Blog Archive

Friday, 29 July 2016

Fess Up


5 ladies, lies, hilarious hijinks & loving dominant men.
There's a feeling in your gut. It's wet-cement heavy. A bowling ball in the pit of your stomach heavy.

The kind of feeling that fills you with dread and haunts you until you confess. Some ladies know that feeling--they know it all too well--and the feeling that comes after it, too!

From a broken cell phone to lying to the police and all the cover-ups that follow--no matter how crafty these five woman are, their misdeeds will be revealed and the men that love them will teach them, it's easier to just fess up!

Five bottom-warming tales to loosen even the tightest tongue.

Disclaimer: Fess Up contains stories of domestic discipline. Be advised that it is humorous yet contains adult spanking scenes.

 Excerpt 1 (from The Snowball Effect)

Will Roxie’s lies and hilarious hijinks earn her the spanking she deserves?

"She's at it again," I say into the phone with a grumble. "I can brush off my own damn car!" 

"Really? I don't know how you stand it, Rox. My mother-in-law lived a plane ride away, and she still drove me nuts. I am pretty sure she's to blame for the divorce."

"Mrs. Beagly is not my mother-in-law; she just thinks she is. And your divorce had more to do with a drunken night at an hourly-rate hotel, didn't it?"

"Tit for tat; she drove me to it." My best friend laughs.

I let the curtain fall back in place when Mrs. Beagly glances my way. "Shit, she almost saw me!" I giggle and turn from the window, slamming into a wall of lean, well-conditioned man. "Oh!" My mouth moulds into an oval and freezes at the dark thick brows hovering over hard hazel eyes. "Gotta go, Carly!" I hang up and grin at my husband.

"Roxanne –"

I stop him with my hand against his chest. "I know, I know! I am not the woman you thought you married. I am possessed by the devil when it comes to that lovely cherub of a woman who raised you. Yada, yada..." His brows tighten even more. I'm pushing my luck.

There are a few things my husband and I know and understand about each other that, alone, might destroy our marriage, but together, make it as strong as the snowball that broke my childhood house.

First, I am of the 'do/say first and think/regret later' variety. I am impulsive, sometimes rude and impatient. I am an immediate gratification kind of girl: I want it, and I want it now describes me to a tee. If I don't get it, right now, I will surely, truly die – at least, until times passes, and regret sinks in.

The next? My husband is an academic, a problem solver, who thinks outside of the modern man box. He's a hands-on type of guy who believes that some well-placed heat will change anyone's tune – well, mine, anyway. Which I appreciate...eventually, and I admit that I have responded well to it, so far. Example? I have a balance of zero on my Visa card, and all my shoes, minus one pair, have function rather than ornamental value – 'nuff said! Miles is the anchor to my ship of must haves and must dos. He's the life preserver I cling to when I am drowning in remorse. He's the voice of reason and logic.


Excerpt 2 (Also from The Snowball Effect)

As I watch the belt slide through the loops, a pressure builds in my chest and belly. He looks sad, disappointed and exasperated as he tosses it beside me on the bed. I feel my stomach drop in dread and foreboding because I know that the belt isn't the worst, and I deserve more. I need to come clean about the cell. The cleansing effect of our lifestyle only works if I am honest about everything, and yet I still hesitate.

"Wait!" I stop him before he can do anything else.

"What?" he asks. He is annoyed by me trying to take control of the situation; I can see it in his eyes. He drops his head and waits for my reason – my excuse.

"I haven't been completely honest," I say. I get up and head to my dressing table to grab my hairbrush. I feel a welling of emotion that comes from knowing how much I need this and hating it anyway. An ocean full of salty tears threatens to burst past my lids. He reserves the wooden brush for serious things. It is not often I have felt the bite of its unforgiving smoothness, but I know my lies and cover-ups have done damage to both his and Carly's trust in me. My face must show my apprehension because when I sit back down on the bed, he takes my hands and looks up. I see some understanding beneath the rest of his battling emotions. He gathers a big breath and sighs.

"I know you haven't told me everything."

"You do?" My mind stumbles over this knowledge, and I feel unsure of myself. He nods. "Then why haven't you called me on it?"

"I hoped I wouldn't have to."

"Oh," I say, and then my eyes narrow. "How do you know?"

"I'm a smart man. Don't you remember telling me that just this morning?" He smiles with his eyes, but his mouth still stays in a line. I know we're going to be okay, but the relief only makes me want to cry more.


Excerpt 3 (from Toeing the Line)

Darby has two months to change not only her looks but her obedient, sweet girl attitude too! How will Sam react?

"Good morning, Princess," Sam says, carrying a plate of pancakes and a tray of bacon into the room. I sniff the air and eye the food with longing. Bacon is one of the few breakfast foods I'd trade my box of cereal for, but I grab an apple out of the bowl on the table instead. Sam frowns at me. He is clean-shaven and bright-eyed, like he's been awake for hours.

"No pancakes?" He is wearing a white t-shirt and well-fitting jeans. Now my mouth waters for two things.

"None for me, thanks. Too much food before my morning run makes my sides cramp." My mother chokes a little on her coffee, and I shoot her a lethal look. I don't fail to notice the three top pancakes have smiley faces on them, either. I swear under my breath. He made me smiley pancakes! I am so in over my head.

"Sorry, went down the wrong pipe," my mother says.

"Run?" He scratches his belly, giving me a flash of his perfectly delicious stomach. I watch the pale side of his bicep with hunger as he reaches up to grab the jam off the kitchen shelf for my mother. I want to lie in bed next to him and trace the windy blue lines with my finger.

"Thank you, dear," my mother says, and he squeezes her shoulder gently in reply.

"Since when do you exercise?" he asks, startling me from my naughty thoughts. I roll my eyes at him, and his brows rise slightly. I take a big bite of my apple and go to find a bottle of water.

I am bent over in the cupboard, searching for my stainless steel water container because I have exhausted the search in my room, the garage and the hall closet. I hear him come up behind me, and I shoot up so quickly, I bump my head on the counter.

"Ow!" I say, rubbing my head. Sam sucks air between his teeth and winces with me.

"Ooh! You okay?" He steps closer and looks at my head. I nod sheepishly, and then I notice he has changed into shorts and runners. My stomach begins to flutter with nerves.

"What are you wearing?" I ask in an unsteady voice. He works out for hours a day on base when his unit is awaiting orders. He's in the kind of physical condition that makes most people jealous and a lot self-conscious. The last time I ran, it was for two minutes to catch the bus, and I panted for a full five minutes afterward. He cannot see me like that! My plan was to jog down the street until I was out of sight, and then go sit at the coffee shop for an hour.

"I'm going with you." He hugs me in his hard arms, making me feel about twelve. "These three weeks are all about spending time with my favourite girl!" I ignore the sunburst of happiness that spreads through 
my middle at his words. This is serious.

"What if your favourite girl is robbing banks and dancing on poles at the strip clubs?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. He leans in close. I can smell his shave gel, and it's spiced and manly. His breath is heating up my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine. My heart picks up a few beats.

"That butt of yours will be as red as a pomegranate if you even think about pole dancing or robbing banks again," he whispers. My stomach drops, my cheeks heat, and my knees weaken at his words. I can't help but laugh nervously to cover the rapid physical reaction I have.

"Whatever, Army Boy!" I say, waving off his threat. He clucks his tongue at me and actually smacks my butt. I yelp like it hurt, but his swat only tingles and makes my blood pound harder.

"Let's get going. I'm dying to see if you can jog without tripping in the first five minutes!"




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