that,” he said, sounding almost amused. “That sort of talk will get your butt tanned before we get to the station.”
“Because putting innocent people in cuffs isn’t enough humiliation for you,” she argued over her shoulder.
“You’re not innocent,” he reminded her, giving her a swat. “Get moving.”
The sting in her butt sparked her temper and made her do the worst thing anyone in handcuffs can ever do—she kicked the officer holding her. Immediately braced for retaliation, Lily waited for the beating to start. It didn’t. Instead she was swept off her feet entirely and only came down once the cop sat down on her sofa and put her over his thigh. Without any further discussion, he started spanking her bottom hard and fast. It sounded like a thunderstorm in her apartment, slaps falling like torrential rain. The cuffs kept her from protecting her bottom, so she was completely helpless as his palm punished her.
“You’ve been getting away with being on the wrong side of the law for a long time, but that run is over, young lady,” he lectured. “I’m taking you in, and no tantrum is going to stop me.”
Lily’s reply was caustic and filled with curse words which didn’t rise to the level of sense. She was outraged in the extreme. How dare he! “You’re not allowed to hit people!” She screeched the objection at the top of her lungs. “You’re breaking the law too!”
“There’s no law against giving a girl a spanking when she needs one.”
“Yes, there fucking is!”
“Not in my book,” he replied, whacking her bottom with resounding slaps. “And that’s the only one that matters right now, wouldn’t you say?”
He’s a cop… she’s a criminal… and they’re both in a whole lot of trouble.
“Yes, ma’am,” the man drawled. “Me. I think we ought to go upstairs, quickly, before any of your associates happen to see what’s going on.”
“I think you ought to get in your car and leave.”
“Not happening,” he said, taking her by the upper arm. “Move.”
There was no way in hell Lily was going to allow him into her home. She did not have much at her disposal in the way of self-defense, but she knew how to execute a flawless shot to the groin. Her knee was in motion the moment he touched her, flying with precision towards the most sensitive and prized part of his anatomy.
If she had performed the action against any other man, it would have worked flawlessly, but this one moved quick as a snake, blocking her knee and twisting her around so that she was facing away from his body.
“No you don’t,” he murmured in her ear. “Just do as you’re told and nobody gets hurt.” He emphasized his point by slapping her bottom—hard. The slap sounded like a gunshot in the alley and was followed by an involuntary cry of complaint which she knew nobody was going to investigate.
The promise that nobody would be hurt had already been broken as far as she was concerned. If this was to be the end of things, she would not go quietly into the night, or into her apartment as the case might be. She lifted her foot and kicked him in the shin. “Get the hell off me!”
“Settle down,” he growled. “I’m a police officer.”
“And I’m a fucking nun,” she swore, now quite terrified.
“If I was going to hurt you, I would have done it by now. Stop making this dangerous for the both of us and get your butt upstairs.”
There was authority in his tone which made her feel he was probably telling the truth. Only a police officer would be arrogant enough to order someone around the way he was doing. A criminal would have been either more aggressive or much nicer about the whole thing.
“Go.” His palm landed hard across her bottom cheeks again.
Lily made her way reluctantly back into the bar and up the stairs to her apartment with the officer at her heels. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Her bottom was tingling, along with her sense of danger. Trouble was in the air, thick as smoke and twice as bitter.
Lily Brannigan is fed up with running a seedy bar just to make ends meet while trying to ignore the smuggling ring her criminal family runs out of her place of business, but she’s no snitch, and when detective Gareth Knight shows up and starts asking questions, he gets no answers. Cop or not, though, Gareth is strong, handsome, and bossy in a way that makes her melt, and it isn’t long before Lily gives in to her body’s demands.
Gareth is not a man to be trifled with, and he informs Lily in no uncertain terms that he intends to be around until this case is over. He’ll be making sure she takes care of herself—something Lily hasn’t been doing for years—and when her behavior puts her safety at risk, he has no qualms about taking her over his knee, baring her bottom, and spanking her long and hard.
The walls around Lily’s heart begin to crack as Gareth’s attention and care make her feel loved for the first time in ages. His skilled, dominant love-making leaves her begging for more, but if her bosses realizes she’s bedding a cop her life will be in grave danger. Can she trust Gareth to keep her safe, or is she just a means to an end?
