Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Ken Charles' March Madness

This story is not intended for those individuals under the age of eighteen, or for those individuals who are unusually sensitive to adult or sexually oriented materials.  For the rest of you, enjoy.

by Ken Charles

If ‘to be’ means the same as ‘to stand in relations,’ then further inquiry arises: partly, What are the relations, to stand in which constitutes for things their ‘being’? Partly also, What are the Things, which as subjects enter into the relations?”
Herman Lotze, “Metaphysic”, 1841 (as translated by George T. Ladd, 1884)
It is true, dear Cousin. I was summoned to the Deacon’s study. Certainly I was most curious, but I assure you, I had no reason to suspect that I was in any kind of trouble. However, when I arrived, I was not alone. That awful Mrs. Tomkins and her pet Prefect Priscilla Andrews were already seated. I approached the last remaining chair and attempted to seat myself, but was ordered quite peremptorily to remain standing.
“You will take no action unless expressly directed to do so. Is that clearly understood, Ms. Ginn?”
“Y-yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.”
“I have received a most disturbing report regarding your conduct on Sunday morning.”
“My conduct, Sir?”
I was quite confused. I frantically tried to recall the events of Sunday morning. On Sunday morning, as on every Sunday since I arrived back from the holidays, I went into town with the rest of the girls to go to Church. I tried to remember everything that happened. Nothing unusual occurred during the service, or the fellowship that followed. However, as we were leaving....
“Raising your dress and petticoats well above your ankles and throwing yourself shamelessly at young gentlemen! What have you to say for yourself?”
What despicable calumniation was this? As I was attempting to step up into the carriage, I lost my balance, or so I thought at the time. I remembered, much to my surprise, Priscilla reaching out as if to catch hold of my sleeve. But now that I have had more time to reflect, I clearly recall the incredibly self-satisfied grin on her face as I floundered and lost my purchase. Her hand was not there to help me, but rather to ensure that I failed to gain ingress.
Fortunately, or so I thought at the time, I was caught by none other than the Mayor’s eldest son Robert, of whom I have written to you so fondly on several occasions. Yes, dear Cousin, that same Robert Browne, with whom I danced, laughed, (and do not tell Auntie!) kissed at the Mayor’s ball. That same Robert Browne to whom, dare I even write it, I was all but engaged! Certainly my apparel was in disarray as I fell. But there was no intended immodesty!
Robert! Of course! Priscilla obviously had designs on my dearest Robert, and had planned to humiliate me in front of my love. But instead, she literally threw me into his strong arms!
“Fine. Since you proffer no excuses for your behavior, it is clear that your actions were as you fully intended. Then the consequences should come as no surprise.”
Consequences of what behavior? I had not been paying any attention.
“That kind of behavior is intolerable! And although it pains me, since you have not been a problem heretofore, I have no choice but to give you a severe caning. Bend over the desk, and prepare yourself.”
My eyes were so wide, dear Cousin, that I felt certain that they would fall out of my head. That is, until I chanced a glance at the smarmy Miss Andrews. My eyes narrowed. By failing to timely protest my innocence, I had been condemned. But at the same time, I had been reborn, as an avatar of Priscilla’s ultimate undoing.
To be caned for this particular mishap, which was in no manner volitional, was unimaginable. To allow Priscilla Andrews to witness my disgrace was unconscionable. The need to pay her back in full measure, was undeniable. However, the nature of an appropriate recourse almost was unthinkable.
“Twenty-two. Thank you, Sir. May I have the next?”
I was sentenced to two dozen strokes with a cane. Have you ever been caned, Cousin? It was horrid. Do you remember the time when Auntie caught us helping ourselves to Mrs. Johnson’s preserves? I thought Auntie’s lesson in manners with her hairbrush would never end. But the cane is much worse!
First, I had to bend over the Deacon’s desk, and grip the far side. Mrs. Tomkins came over and turned up my dress and petticoats. I was scared and embarrassed. Someone was lecturing me about my outrageous behavior, but I really did not hear much of it. At some point, Mrs. Tomkins lowered my knickers. Matters became much clearer a moment later.
A line of fire exploded across the middle of my bare bum! I gasped. Surely that stroke was more than sufficient punishment.
