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His thighs were two hard ridges under her soft belly, a muscular, masculine plane against which she was pinned with ease. He was so casually strong, barely exerting any effort at all to keep her in place as he spanked her butt to a toasty heat.

“Okay, Paul, I get it!”

“No you don’t,” he said calmly. “Not yet.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re struggling. You’re trying to control this. You’re not understanding the message of this spanking at all, which is that I decide when you get spanked and when you don’t.” His palm cupped her bottom firmly as he leaned down, his voice gravelly in her ear. “You’re mine, Chloe. In every sense of the word. You have one choice: to obey.”

The Warrior’s Heart *NEW* Lesbian Spanking Romance

“Why are you sulking?” The toe of a dusty boot met the rump of the prisoner with relative gentleness, a nudge more than a kick.

Furious violet tinged blue eyes blazed up at the warrior in response to the stimulation of the captive’s half-covered posterior. That morning, several maidservants had painstakingly dressed Princess Nive in her best finery before she was conducted to her carriage. She was no longer wearing any of it. Upon capture she had been stripped of everything. The warrior had cut away her gown while she screamed in rage and taken every ring, necklace and jewel on her person. Now she sat in the corner of a strange room clothed in a short linen tunic and bound securely with leather straps at her ankles and wrists.

The princess was a stocky young woman with thick thighs, a powerful waist and dainty arms. Her hair was pale blonde, almost white, curling around her shoulders. She was pretty, but in that moment her face was screwed up with fierce rage which made her very unpretty.

“Die,” she hissed, flashing white teeth at her captor.

The warrior Kira laughed, a hearty, genuinely amused sound. She stood tall and broad, defying the passing of ages against all reason. Unlike her scantily clad captive, she wore full leather, her long powerful legs clad in black leggings, her upper body in a form fitting vest and matching gauntlets. Her black hair was plaited and wound around her head, her dark almond eyes focused with undeniable pleasure on her pale captive who spat so angrily and yet was so very helpless.

“This is an honor, you know,” she said with a slow smile. “Tell me your name.”

“I will tell you my name when you draw your last breath.”

“I have been attempting to draw my last breath for the better part of five hundred years,” Kira said, crouching down to inspect her prize more closely. She ran her fingers through the young woman’s blonde curls, gazed at the light dash of freckles which danced across her otherwise pale nose and cheeks. She was very pretty, appealing in a functional, furious sort of way.

“You’re a liar.”

“I so very wish I was, my dear. Now, tell me your name.”

“You know my name,” the prisoner growled.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Those eyes narrowed at her again. “Nive,” the prisoner said. “Princess Nive.”

“Well, Nive,” Kira said. “I have plans for you. If you can be a good girl, I might even untie you at some point.”

“You killed my escort,” Nive replied, a flush of emotion bringing color to her face.

“They killed themselves,” Kira replied, her dark eyes growing cold. “I told them to stand aside.”

“You killed them,” Nive repeated. “And I will kill you.”

“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” Kira said calmly. “You’ll soon see that I have done you a significant favor.”

“You have done me no favor at all! I was to be married.”

“Marriage is highly overrated,” Kira said, rising smoothly to a standing position. She glanced out of the window, noting the setting of the sun. The country inn where she and her captive were staying was remote, but she was expecting a guest very soon.

Nive shuffled around to glare at her. “You are a thief and a murderer,” she said. “My father will have you hunted down. You will hang for this, if you are lucky. I think you will not be lucky. I will ask for your innards to be bared to the sky, feasted upon by birds…”

Kira cast a casual glance over at the bristling young woman. “You have a vicious mind,” she noted. “You would be wasted on marriage.”

Nive let out a string of curses which threatened to turn the air blue, her anger very much getting the better of her until Kira took hold of her, picked her up around the waist, and tossed her onto the bed face down. She flipped Nive’s tunic up to reveal a pleasantly fleshy rear upon which she laid no fewer than a dozen hard slaps of her palm.

“You will speak respectfully to me,” she said in pleasant, conversational tones while beneath her, Nive squirmed and cursed. “If you do not, I will have my way with your rear and any other part of you I find appealing.”

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About to be spanked…

Her heart is pounding. Her mouth is dry. Her hands are shaking ever so slightly as she tugs at her skirt. The hem is well below her knees, but it feels too short.

She is in trouble.

His voice is rumbling with words of censure. She’s not hearing the words, not really. She’s hearing the future in them. A future in which her bottom will blush red with the prints of his palm.

The tremor is deep inside her, a spark of mischief which is zipping about low in her belly – a tingle between her thighs that makes her press them together hard and clench the muscles in her tummy. Beneath the temporary cover of panties and skirt, the bud at the apex of her lower lips is becoming a taut little round of desire. The slight movement of the fabric between her thighs, pressing against her mound is enough to stimulate her.