Wrangling her with one hand, he used the other to snap a collar around her neck. She squirmed and thrashed about like a fish out of water, fighting for her dignity as much as her freedom. He was secretly sorry he had to deprive her of both, but she was so defiant and resistant to good sense there was no other way of handling her. As she wriggled, he snapped a leash to the collar, getting her under effective control.
“Let. Me. Go!” She grasped the collar with both hands and tried to wrench it off her neck. It was a futile struggle, one that brought her to her knees. William did nothing but hold the leash as she thrashed around before inevitably tiring herself out in a fit of rebellion.
Finally she sat on the ground, panting angrily and staring up at him with an expression of pure venom. He could not help but smile. She was adorable, all the more so for the fact she didn’t mean to be. He admired her spirit. She would be a fine hunter’s pet once her training was complete. He could have taken her to the market and sold her for a thousand credits then and there. In six months, she’d be worth ten times that amount.
“We’re going to my home,” he told her. “It’s a secure compound on the west side of town. You’ll be well taken care of there. Unless you want to be dragged through the streets on this leash, I recommend you step inside the crate.”
“No,” she snarled.
He was really going to have to work on her obedience.
“Won’t go into the crate and won’t walk on the leash? That means I’m left with one option.”
“Beat me until I bleed, I will not do as you say.”
He leaned down. “I’m not planning on beating you just yet,” he said, hauling her up to her feet.
She bit him. Hard. A ring of teeth blossomed on his hand, followed by seeping blood from where her canines had made contact. Fortunately William had gotten all his shots before leaving on his hunting trip, including one that would protect him from the virulent flora in her mouth.
“We do not bite,” he said mildly, sitting on the crate. It was made of solid material and was strong enough to take both his weight and the weight of the spitting wild thing he pulled over his thighs. She was not wearing much in the way of clothing, which made his job easier. Her simple tunic looked like a very old t-shirt. Perhaps it had been colored once, now it was gray and mottled with dirt and grime. There was not much in the way of soap in the wilds. The tunic did not cover much of her body, and it covered even less when she was bent over in a prone position. The bare cheeks of her buttocks were vulnerable to his gaze and his palm as he began spanking her with a steady, measured pace designed to make a statement.
She yowled under his palm, but he was not sure whether that was from pain, anger, or frustration. He strongly suspected it was the latter two. He was not striking her with a hard enough force to genuinely produce the cacophony of noise that escaped her lips. Some of the sounds were not quite human, some were trills and growls, emulations of the natural world.
“If you act out, you’ll be punished. If you are violent, you can expect to have a very sore bottom.” He emphasized the point with a harder slap that made both her cheeks jiggle as his hand caught them in its sweeping path. She had a very nice body, toned and shaped from running wild, but with ample curves. Two of those curves were the unwilling recipients of some much needed discipline, turning pink with the continued application of his palm.
Sarah has lived her life in the wild lands, far from the city-dwellers who regard her as little more than an animal. Making use of her quick wits and the natural camouflage provided by a rare mutation, she has avoided being claimed as some hunter’s pet… until now.
For a man who must venture into the wilds to bring home food for the people of his city, acquiring the right hunting pet can be the difference between life and death. From the moment William laid eyes on Sarah he knew the beautiful green-haired creature was the only pet he would ever want, but training her will prove far more challenging than he could have ever imagined.
William feeds, bathes, and cares for the new pet he has captured, doing his best to win Sarah over with kindness, but when her defiance continues he must resort to more forceful measures and at last he spanks her bare bottom long and hard. Punishing Sarah earns him only a temporary respite from her rebelliousness, but even as her continued defiance drives him to his wits end William knows she is quickly becoming much more to him than just a pet.
To her surprise, living in William’s house brings Sarah a peace she never felt while running wild in the forest. When he teaches her both how a good pet should please her master and how a skilled man can please a woman, she cannot help but yearn for more. But when tragedy strikes and Sarah and William must leave civilization behind, will she stay by her new master’s side?
Looking down, Eden realized she was naked. “What the hell is going on?”
“Training,” Mixer’s voice rumbled through her mind. She turned and saw him standing beside her. He was naked from the waist up, his broad torso all smooth muscle and black curling hair.
“What… what sort of training? And why aren’t I wearing any clothes?”
Solving the problem even as she asked the question, Eden reached for a nearby tapestry, tugged it off the wall and wrapped it around herself.