“Since you failed to thank me and count the stroke, we will begin again!”
“Count the ...?”
I remembered! I was to receive twenty-four strokes, which I was required to count. Further, since this woeful procedure was for my edification, I was required to express my gratitude for each stroke.
“Two! Thank you, Sir!” May you burn forever in the hottest depths of Hades!
“That was only one, Miss Ginn. Perhaps you forgot that I had to start over.”
“No, Sir. One, Sir.”
A third line of lava erupted just below the other two. A fourth, fifth and then a sixth searing stroke soon followed. Six flaming furrows blazed across my backside. I wept softly, but kept track of each cut. A seventh stroke cut diagonally across its six parallel predecessors, “barring the gate”. I screamed and jumped up. My hands flew to my poor bottom.
“Get back into position! No one gave you permission to rise or to rub your bottom.”
“P-Please, S-Sir. Let me have a moment.”
I have never known such exquisite pain, and pray never to know it again. There was no way that I could take another seventeen cuts. I was certain that I would swoon.
“Back into position! Andrews, go around the desk and hold her hands.”
Strangely, aside from a commutation of my sentence, that was the nicest thing the Deacon (may he choke on a chicken bone) could have said. The pain was in no manner diminished, yet suddenly it was no longer foremost in my mind. Instead, all of my attention focused on the smirking visage of the one who would soon pay for these atrocities. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I wanted to watch Andrews without any distortion. As I leaned back over the desk, I knew that I would get through this ordeal, without shedding another shameful tear.
The doleful depuration continued, as the Deacon was determined to deracinate my depravities. The Deacon changed sides to deliver strokes eight through twelve from the other side. It did not really matter, a thousand bee stings is a thousand bee stings. I counted dutifully and obsequiously. At thirteen, the Deacon changed sides again.
“Thirteen, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Fourteen, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
It is extraordinary how time distends itself. Although I was in the Deacon’s study for no more than fifteen minutes, I had hours to plan an appropriate reward for the treacherous Miss Andrews. Most certainly there would be pain, and copious amounts of it in fair recompense for my extraordinary discomfort and discommodity. But there would have to be something more. Indeed, there would have to be something to show dear Robert that I, alone, was worthy of his affections.
“Twenty-three, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Twenty-four, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
I looked up at Priscilla, and caught her eye. I smiled. Priscilla shuddered, and released my hands. Curiously, she was no longer smirking.
Metaphysic is the science of that which is actual, not of that which is merely thinkable.”
Lotze, supra.
There was much to be effected as you might expect, dear Cousin. The next morning I feigned being indisposed so as to remain in bed after the others had left for classes. Dear Mrs. Morton, who provided me with the most soothing balsamaceous unguent the evening before, quite understood my seeming malaise. However, her kind heart was almost my undoing.
It took me quite some time to dress. I found that I was quite tender, and my drawers were most uncomfortable. However, there was far too much to do to worry about personal comfort.
After the girls were gone, just as I prepared to steal from my room, Mrs. Morton appeared at the door with several biscuits and tea. I perceived the slightest unguiculate like scratching in the hallway, doubtless the corner of the tray catching on the door jam, which allowed me to throw my nightshirt over my clothes, and dive back into my bed and pull up the covers just as Mrs. Morton stuck her hoary head in to see whether I was awake.
Mrs. Morton sat with me for several eons while I ate the biscuits and sipped the tea. After countless ages, I yawned several times. Mrs. Morton finally took her cue and left me to rest, promising to check on me in an hour or so. Of course, this last kindness I certainly could have done without. Nonetheless, I smiled brightly, kissed her, and closed my eyes. Once I heard the door close, I counted slowly to ten, then stole to the door to listen. When I could no longer hear Mrs. Morton, I slipped from my room, crept past her door, and flew down the hallway to Jilly Covington’s room.
I spent only a few moments in Jilly’s room, just long enough to take a small silver hat pin from her closet. After checking to make sure the hallway was clear, I skipped across the landing to Molly Cole’s room, where I liberated a small paperweight that I knew was special to her. Although I was tempted to gather additional treasures, I decided these two items would suffice.
