Passionate Punishment

This week “Passionate Punishment,” my 6 novelette collection, has made it into the top 5 of Blushing Books Top 50 Best Sellers. Currently, it’s No.4. Go to http://www.blushingbooks.com/cms/top_sellers_recent/blushing-books-and-publisher-partners/1.html and check it out.

In the interest of promoting my book AND the Blushing Books store, here are a few tasty excerpts aided by Paula Russell’s oh so tasty illustrations.

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From The Ladies of Heatherton Hall

Josh strode back to the main house, paddle in hand, Gwyneth following in his wake. A definite itchy excitement was forming in her lower regions at the prospect of what was coming. In the main foyer they were greeted by the butler. “Griggs, will you inform the misses Amanda and Felicity that I’d like to see them in the library?”

“At once, sir. Shall I inform Lady Heatherton as well?”

“Absolutely. She will want to be present. And Griggs … ,” he added.

“Yes, sir.”

“We are not to be disturbed.”

Griggs eyed the paddle in Josh’s hand. “Quite right, sir.”

Lydia entered first. She nodded to Josh and sat in a high-backed chair that Josh thought resembled a throne. Amanda and Felicity came in next. “Shut the door behind you,” said Josh.

They both wore fashionable knee-length dresses, as if about to go shopping, but by now Josh understood that dressing up was part of the culture at the hall. They dressed for meals, for tea — and now for punishment, it seemed.

“Amanda and Felicity,” began Lydia Heatherton, “we invoked tradition on your behalf to keep you from being hauled off to jail and to what would have been, no doubt, a painful and humiliating interlude that would have brought shame and scandal upon the family. But, as with most things in life, ladies, such intercession comes at a price. There is a compact on this island, and that is that Heatherton Hall imposes its own discipline when our rank and privilege are invoked. 34 Mr. Fairchild is now the earl, as you both know. You will obey him, and you will accept whatever correction he chooses to mete out with as much grace and fortitude as you can muster. If not, the constable can be summoned. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Both girls murmured an affirmative of sorts and shuffled their feet. They avoided eye contact with anyone, least of all Josh. It was a different pair of young women who stood now before the earl and the Heatherton’s. Gone was the sassy devil-may-care attitude. In its place was embarrassment and remorse.

Josh picked up the paddle and tapped it in his palm. “This is an American school paddle, girls. I expect you’ve not seen one of these over here. But I’m pretty familiar with it, so I know what it feels like. This won’t be easy, but, as I understand it, we are all honor-bound to go through with this. So here’s what will happen. Both of you will come up here to the desk,” Josh tapped the paddle on a broad, flat desk that stood in the center of the room, “and bend over, resting your forearms flat on the desk. You will reach back and lift your skirts above your waist. You will hold that position. I’m going to do this in threes. You will each get three swats at a time, alternating. I’ll do this four times, so you are each getting twelve. I understand that twelve is what they would have given you at the police station, so that’s what you get here. When it’s done, you can get up and rub or whatever, but not before. If you do, we’ll have to repeat. Understand?”

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Both girls just nodded nervously.

“Okay, let’s get started.” Josh pointed to the desk with the paddle. “As we say back home, assume the position.”

Amanda and Felicity minced forward and bent over the desk, side by side.

“Spread out a little,” said Josh. “I need to stand between you two.” They shuffled sideways. “Okay, ladies, skirts up.” Josh watched with interest as each girl reached back and gingerly tugged her skirt up.  Both wore fashionable lace panties under garter belt and hose combinations. Amanda’s panties were like silky step-ins, while Felicity’s were a patterned nylon type with lace borders. Amanda’s bottom was heart-shaped, high set, and prominent; Felicity, who was shorter and more voluptuous boasted a bubble-shaped derriere, a pair of pertly rounded globes that appeared quite capable of absorbing a good paddling.

Josh stepped to Felicity’s side first. He tapped her buttocks with the paddle as if assessing their resiliency. “First three, Felicity. Do not move.” He drew back his arm.

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The arm descended with a blur. A loud crack resounded throughout the room. Felicity squealed and rose halfway up, the sting from the paddle being unexpectedly intense.