“You don’t need clothes,” Mixer said simply. “But don’t worry. I don’t intend to ravage you. This is obedience training. In this simulation, you’ll learn how to do as you are told when you’re told.”
Eden didn’t think so.
“We will start with a few positions,” he said. “On your knees.”
“You have got to be kidding… hey!”
Mixer crossed the space between them, pulled the tapestry away from her with a rough tug and tossed it away. “On your knees, wench.”
“Sheesh,” Eden grumbled. “Role play might be your thing, but it’s not mine.”
It was inevitable that he would swat her, and he did. He took a very firm hold of her arm, swung her around and smacked her toward the bed until she climbed up on it in an attempt to escape the stinging blows.
“Disobedience earns punishment,” Mixed growled. “Obedience earns reward. You’re half kneeling now anyway. Want to see what happens when you do what you’re asked?”
She was curious, and he was right. She was kneeling really, all she had to do was sit back against her haunches, which she did.
He smiled. To her surprise, he looked very handsome when he smiled. Rakish, almost. “Good girl,” he praised.
She was about to ask what her reward would be when he wrapped his hand softly around the back of her thigh and drew it up toward her bottom. His long fingers teased up the inside of her leg, drawing closer to the apex of her thighs where her quivering pussy was anticipating his touch.
Making personal history for the author, The Barbarian’s Bride has reached #1 in Amazon’s Historical Erotica category. Woo!
That warrants more excerptyness:
“I can see you, little witch,” he growled. “Front and center. Now!”
A slim, comely woman came out from her hiding place and wandered toward him without the slightest sense of urgency. Her demeanor seemed to say ‘yes, and what of it’. No question had yet been asked of her, but defiance was in every line of her attractive frame.
“What were you doing?” Rikiar asked the question, then held his hand up to stay the inevitable response. “Spying, I’ll warrant.”
“She’s beautiful,” Mara confessed without any guilt. “I wanted to see you take her.”
“Shameless!” Rikiar declared. “If you wish to experience such intimacies, you need only report to your betrothed.”
“My betrothed is not a princess,” Mara smiled prettily. Oh Mara was naughty and got away with far too much. As a member of Rikiar’s household, her discipline came under his purview. He had clearly been too forgiving of late, for he did not sense even a glimmer of remorse.
“There have been too many complaints about your behavior,” he said, “and now you do this. Come with me this instant.”
“Come with you?” Mara’s brows rose and she covered a laugh behind her pretty hand. “I see you do not wish to beat me here, lest your lady love hear.”
“Come now, Mara,” Rikiar growled. He strode to the room where he made ready for hunt or for battle, a room with all manner of weapons on the walls. Mara was not intimidated by any of it, for she knew very well that she was only there to meet his palm.
“Bend over that stool,” Rikiar ordered.
She obeyed, but with an expression of insolence, which made raising her skirts and baring her naked cheeks all the more satisfying. Clamping one hand at the back of her slim neck to ensure her continued cooperation, Rikiar laid his palm across her pale bottom once, twice, three times with the fullest of force.
A rough laugh went up among the crowd. Thanks to a torch held by the slaver, casting a circle of light beyond which darkness fell thick, Aisling could not see beyond the first row of men, but she sensed there were many dozens of people waiting to purchase female flesh.
“The bidding starts at a hundred gold pieces, which will earn you not just the virginity of Claddaugh’s only princess, but her father’s ire—and claim to his kingdom should you sire a son.”
A nasty, carnal roar emerged from the bidders.
“She’s a pretty one, nicely submissive, not inclined to give you trouble.” The slaver turned her about, lifted what remained of her skirts and exposed her behind to the crowd. “A pretty rump to boot,” he said, slapping her as if she were a filly at market. Aisling squeaked and the crowd rumbled with predatory glee like a pack of wolves waiting for her tender flesh.
“A hundred gold pieces!” A rough voice called out.
“Two hundred!” Another male voice sounded in the darkness.
The bidding was fast and furious, but it came to an abrupt end when a voice that had not spoken before rang out with a clear baritone.
The crowd fell silent. Aisling saw the slaver’s eyes glitter with greed.
“Sold!” he cried out. “Sold to Chief Rikiar Ravenblack!”