Checking once more to ensure that Mrs. Morton was otherwise occupied, I tiptoed across the landing to Priscilla’s room. As I expected, Priscilla the Perfect Prefect’s room was immaculate. Although the temptation was strong to leave the room in total disarray, that would not have served any practical purpose. Being the only one in the house aside from Mrs. Morton, I surely would have been held accountable. Besides, I already knew exactly what I needed to do.
In the second drawer of the bureau, I found several neatly folded scarves, carefully sorted by season. I placed Jilly’s hat pin, Molly’s paperweight, and one of my own favorite rings under several scarves that were out of season that were pushed to the back of the drawer. As I was sliding the drawer closed, it made the most horrendous squeak. I was sure that Mrs. Morton would come running to investigate. But perhaps it only seemed unusually loud to me because of my excited state. I left the room without being seen.
The next task was simpler, but of paramount importance. My dear Robert had to be informed of how I had suffered (and suffered still) for our love. I could not risk sending him a note. But there was another way to apprise him of my travail, and my plans to vindicate our love. There was a certain workman on the grounds who, for a small recompense, could be called upon to procure certain goods. In my case, however, I had had the good fortune of spying on him when he himself was espying on certain fellow students under circumstances that the Deacon and the Sheriff might view with disfavor. I felt certain that he would gladly convey a message to Robert on my behalf. If I hurried, I would have time to seek him out, and still be back in my room before Mrs. Morton came to check on me.
The grounds were empty, and would be until the ten o’clock bell tolled. I had plenty of time to meet my messenger and send him on his way. I found him removing snow from the path by the topiaries next to the rose garden. Although initially he seemed less than pleased with my instructions, he proved gracious enough once I explained what I had observed of his habits. He told me that he was heading into town that afternoon, and would seek Robert out while he there. We agreed to meet again after classes ended the next day.
I returned to my room without mishap. I was halfway changed back into my nightclothes, when Mrs. Morton once again appeared at my door. I feared that I was undone, but then it occurred to me that halfway undressed appears very much like halfway dressed. So I smiled at Mrs. Morton, and told her that I felt well enough to attend lunch and my afternoon classes. Indeed, aside from a constant dull ache in my nether regions, I felt exhilarated!
It was simply impossible, dear Cousin. The man was a congenital idiot. Either he failed even to attempt to convey my message to my beloved Robert, or else he delivered my message to the wrong man! I asked him a second time to repeat each and every word.
“So’s I tells ‘im, Ma’am, just like you tells me. An’ he says he’s really sorry ‘bout ‘ow you suffered and all, but he ‘as no ideaer who you is, Ma’am.”
I considered slapping him, but I knew that I would need his services later. I had hoped to settle matters with Priscilla as early as Saturday. But if Robert did not know to contact me, then he would miss everything. I would just have to seek him out after Church on Sunday.
There has never been a longer week in all of Creation, dear Cousin. Each hour of class was agonizing, but I refused to show any sign of discomfort. Whenever possible, I tried to catch and hold Priscilla’s eye, and give her a knowing smile. By mid week, Priscilla would not even chance a glance in my direction.
On Sunday, time refused to resume its natural flow. On the way into town, I had to hold my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming at the driver to whip the horses to drive them ever faster. The journey took its normal three-quarters of an hour, but it felt like several weeks.
There must have been a sermon that day. However, try as I may, I cannot recall the least part of it. I had other matters on my mind. I spotted my beloved in his normal place in the Mayor’s pew. However, there was no opportunity to speak to him before the service.
Once the service ended, I jumped up immediately to try to reach Robert. However, I could not negotiate my way through the masses massing to congratulate the Father on another successful Mass, before Robert and his family took their leave. I hurried outside to catch him. As I raced through the doors, I was certain that I would miss him. If only I had been so lucky!