He knows this.

He knows the way her hips dance in a slow squirm under his hard gaze. He has seen it many times before. He knows the clipped, stern words he is speaking are not making her sorry for what she’s done. She is not apologetic. She does not regret her actions. She is relishing her disobedience in this extended moment of disciplinary tension, a reprieve before the storm which will turn her into a wailing, writhing woman over his broad lap. Tears will fall before he is done with her. She will beg for forgiveness – and find it. But all of that is yet to come.

Her breath catches in her throat as he reaches out, his large hand capturing hers. He pulls her down over his thighs, her skirt sliding up vulnerable thighs, his palm laying across the back of her skirt.

The spanking is about to begin…

Hot Medieval Menage Romance!

Featuring not one dominant royal lover, but two, my latest spanking menage romance Claimed by the Kings combines the allure of two alpha males, one rough and instinctive with a barbarian’s appeal, the other a wiser, more wily king with an inventive streak which is bought to bear in the discipline and training of their captive princess. As Ragnar the Barbarian and King Milo Lionheart forge their delicate alliance, Elizabeth, Princess of Ammerdale sets out to make their lives difficult. An empire will rise from the loins of these three lovers – but the conquest of a kingdom is no challenge at all compared to the task of taming a spirited princess.

The next thing Milo was aware of was waking up to the morning light with Elizabeth laying atop him, her slim fingers playing over the muscles of his chest. There was a look in her eye which Milo did not quite trust. His instinct was proved correct when she opened her mouth.

“You know he’s going to kill you.”

“Is that so?” Milo responded to the comment without fear. His cock was stiffening between his thighs again. He slid it casually between her pussy lips, sinking himself deep inside her naughty little cunt. If he was going to listen to her plot against the alliance, he may as well sate himself.

She let out a little gasp as she was penetrated yet again, almost distracted enough to stop talking as he held her buttocks and rocked his hips up and down to sluice his cock in and out of her tight, wet slit.

Keep reading…

Disciplined By Two Masters… Claimed by the Kings

“You will speak respectfully,” Milo lectured as Ragnar thrashed her. “You will mind your tongue and you will accept that there are consequences for disobedience. You are ours, princess, and we have expectations that will be enforced in ways you will not enjoy.”

It was rather a redundant statement, given that her bottom was being soundly and relentlessly belabored with her own footwear by a barbarian more than twice her size.

“Naughty girl,” Ragnar added, standing erect to survey the results of his handiwork. Elizabeth didn’t know what her bottom looked like, but it felt hot and swollen and she could feel the sting somehow still singing on even though Ragnar had put the slipper down—and picked up the belt.

“No!” she squealed. “Not the belt!”

Ragnar doubled it over, snapping the leather against itself with a loud crack that made her cringe. His dark eyes were lit with purpose that would not bend to her pleas. Elizabeth reached back to cover her bottom with both hands and simultaneously squirmed up onto her knees so she could face them.

“This isn’t fair,” she said. “I mean, it’s not, is it?” She looked at the two kings with a desperation in her eyes that did not do a thing to dissuade them. “What are you punishing me for? What did I do that was so wrong? I went to the market, I returned…”

“Bend over and present your bottom,” Ragnar snapped.

She focused the entire intensity of her dismay upon him, her green eyes filling with tears. “Please… Ragnar… I have done all you asked of me.”

“You have fought us from the moment we walked in here,” Ragnar said mercilessly. “Bend over, princess.”

“Very well,” she said with a deep sigh. “I have no choice.”

She hoped her feigned obedience would earn her some mercy as she turned around and bent over so that her bottom was high and her head was low.

The first crack of the belt against her bottom took her breath away. Ragnar wielded the thing with what felt like the full force of his arm and to Elizabeth’s senses it was as if cannon fire had burst across her cheeks in a blazing salvo that made a cry burst forth from her lips.

He laid several more like it across her cheeks, striping from the top of her quivering bottom to the top of her thighs. She lost the ability to retain position within a stroke or two and thereafter simply writhed upon the bed, her legs scissoring and flailing in a futile attempt to discharge some of the heat and sting.

By the time Ragnar was done with her, her hips were dancing in desperate fashion, her pussy grinding against the bedding, not out of any arousal she was aware of, but out of necessity. The only way to escape the belt was to move away from it. The only way to move away from it was to press her squirming body against the bed.

“She’s wet,” Ragnar declared suddenly, tossing the belt to the side.

“Soaking,” Milo agreed.



After her homeland is conquered by two powerful kings, eighteen-year-old Princess Elizabeth of Ammerdale finds herself taken captive in her own castle. Rather than fight over her, the two rulers decide to form an alliance and claim Elizabeth as their shared bride, but they quickly discover that the beautiful maiden will need to be tamed.