Crack! “Yow…   ahh!” Felicity stamped her feet as the second swat struck.

Crack! “Ah…   ah…   yah! Shit!” Felicity bobbed up and down.

Gwyneth watched in amazement. The three swats had been delivered rapidly, one after another. The paddle had sounded like a gunshot. Felicity’s bottom cheeks had quivered with the impact.

“I’ll not have swearing, Felicity,” said Lydia. “One more outburst, young lady, and you’ll repeat that stroke. Do I make myself clear?”

“Owww! Y-yes, ma’am,” wailed Felicity.

Josh moved over to Amanda, who looked at him over her shoulder, eyes wide, a fearful expression on her face. “Best to look straight ahead, Amanda. I don’t want you to move. Do it—   spot on the wall. Look there.” Amanda turned her head and tensed up. Josh stepped back.

Crack! Whack! Smack! The paddle spanked Amanda’s clenched bottom cheeks three times in swift succession. She howled at each swat, the cries steadily increasing in volume.

“My God! That hurts!” she wailed. It was practically a shout.

“I’ll warn you too, Amanda,” said Lydia. “No swearing.”

Amanda writhed over the desk while Felicity tensed up. Josh was coming back to her side with the paddle. “Three more, Felicity. Hold still.” She gripped the far edge of the desk so hard her knuckles were white.

Josh reared back and delivered three more crisp swats, one right after another.

Felicity flinched and howled at each smack. She stamped her feet and bobbed up and down, making her nether globes jiggle lewdly.

Back over to Amanda. The next three had her humping up and down, too, her feet flying up off the floor. The sound of the paddle smacking flesh echoed off the library walls. Gwyneth winced each time the paddle struck. Watching her cousins get it was satisfying, but still, it looked like it stung like blazes.

Both girls stood up, rubbing. They turned around. Tears were flowing.

“It hurts too much,” wailed Amanda.

“You can’t expect us to hold still for that,” said Felicity. She flexed her knees as she rubbed her bottom. “No more.”

“Me either,” said Amanda.

Josh stood there, grimly tapping the paddle in his palm. He looked at Lydia. She said nothing. Gwyneth was silent as well. They are waiting for me to take charge and finish this, he thought. All right, we’ll do this the old fashioned way.

There was an armless chair to the side of the desk. It looked sturdy. Josh put the paddle down and dragged the chair over in front of the desk. He sat down and folded his arms.

“Okay, who’s first?” he said.

The two girls stared at him, not comprehending.

“We are going to finish this. You are both getting twelve swats, and since you won’t hold still and take it, you are going over my knee where I will hold you in place. Now who’s first?”

*****

 

From Falls Creek Women’s Prison

Later, after the meeting had broken up, Ned took Connie home.

“Just what did you think you were doing today,” He said hotly, as they stood in her apartment. “You spilled coffee all over the table on purpose because no one was listening to you? I let you in on that meeting to take notes, Connie, not to run this investigation.”

“It’s a good idea and you know it, Ned,” she said trying to cool him off. Then she tossed her head and sniffed, “Besides you were all ignoring me. I had to get your attention. Plus, they agreed with me.”

Ned looked at her hard for a moment. Inwardly Connie squirmed. He had a glare in his eye that she did not like. “Well, that sure got everyone’s attention, Connie. Reminded me of a child throwing a tantrum. And so…” he said, rolling up his sleeves. Connie became alarmed.

“What are you doing Ned, darling?” she quavered. Ned had a look of steely determination.

“Well,” said Ned coolly, “I don’t like temper tantrums in a six year old and I like them even less in my employees. And, it seems my girlfriend has thrown a big one and behaved rather childishly. That won’t happen again, will it Connie?”

“Uh, no Ned….look I’m sorry about the coffee,” she said nervously.