At first, as I reached the steps, I had trouble seeing. The sun was coruscating off of the new snow. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust after several hours in the dim church. However, my vision cleared just in time for me to see the most unbelievable sight. My Robert was standing with his family several feet behind the Mayor’s carriage, speaking with Mr. Hobson the banker and his wife. Mr. Hobson, as you know Cousin, is a rather large man. He was between Robert and myself. As I started down the steps to join them, Mr. Hobson stepped aside revealing someone that I previously had not noticed. Robert had a harlot draped over his arm, who, as you no doubt surmise, was none other than Priscilla Andrews! I felt as if my heart would stop, and indeed, I wished for all I was worth that it would.
Although I cannot tell you, dear Cousin, how I made it back to school, I found myself wandering the rose garden as the sun was setting. I could barely feel my finger tips or toes. But I really did not care. I suddenly understood what I had to do, and the means by which it could be accomplished. I raced back to the house to complete my acquisitions while everyone else settled in for the evening meal.
It was risky, but necessary. As I expected, everyone had left their rooms and gone down to dinner. For the second time in a week, I slipped into Priscilla’s room. This time I went straight to her desk, and took two sheets of Priscilla’s monogrammed stationery and an envelope, and her whale bone letter opener. I crossed to the bureau, took out one of the scarves from the front of the drawer, and gave it a gentle dash of Priscilla’s favorite French perfume. Finally, I took two pages from Priscilla’s notes from her fall classes. I hurried back to my room, quickly hid these items under my mattress, then raced down to dinner before I was missed.
I worked long into the night, first slowly tracing over Priscilla’s notes, then gradually working free hand until it was difficult to tell which copy was Priscilla’s and which was mine. When even I could no longer readily tell the difference, I set about drafting a note to the treacherous Robert Browne.
My Beloved Robert,
I must see you! Meet me Tuesday night after choir practice, at the rose garden.
With all my heart, Priscilla.
P.S.--Tell no one Dearest!
When I was certain that the handwriting matched Priscilla’s, I carefully transcribed the note on a sheet of her stationery. The first note was quite satisfactory. The second note was much easier to write, because it was intended to be messy. It, too, was quite satisfactory. I burned Priscilla’s notes, and my earlier copies and drafts. Then I carefully burned the corner and side of the second note, making sure that certain lines remained legible. I hid the notes back under my mattress, then surprised myself by falling right to sleep.
Monday was a busy morning. Before breakfast, I mentioned to several of the girls and to Mrs. Morton, that I had misplaced one of my favorite rings. I ate quickly, because I had to find my messenger before my first class. Not surprisingly, once again, he was less than thrilled to see me. But this time, with the added incentive of a copper, he took the note and scarf to Robert.
Of course, dear Cousin, she knew nothing of the terrible events of that Tuesday night! As chance would have it, it snowed quite heavily late that evening and well into the next day. Robert was not even found until Friday. I admit that it was sheer torture not to go out for a stroll on Wednesday or Thursday, and accidentally come across his body. Fortunately, the note and scarf were hidden in an inner pocket, and remained quite fresh. The letter opener, of course, was much easier to spot, extruding from the base of his alleged manhood.
Priscilla appeared shocked at the news of Robert’s demise. In fact, she was so shocked that, without making a close examination or contemplating the consequences, she even admitted that the handwriting on the note was hers! And when the Sheriff searched her room and found the charred remains of the second note wherein Priscilla informed Robert that she feared that she was with child, they clearly understood why the letter opener was found where it was, rather than in Robert’s neck or chest or any of the other dozen spots it visited. The Sheriff also found my ring, Molly’s paperweight, and Jilly’s hat pin. Priscilla also disclaimed any knowledge of how they were found in her bureau, but everyone had long since suspended their hopeful incredulity.
I will spare you the long, boring details of Priscilla’s trial, dear Cousin. All that matters is that the Magistrate did justice to all involved, and quite properly ordered her publicly flogged and hanged. Naturally, I attended both. 