Though they have little else in common, the sophisticated Milo Lionheart and the fierce warrior Ragnar are united by their willingness to strip Elizabeth bare and spank her soundly as often as necessary to teach her obedience. Despite her blushing protests, the stern dominance of her handsome husbands arouses the young princess deeply, and soon she is begging for more as their masterful lovemaking brings her to one shattering climax after another.

Not everyone in Ammerdale is happy with the match, however, and when a treacherous foe seeks to seize the throne for himself it puts the growing bond between Elizabeth, Milo, and Ragnar to the test. Will the two kings stand together to protect their realm and their woman?

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A Princess Is Taken By Two Kings….

She had thought it must be a dream when two large men appeared in her chamber. Elizabeth still wasn’t sure. She could feel the floor at her back and the hilt of the ornate blade in her hands. They both felt real, but dreams could be vivid and surely there could not be two kings of opposing kingdoms arguing over her in the middle of the night? Had the war truly come so close to home? It had been raging on many fronts for quite some time. She had been cloistered away for several months in the tower, restricted to activities such as sewing and singing, and her father had forbidden any news be given to her. He did not want her to worry about such things, so he said. Some of her maids had whispered little bits and pieces to her, but she had never known quite what to believe.

Now she did not know if she could believe her own eyes – though she recognized both men from the tales which were widely told about them. The tall one could be no other than King Milo Lionheart. He wore the sigil of a rampant winged lion upon his chest and he was just as handsome as was told of in the songs the bards sang. If they had met under more refined circumstances she would have been very pleased to make his acquaintance.

She met his blue gaze, saw in it desire and some good humor. It was enough to make her clench her thighs together, both to preserve what was left of her modesty, and to hide the way her nethers were responding.

Her eyes darted from Milo to the other man, King Ragnar. She would have wanted her dagger at her side regardless of the time and place of their meeting. He had an air of rough danger that was palpable and he made her quiver in quite a different way than Milo. Now she met his dark gaze, she felt her body responding yet again. It was a forceful, primal reaction which had nothing to do with sense and everything to do with her animal form.

“You are being rather naughty, princess,” Milo purred. “Put down the knife and save more unnecessary unpleasantness.”

It was difficult to keep her eyes on both men, standing as they were on either side of her. Escape was impossible. She knew that she would be taken. She should lower her knife and accept her fate, but she could not. The excitement and the fear were far too great. Both these men, these proud kings were looking at her with a carnal hunger which made every part of her tremble.

She saw a glance pass between them a moment before Milo leaned toward her again. She swiped at him with the knife, a motion which made her roll toward him. In that moment of exposure, Ragnar’s hard hand came down across her bottom in a slap which sent a sudden shock through her body and a flash of heat across her cheeks. It was enough to make her grip on the knife loosen, and to distract her so that Milo could pluck the hilt of it from her hands, neatly disarming her.

He smiled down at her with warm triumph as her hands went back to cover her now stinging bottom.

“You are fools,” she hissed angrily, fear rising strongly as she realized she was now totally at their mercy. “A pretty boy and a bandit. I will not be had by either one of you.”

Milo shook his head at her, blonde strands of hair falling into his piercing eyes for a moment before he pushed them back. “Now, princess,” he said in his cultured tones. “Be a good girl and mind your tongue.”

“I will not be a good girl, and certainly not for you,” she threw back rebelliously. “I was not raised to be some meek woman as you have in your countries, too afraid to speak or show themselves in the light of day. The blood of four royal houses runs in my veins. I…”

Her proud speech was cut short as the barbarian behind her sat down on the bed, took hold of her by the upper arm and unceremoniously pulled her up from the floor and then over his lap. She found her naked body pressed against his leather clad thighs and his iron slab abdominal plane. He had no pretty words for her. Instead his palm met her bare bottom as he started to spank her.

“What are you doing!?” She made the inquiry at the top of her lungs. Elizabeth had never been punished in her life. Being struck by the barbarian king was not only painful and embarrassing, it was utterly confusing. The physical sensations were powerful, a heat searing through her skin, making it feel hot and tight and an ache in the flesh below, the muscle of her bottom contracting sharply with every single slap.

“You pulled a blade,” Ragnar growled. “And you have an insolent tongue. This is punishment for both sins.”

Elizabeth struggled to free herself, but he seemed to be infinitely powerful. Her naked form was no match for his muscle. He clamped an arm about her waist and she was locked in place, her legs flailing as she kicked and squirmed furiously.

“Unhand me, brute!”

Her words were met with a slap to her upper thigh. Elizabeth let out a shriek. She had not known that it was possible to feel such a sudden sharp bolt of pain. It was as though she could feel each place his fingers had landed individually.

“You are tender, princess,” Ragnar said, his large rough hand passing over her bottom and thigh, rubbing the spot he had spanked. “You skin is soft and your flesh is unaccustomed to chastisement. You should be more careful of what comes out of your mouth.”