“Well that’s good,” said Ned, advancing, “but, I guess it is up to me to insure that it does not happen again.” Before Connie could react Ned grasped Connie’s wrist and tugged her toward the couch. Seating himself, he pulled Connie face down across his lap, unmindful of her sputtering protests and frantic wriggling. She shrieked, “No, Ned! Don’t you dare!” But he ignored her protests and pulled up her skirt to reveal a very shapely bottom clad in black silk panties and framed by a black garter belt and stockings. She realized with a shock that her boyfriend and boss meant to give her a spanking!

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“Connie, we are going to have new understanding,” he said, and raised his palm. Connie felt a hard splat! as Ned’s hand connected with her vulnerable fanny. Then he smacked her cute behind a few more times. It stung!

“Yeow! No!” Smack! Slap! Splat! Ned began to lay spank after spank on Connie’s well upholstered seat.

Connie squealed, “Ow! Ow! Ned! Stop!” She kicked frantically but Ned had her in a tight grip. The spanks continued to rain down methodically causing her ripe bottom cheeks to bounce. Then Ned paused. Connie thought he had stopped, and tried to rise, but Ned said, “Oh, no, Connie. We’re not done just yet.” He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties.

“Don’t you dare, Ned Baines!” she shrieked, but it was too late. Ned pulled the panties down to her knees, baring her bottom. He stopped for a moment to admire the shapely globes, now bearing what looked like red handprints. Then he resumed the humiliating smacking. This time the crack of his palm was sharper and the spanks stung more. Connie tried to squirm out of his grip, but he had her pinned across his knee. Ned spanked steadily, and for the next several minutes the apartment rang out with the percussive sounds of his hard palm smacking Connie’s soft girlish bottom and Connie’s resulting cries. Connie’s delectable bottom cheeks danced and wobbled as Ned’s hard hand struck time after time. She wriggled and squirmed under the volley of brisk spanks laid on by Ned, and he observed that her bottom was taking on a red glow. She was now yelping with every sharp smack.

“Ned! Ow! Please darling! Yow!” yelled Connie. But Ned just continued to pepper his girlfriend’s wriggling backside with brisk spanks. When she finally pleaded for forgiveness, Ned figured she had readjusted her attitude and he stopped.

“Now,” he said. “No more childish outbursts at work—or anywhere else, understand?” Then he let her up.

Connie stood up and tried to rub the sting out of her bottom. She tearfully nodded. She should have been mad. Ned had spanked her bare bottom like she was a ten year old. The problem was that by the end of it she was terribly sexually aroused. The spanking had done it. She did not know how or why, but Ned’s treatment of her had turned into a wildcat. She took Ned to her bedroom and shoved him back onto the bed. He watched in amazement as she stripped off her clothes for him, leaving only her garter belt and stockings. Those would not get in the way, anyway, she thought, as she mounted him. He lay on his back as his girlfriend lowered herself onto what had become a sizeable erection. They made love repeatedly until the wee hours.

*****

From Tumalo Bend 1895

They set it up in on the second floor of the courthouse in an empty room. Someone went to the stables and got a trestle, and thoughtfully, a blanket. Alice Hennigan was enlisted as witness and scribe to insure that a proper record was made of the proceedings. Helga Swenson and Ilsa Kruger procured birch rods. There were no birch trees, as in Sweden, but there were bushy shrubs outside along the river that had long thin whippy green shoots that could be cut, peeled, and made into suitable rods of eight or ten switches bound together with twine at one end. Each one was about two and a half feet long and very swishy.

The women who had agreed to plead guilty waited nervously in the jail.

Abby and Lucy were nervous and fearful. “Miss Fitzhugh, will this hurt terribly?” asked Lucy.

“Were you ever punished this way in England?” asked a wild-eyed Abby.

“We must have courage, girls. It will hurt for a time, yes, but then we will be free to go. Just think on that. But we must accept our lot with fortitude.”

“Yes,” said Abby ruefully, “in time for father to take us out to the woodshed.”

“It is my fault girls, for letting you go, and I blame myself. I would take your punishment too, if I could, but for now we must gather ourselves.”

“Oh, Miss Fitzhugh, we talked you into it, didn’t we Lucy? It’s our fault too.” Lucy nodded.