KC Copyright  2013; Moral rights to be identified as the author of the foregoing story asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988)


"Psyche and Metaphysic" can be found in:


Wednesday, February 15, 2017


This story is not intended for those individuals under the age of eighteen, or for those individuals who are unusually sensitive to adult or sexually oriented materials.  For the rest of you, enjoy.   

  She certainly wasn't much to look at, you know. She wasn't ugly, just kind of plain and a bit overweight. And she always hid behind those thick glass with those awful wire rims. She didn't dress well, and wasn't friendly with any of the girls that I knew of. But she was definitely the smartest girl in school. And most importantly, she was there for us when our asses were on the line!
     Ms. Larsky was the biggest bitch ever to teach at Friar's Point Academy for Young Ladies.  The dyke was supposed to be a physical education instructor/fitness counselor. What she really was was a prototype for the Fourth Reich's SS. The Board of Governors wouldn't let her carry a whip. But neither the Board nor those goddamn enrollment agreements which gave the school the unfettered right to administer "such necessary and proper discipline, including reasonable corporal punishment, as may be required to ensure the moral, ethical and intellectual development of the student", said a fucking thing about paddles.
     I think Marla Collins started everything. Marla and Katie Kellerman came in late for the third time that week. Christ, we're Seniors! What did they expect? Anyway, just in case anyone in class missed it, Commandant Larsky immediately started blowing on her whistle. She comes running over to them, waving the goddamn paddle that she keeps on her belt, and tells them to bend over.
     Well, Marla puts her hands on her hips and says, "get real". Larsky gets all red in the face, grabs her by the arm, and drags her over to the vaulting horse. She bends Marla over the horse, turns her skirt up and gives six really hard whacks with the paddle. By the time she's finished, Marla is really crying!
     Then Larsky turns to Katie, who's like all scared and pasty, you know. So Larsky screams at Katie to bend over. Katie's already crying, but she bends over like she's told. Larsky gives her three whacks over her skirt. It's not nearly as bad as Marla's paddling, but Katie is like really embarrassed.
     Except for Marla and Katie crying, it's like really quiet in the gym. Marla and Katie are part of the big money West Oak Hills clique, and they're not real popular with the rest of the "little" people. So some the girls are like smirking, you know. But shit, most of the girls are just scared and angry. I know was! Well, somebody says, "Jesus, what a bitch!"
     Like I said, the gym's real quiet. So everybody in the whole gym hears it including Doberman ears Larsky. But Larsky was still glaring at Katie and Marla, probably looking for a reason to beat them some more. So she doesn't know who said it. But she spins around and screams, "who said that?"
     Of course, although everybody was thinking it, no sane girl would admit to calling Larsky a bitch, and they're really strict about admitting only sane girls to Friar's Point. So Larsky screams for everybody to line up and starts blowing her fucking whistle again. Everybody runs to get in line.
     Larsky starts walking up and down the line, shaking her paddle and demanding to know who called her a bitch. Finally, she walks to the center of the line and says real quietly, "I'm going to count to ten. If the young lady who made the earlier referenced remark does not step forward by the time I reach ten, then every one of you is going to receive three smacks. Do you hear me? Every single one of you!"
     She smacks the paddle on her hand and says, "One!" Now several of girls are shuffling their feet, and everybody is looking at everybody else. "Two!" Nobody steps forward. "Three!" Several of the girls are whimpering, and I'm getting pretty close myself. "Four! Five! Six!"
     Larsky smacks the paddle against her thigh. "I'm not kidding, ladies! One of you is responsible, here. Seven! Eight!" No one steps forward. "Nine! Ten! That's it, everyone turn around, and bend over!"
     And that's when the miracle occurred! Instead of turning around, one girl starts walking away. Larsky turns purple and screams at her, "Where do you think you're going, Missy?"
     Betty Sue never blinks, and replies calmly, "I'm going to call the police."
     "You're what?"
     "I said that I'm going to call the police. You have just committed thirty-seven counts of felony assault."
     "What are you talking about?"
     "Let us assume that the unlikely statement that you allegedly heard actually was uttered by one of the students in this room. By your own admission, one and only one individual was responsible for that alleged remark. However, knowing full well that the other students have no such responsibility, nonetheless, you have placed the remaining thirty-seven students in this class in fear of an imminent harmful and/or offensive contact. Under state law, that constitutes an assault.
     “Since your remarks indicate your premeditated intent to cause pain to these students, it would not be difficult to characterize these assaults as felonies rather than as misdemeanors. Regardless, the police should be summoned to prevent your committing an additional thirty-seven counts of battery."
     Larsky opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Finally, Larsky sort of croaks out, "Get back in line, young lady", but clearly she's shaking. Betty Sue turns and starts to walk out of the gym.
     Right there, Betty Sue Billington won my nomination and vote for Senior Class President. So I start chanting, "Betty, Betty, Betty!" Hell, I couldn't be in any more trouble than when I called Larsky a bitch. Anyway, several other girls pick up the chant. Pretty soon, everybody is doing it. Larsky doesn't know what to do! She starts blowing her whistle, but the chanting grows louder. Finally, Larsky screams at Betty to wait.
     Betty is almost out of the gym. Larsky runs over to talk to her. You can see that Larsky is really upset, but you can't hear what they're saying over the chanting and clapping. Finally, Betty and Larsky come back to the line. Larsky tries to say something, but the chanting drowns her out.
     Betty holds up her hands, and everybody quiets down. Betty says that she has made a proposal to Larsky to settle the problem, but the whole group has to agree. After she explains, she takes a vote. It's unanimous! Larsky hands her paddle to Betty, and walks over to the vaulting horse.
     Larsky is bright red as she bends over the horse. Marla and Katie gleefully hold her arms. I run up and yank down her shorts. Larsky starts screaming that's not part of the agreement. So Betty asks her if she wants out. Larsky starts crying, but shakes her head no. Betty takes Larsky's whistle and blows twice, "Line up!"
     All the girls get in line. Betty takes her position behind Larsky, measures carefully, and gives her a sharp smack with the paddle. Betty says "next", and hands me the paddle. I wind up and give her a good crack right across both cheeks. Shit, I could have stood there and done that all day, but I surrendered the paddle when Betty called, "next". Smack after smack, the girls settled their accounts. Larsky's tight ass turned pink, then red, then black and blue. By the time Katie and Marla took the final swats, Larsky was bawling like a baby! I suggested that we do that every Friday.