She let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper. It was most frustrating and humbling to be pinned against the body of a powerful man who was insisting she show him respect and deference though he was nothing but a brutish invader.

He spanked her until the heat grew so great she was certain her bottom was swollen beyond all measure. Her body had ceased to be hers and only responded to him. His touch, the slaps of his hard hand which set a rhythm that felt more primal than her own heartbeat. Her hips jolted with it, the hard little bud which usually hid in the folds of her womanhood becoming erect and grazing against his thigh with every single slap.

She was aware of Milo’s eyes on her. It would have been bad enough to have been spanked by a barbarian king, but to know she was under a debonair blue gaze, to be made to feel so very small and so very naughty made her feel thoroughly chastised.

Did he know? There was something in his eyes when she glanced at him briefly through her cascading hair which told her that she could have little in the way of secrets from such a man. It was difficult to put coherent thoughts together when her bare form was still being so thoroughly punished by the barbarian.

The liquid trickling between her lower lips was a concern. She had felt herself become damp before when gazing at particularly stimulating men, but she had never been this wet. It was as though some wicked imp had turned a pump on between her thighs and made desire flow from the very core of her.


After her homeland is conquered by two powerful kings, eighteen-year-old Princess Elizabeth of Ammerdale finds herself taken captive in her own castle. Rather than fight over her, the two rulers decide to form an alliance and claim Elizabeth as their shared bride, but they quickly discover that the beautiful maiden will need to be tamed.

Though they have little else in common, the sophisticated Milo Lionheart and the fierce warrior Ragnar are united by their willingness to strip Elizabeth bare and spank her soundly as often as necessary to teach her obedience. Despite her blushing protests, the stern dominance of her handsome husbands arouses the young princess deeply, and soon she is begging for more as their masterful lovemaking brings her to one shattering climax after another.

Not everyone in Ammerdale is happy with the match, however, and when a treacherous foe seeks to seize the throne for himself it puts the growing bond between Elizabeth, Milo, and Ragnar to the test. Will the two kings stand together to protect their realm and their woman?

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From Lady To Pet… Celeste Is Captured

Celeste let out a little sigh, tried to hide it as a yawn and failed. Nobody noticed. These political meetings were so boring. At least, on this occasion, the general her father was meeting with was a handsome one, and one of the younger generals too. General Alistair Clark had distinguished himself in battle and earned the title several decades ahead of most of his peers. Vector Prime had been a rogue planet when he began his career. Under his hand, it had flourished into one of the most profitable element mines in the System. Parts of her dress were spun from metals found in Vector Prime’s rust red caves. She fingered the folds of the fabric, enjoying how fine and smooth it felt beneath her fingertips.

“Are we boring you, Lady Celeste?”

The general’s voice rumbled through her, provoking a burst of adrenaline which shocked her out of the inspection of her dress and made her look at him properly for the first time. She had become accustomed to ignoring illustrious figures, figuring one general was much like another. The fact that he had addressed her so directly, with a hint of humor as well as censure in his deep voice shattered that illusion instantly.

Alistair was quite a singular looking man, with dark hair slicked back over a powerful skull, a broad face and even broader body. He wore the close fitting dark armor of his post which followed the lines of his body, hard plates marking each of his muscles in what amounted to a jigsaw of masculinity. War had left its mark on him, he had quite a noticeable scar on the left side of his face which made his left eye a pale version of the dark right. He was a man built for power, both physical and political, unlike her father who was a short, slight man well versed in manipulation and little else. Seeing them together was almost comical, a fact which no doubt raised her father’s ire from the outset. Keep reading…

The Warlord’s Pet, Hot *NEW* Sci-Fi Pet Play Spanking Romance

He was saying filthy, carnal things and as much as Celeste wanted to rage at every word that came out of his mouth, her traitorous pussy was lubricating in response to his threats and the hot tingling of her ass.

She had come to his territory as one of the highest status women in the system, and now she was being treated just like the other women who had become spoils of war and paraded around Vector Prime in their collars and their nudity. Pet. Even thinking the word made a tremor run through her stomach.

Fear and arousal seemed to be entwined as she bucked and squirmed over his muscular thighs, his palm punishing her with hard, repetitive slaps that showed no signs of slowing or softening.

She hated Alistair with every fiber of her being, and that hatred filled and excited her. She was surprised to find that there was a freedom in that hatred, a freedom to be whatever she wished to be. For years she had been forced to be appropriate and polite and appear in ways which advantaged her father and furthered his goals. No matter how uncomfortable or angry she’d been, she’d put on a smiling face and made polite conversation.

The time for polite conversation was long over. It did not matter what Alistair thought of her. He was the enemy. The enemy whose hard, unyielding palm was still slapping her bottom so fast she barely registered each slap as a separate thing. Keep reading…