Grumbling with jealousy, the crowd parted to allow a strange party of men through. They were all tall and broad with long dark braided hair and flashing eyes, save for one whose hair was red. Each of their faces was daubed blue and gold and they wore animal hides and furs instead of cloth, which to Aisling’s tired, hysterical gaze made them seem more like beasts than men.
Aisling shrank away from them in fear, but the slaver cut his lash against her thigh and drove her forward into the arms of her new owners…
After she is kidnapped by her father’s enemies and sold to the barbarian chief Rikiar, Princess Aisling finds that life as a barbarian’s bride is quite different than the one to which she was previously accustomed. To her dismay, the once pampered princess soon learns that the barbarian chief is not to be trifled with and any disobedience will earn her a sound spanking on her bare bottom.
Her days are certainly less boring than when she was cooped up behind castle walls, and since her warrior husband’s fierce lovemaking is beyond anything the virgin princess ever imagined, her nights are far more exciting as well. Though much is expected of her—she must both satisfy Rikiar’s voracious appetites in the bedroom and train to wield a sword—Aisling perseveres and before long she feels a strength growing in her heart which makes her proud.
But when Aisling’s father demands her return and wages war against Rikiar and his people, she fears for Rikiar’s life. Can she trust her judgment and her courage to protect her newfound people, save her husband, and safeguard their love from those who wish to destroy it?
In a town where everybody practices domestic discipline, a girl needs to be careful about who she tests…
Annika hesitated in the hallway. She’d put a skirt on and she was glad she had, for in the interim someone new had arrived. She only saw the back of his head and his shoulders, but she already didn’t like him. He was too broad, too wide, too fat, and American. Like the man she’d come to meet, the man who’d turned out to be nothing like he’d pretended to be online.
The man Annika was supposed to meet was twenty-eight years old, a professional with his own home and a sports car. In his pictures he’d looked handsome. A man with a full head of dark hair and brown eyes. A lot like Steven Soames actually looked. She’d become quite fond of the man who sent her the nice emails, who told her how much he was looking forward to making her his wife and how happy she would be with him. For months, Annika had built up a picture of the life she would lead when she reached America, and the man who was rescuing her from her drab, dour, and deprived existence in Russia.
It had all fallen apart the moment she set foot on US soil. The man who had met her at the airport was at least fifty, three hundred pounds, and smelled of cheese. He owned a mid-sized sedan and lived in a noisy, rented apartment. He was a liar. A liar who stole her passport, told her to ‘get over it’ and wanted to have sex within hours of meeting. He was grabby and greasy and she’d only barely fought him off before running away.
“Annika?” Steven stepped around the corner and gave her a reassuring smile. “We’re about to eat, but first, come meet John. He’s Mary’s husband.”
Hearing their conversation, the man named John stood up and turned around. She realized she’d made a mistake in judging him so quickly. He was nothing like the man Annika had come to marry. He wasn’t fat, he was just… huge.
He didn’t smile. Neither did she. He was looking at her with an analytical gaze, taking her apart piece by piece. She was doing the same. She reached her conclusion before he did.
Sweetville is a traditional little town, a place where domestic discipline is as much a part of the social fabric as the church, the women’s society and apple pie. It’s about to gain a new citizen, one who may not be ready for Sweetville just as much as Sweetville may not be ready for her.
Soon after leaving her native Russia to marry an American, Annika discovers that her husband-to-be is a liar and a cheat. Rather than return home, she runs away and begins living on the streets. When she is caught by Pastor Steven Soames while breaking into his car looking for a place to sleep, she expects the worst—arrest and deportation—but instead the handsome preacher invites her to his house for a warm meal.
Steven’s kindness impresses Annika and she is excited when he offers to let her stay in the guestroom at the parsonage in little town of Sweetville, even after he informs her that while under his roof proper behavior will be expected and defiance will earn her a sound spanking.
Steven is a widower, and he’s never been interested in another woman in his town until meeting Annika. Though she has a penchant for flagrant disobedience—something Steven knows will need to be cured with a firm hand applied to her bare bottom—he admires her spirit and is drawn to her strong will.
Annika finds trouble quickly and often, forcing Steven to chastise her ever more firmly, but the small-town preacher and the feisty Russian brat soon find themselves falling in love in spite of—or perhaps because of—her need to be taken in hand. But when Steven proposes, Annika cannot help but worry that he is only offering marriage out of pity in order to let her stay in America. Can she bring herself to put aside her fears and trust the man who has claimed her heart?