     She wasn't the richest girl in class or the prettiest. But she won the election by a landslide. You know what really put her over the top? Betty kept that fucking paddle!

KC Copyright 2012; Moral rights to be identified as the author of "HOW BETTY SUE BILLINGTON BECAME SENIOR CLASS PRESIDENT " asserted worldwide (including in Great Britain in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988)

This story appears  in Slightly Twisted Sisters.

Friday, February 10, 2017

New Release from Ken Charles!

Greek gods, ghosts and monsters take corporal punishment to places and times you never imagined. Ever wonder what Andromeda and Perseus were like before they were stars? Isn't it about time Cinderella's step-relations got theirs? Who needs imaginary friends to blame when you are age playing if you have got a snallygaster who loves to get you into trouble? Want the real scoop behind the Snow White conspiracy? The answers to these questions and more are included in this collection of bed time stories for after the kids are in bed. Whether a demon chastises a young maiden or Mercury teaches a lesson to a lazy, greedy young woodcutter, rubefaction is guaranteed. 

Includes the novella "The Mercies of Cinderella".

Thursday, January 5, 2017

New Releases from Ken Charles

January 4, 2016

Check out my new releases for the new year:


From the past to the far flung future, from strict aunties to pissed off aliens, this collection takes corporal punishment to places you’ve never imagined. As humanity moves out across the galaxy, one constant remains—naughty behavior will earn you a firm bare bottom spanking.  

Billy's Tale: Sex Tales From West County

When Billy inherits more money than he ever dreamed of having, it allows him to explore his sexuality through a full color palette of inter-racial sex and spanking with lovely, naughty young ladies with soft smooth skins ranging from alabaster Kalina to cream Ruby to yellow Alyeska to red Bonita to brown Pia to gray Madhubala to ebony Keesha. The hues may vary, but they all lead to unimagined pleasure. As much as he enjoys giving a good spanking, Billy discovers that it can be just as much fun to receive one.

Venus and Marks

From naughty young brides and girlfriends to more mature matrons, this collection of eighteen short stories, focuses on the more domestic, romantic and playful aspects of corporal punishment. 

SOLE MATES--A young wife buys a pair of flats at the mall in violation of her agreement to avoid the mall for a month. She learns that flats can be used for more than walking.

RESPONSIBILITY-- Lisette agrees to water Robert's plants while he is out of town, but inadvertently leaves the door. When she can't find Robert's cat, she engages in a panicked search, but to no avail. Robert has gotten her out of a couple of speeding tickets, but her last one cost her sixty bucks and sixty smacks on her bare bottom. Racing over to his place for one last search, she gets another ticket.