The sound that all had dreaded was the sound of heavy boots approaching and the jangling of keys. “All right ladies, they are ready for you upstairs,” said a deputy as he unlocked the cells. “This way. Follow me.”

They were ushered into a large mostly vacant room with high windows. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating a lone trestle in the center of the room. There was a table to the side and on it lay several bundles of switches— birch rods prepared by Helga Swenson and Ilsa Kruger. The three women stood staring grimly at the women as they filed in. The husbands and fathers had been inside waiting for them.

The sheriff said, “Well let’s get started then. I’ll let you run this, Mrs. Swenson. The judge said to let you do this your way.”

The first thing Helga said was, “All men must leave the room.”

The sheriff scratched his head. “Why is that Mrs. Swenson?”

“Because it would be indecent for them to stay. A good Swedish birching is given with the drawers down and that’s how I do it, and that’s how it will be.” She said adamantly.

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Many of the women gasped audibly.

The sheriff looked around. “All right, boys. You heard the lady. We’ll wait outside.” There was no argument there. If skirts were to be raised and drawers lowered, no man wanted the other men to see his daughter or wife in that state.

Alice Hennigan cleared her throat. “Ahm, we should begin ladies. It makes sense to me to go in the order in the list the judge gave me. The first would be,” and she checked a list, “Faith Adams.” The rest of you wait outside in the hall. I will call you when it is your turn.

The blood seemed to drain from the face of a youngish woman in her early twenties with chestnut hair. She approached the sawhorse on shaky legs and stopped in front of it awaiting an order. Many of the women were unknown to the Carson girls. The rally had drawn folks from all over and several of the defendants were unknown to them. Faith Adams was one.

After everyone had trooped out and the doors had been shut, Helga Swenson assumed control. “Lift up your skirts, Mrs. Adams, if you please.” Helga Swenson gestured with her hands moving up. With a sigh she gathered her skirts and raised them to reveal her legs and bottom clad in long bloomers. “Place yourself over the trestle now,” said Ilsa. Steadying her self, Faith laid herself face down. The posture placed her bottoms up over the trestle, prominently positioned to receive the birch. Then Helga said, “Now lift up a little.” Faith did as she asked but gasped in alarm as she felt Helga Swenson’s hands jerk her bloomers down to her knees.

“Oh, no please. This is shameful! Let us keep our drawers up, please!”

Helga just shook her head. “The bare buttocks must feel the birch, yah, else it is not a real birching like in my old country. You are getting a real birching today.”

Faith Adams’ very prominent and very nude bottom was now exposed. She felt she was dying of shame. It was a spectacle. Faith Adams was naked from waist to knees and her pleasantly shaped derriere flexed and clenched as she waited for her whipping.

Helga picked up a birch rod and swished through the air. It made a whine and Faith Adams looked over her shoulder nervously. “Hold onto the lower bar, Mrs. Adams. I start now.” Said Helga.

She stood to the side and drew back the birch. The rod made a whining sound as it descended. It landed with a sharp “whick!” Faith Adams yelped and nearly jumped up. She had to be reminded to stay down. After that, Helga applied the strokes to Faith’s bottom cheeks at a leisurely pace, allowing Faith to settle down after each one and brace herself for the next. The birch rod’s licks caused her to wriggle over the sawhorse and Helga had to wait before applying the next one. Her bottom took on a red hue as Helga whipped it with the swishy rod.

The women waited in the hallway with baited breath. No one spoke as they strained to hear the proceedings inside. But all they could hear was a muffled “thwick!” as the switches found their target and sometimes a mewling cry of pain.

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After the twelve strokes had been dealt, Faith Adams was told to rise and readjust her clothing. Alice Hennigan opened the door and Faith emerged, her face scrunched up in a grimace. Her hands were rubbing her bottom through her skirts. The girls and Diana waited nervously outside the door. One by one, the names were called and each young woman entered the room for her painful appointment. From time to time the others still waiting would hear the whine made by the swishing birch, a muffled thwack! and a yelp. Each time the door opened and Alice Hennigan reemerged with that list, hearts jumped into throats.

 

 

 

 

 

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