VENUS OF URBINO -- REVISITED-- A new tour guide gives a novel interpretation of Titian's classic work.

WARMING HER OLD BONES-- Perry's mother thinks he can do better than Sally, the woman that embarrassed him at the corporate soiree. But a trip over her husband's knee reminds her that she was a bit wild herself once.

THE SUM OF THE PARTS-- Katrina's mind wanders before she is caned.

RESPONSIBILITY II-- Lisette, now living with Robert, spent the afternoon the day before with her friend Sally and forgot to pick up Robert's suit before his first trial as first chair. She works herself up and decides that Robert is tired of her, but finds a note and a leather-backed brush on her pillow that reassures her.

THE WIDOW-- In the days preceding D-Day, Julie Winters is watching for spies, but falls for the target of her investigation. She's right. He's not who he claims to be.

SPANKING WEB RING ROULETTE-- Robert and Lisette play strip roulette based on random selection of spanking web sites.

I LET MYSELF IN-- Crystal surprises a conventioneer by letting herself into his hotel room, which is a very naughty thing to do. Being naughty has its consequences.

RESPONSIBILITY III-ACTS OF CONTRITION-- Robert tries to convince Lisette to join him in San Francisco, but she puts him off because of work, and guilt. She has been hiding something from him. The leather brush helps her assuage some of her guilt.

THIN WALLS-- Sasha hears all sorts of things from the neighboring apartments. Jean and Gene are a thirties something couple with an active fantasy life when the kids spend the night at their grandparents. Newly-wed Tom Masterson is six three, 240 pounds, and totally under the heel of his dominatrix wife Celine, which is not good for Tom when he forgets some groceries. Kitty and Kat are bickering roommates and performance artists. Sasha's recommendation of spanking to settle an argument adds grist to their performance mill.

MALUM PROHIBITUM-- A thoughtless junior associate takes on the wrong secretary.

THE PERILS OF THE “SPENCER PLAN”-- Be careful what you ask for. Maggie requires strict adherence to the pre-nuptial agreement that her husband insisted on, including enforcement of the "Spencer Plan".

THE RESTAURAN-- A detour off the interstate takes a traveler to Betsy's RESTAURAN. When Betsy's niece BT makes a scene, Betsy shows that she can serve up more than chicken, coffee and home made pie. 

POKER NIGHT-- Celine's Masterson's night out with the girls is interrupted when her dog acts up. Not a smart move on the dog's part.

THE SHOWER-- A young bride crying in the shower finds that her husband still loves her even when she misbehaves.

RESPONSIBILITY IV--AN EVENING OF SCRABBLE-- Once again, be careful what you ask for. Robert is always on Lisette about responsibility. Lisette demonstrates that his admonishments have not passed unheeded.

VENUS AND MARS-- A final reflection on love and spanking. 

Slightly Twisted Sisters

This collection of fourteen corporal punishment short stories is a bit edgier than many of my stories. The heroines are haughty, headstrong, bitchy and even outright sociopathic. There is sex, but sex isn't the focus.

FEELING NO PAIN--A city gal finds a unique way to raise her rent at a country/western road house.

A ROYAL BIRCHING--The usurper may sit on the throne, and claim her Mother's bed, but
even a sound birching won't ever bend the Princess to his will.

PSYCHE AND METAPHYSIC--A young girl writes a letter to cousin setting out her revenge on her arch rival who stole her fiancée.

THREE BLACK CATS--The only thing blacker than the Mistress's skin is her heart.

THE CREAM OF THE CROP--She may be the finest rider to come out of the stable,but she still has to pay her fees.

UNDERCOVER--Sometimes even a promising rookie needs to be put in her place.


BEDRAKEN JUSTICE--Daddy's little girl fulfills her destiny.

THE NAUGHTY MAID--Failure to perform one's duties has consequences.

SINFUL ONE--A fiery backside beats the fires of hell.

A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE--It may not be for everyone, but freedom of choice should remain unfettered.

CANE, BELL AND CANDLE--For whom does the bell toll? It tolls for her.

THIS JUST IN--Vigilantes finally take matters into their own hands to protect the community.

THE CARD--Mom's diary reveals more than how she quit smoking.

Monday, December 26, 2016

Look what you can buy with your gift card!