by Jenny Plumb
She tilted her head up, and gave him a kiss. “That sounds perfect.”
Grandma Got Run Over by Raina, Dear
By Katherine Deane
Raina Michaels shifted in the corner, glancing around quickly to see if John was there. Nope, he had probably gone to get a drink, or, she shuddered and clenched her poor, already pink bottom, an implement from the kitchen drawer. He had only spanked her with his hand so far, but holy cow, it felt like a paddle. The sheriff of Saukville, Wisconsin wasn’t just a pencil pusher behind a desk. He also ran his family’s small farm, giving him that extra paddle-ability strength and hardness. Her bottom agreed. She winced and rubbed out of some of the soreness.
The door behind her eased open, and she hurried to get back into position, hearing a low chuckle as he entered.
“Naughty girl.” He tsked and massaged her shoulders. “What did I tell you would happen if you rubbed?”
Oh God. She moaned as he ran his fingers down her back, over her curves, squeezing her cheeks. He continued between her legs, and flicked her swollen clit. She couldn’t help it. As much as she hated the pain of being disciplined by this man, she also yearned for it. Her body ached for it. Her pussy clenched and leaked arousal, begging for more of him.
“What happens, little girl?” he growled and smacked her pussy, making her breathless.
“No, please.”
“You don’t get to come, do you?” he said as he started expertly tickling her most sensitive area, scorching her already overheated body.
“Please, John. I’m sorry I rubbed. I’ll get back into position. I won’t move. You can spank me with that horrible brush,” she begged and tried to close her legs around his wrist to alleviate some of the ache.
He gave her a series of hard swats and removed his hand. “You are absolutely right. You aren’t going to move. I am going to use the hairbrush. I’m going to punish your naughty little bottom, and you’re going to be a good girl and take it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir!” She yelped when he smacked her sit spots.
“I still haven’t decided if I’ll let you have your release or not. But we only have two more hours before Granny gets back with Eli. So we’d better get going.” He pulled her out of the corner and gave her a warm hug, his chest and arms so strong and firm. She felt safe in them. “Why don’t you bend over the bed while I get the rest of your punishment ready?”
She complied quickly, racing to place her hips over the stacked pillows and her feet on the floor.
“We’re going to try something different this time, since you seem to need a little extra incentive when dealing with Grace.”
She turned her head to the side and watched as he pulled a long, pale object out of the glass of water.
“This is ginger root,” he explained, showing it to her. “It goes inside your bottom.”
It was peeled and cut into a shape that made it wider on one end. She shivered and felt her whole body tense. “Will it hurt?” Her voice sounded so little and young.
“You know I would never hurt you, sweet girl.” He wrapped his body around hers, engulfing her in a hug, then patted her bottom gently. “But this will create a nice little heat inside your bottom to remind you to behave around that woman, and to let me do my job. Are you ready?”
“Y-yes, sir.” She was nervous about this heat he had mentioned, but she knew John wouldn’t harm her.
“So, before we begin, why are you in this position, about to have your bottom filled with ginger root, and then paddled?” His clear blue eyes were kind, but held a firm gaze of authoritativeness in them, just like when he’d stopped her the first time, for parking on the wrong side of the road.
“I should have left Grace alone, and let you do your job.”
“Just like I told you the first time.”
She nodded.
Three weeks earlier:
Sheriff John Tate left his pew in the back row, and followed the rest of the congregation out the doors, stopping to shake hands and acknowledge greetings from others. The only person he had eyes for at the moment was the gorgeous strawberry blonde in the red and green dress and elf hat. Her six year old son had placed it on her head right before they walked out, and she had just hugged him and kept it on. John already liked the woman, her keen intelligence, the sweet way she talked to all children, the way she actually listened to Mr. Harper’s old war stories, but this – wearing a silly elf hat amongst a congregation full of people, just to make her son happy –spoke the most to his heart.
Raina Michaels and her son continued out toward the parking lot, and he looked at her old beat-up Ford Escort, remembering their first meeting several months earlier when he had let her off with a warning. Being new to the town, a single mother, and completely alone, he would have felt bad for giving her a ticket just for not knowing not to park on Main Street before seven PM. The way her face had gone from apprehension and fear to gratefulness, then followed by her appraisal of him, made him want to take her in his arms and do delightfully sinful things to her body, just to see what other emotions she showed so easily on her expressive face.
They had connected really well on a coffee date, and John thought they could become a couple after their dinner date right before Thanksgiving. But then she had stopped returning his calls, seeming to shut him down. She looked tired and a bit thinner. Being a single mother must be hard work, but she had seemed to be holding it together when she first moved in. Everyone liked her. She was a godsend to Mrs. Nichols’ kindergarten class. And her weekly visits to the Saukville nursing home kept everyone in smiles.
Everyone except her.
Now that she was almost to her car, a sad, tired look of despondency had affixed to her features, and had probably been there for a few weeks. Damn, he should have called her earlier, visited her at the nursing home, made her tell him what was going on. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long time – too long.
Today, he was going to talk to Raina Michaels. One way or another, she would tell him what was going on. He pasted a smile on his face and jogged over to the tan car.
“Ms. Michaels, good to see you. Let’s have a chat.”
Her eyes went wide, and she swallowed a few times before turning to her son, Eli. “Would you like to go play with your friends for a few minutes while I talk to Sheriff Tate?”
“Yeah! Hey, Sheriff Tate. Bye!” The six and a half year old boy, gave them both a wide front teeth gapped smile, before racing back to the other kids playing in the big meadow in front of the church.
“Am I in trouble, Sheriff?” She smiled, but nervous energy radiated off her.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Christmas with Callie
By Amelia Smarts
California, 1871
Jude Johnson slotted his foot into the saddle’s stirrup and hoisted himself to the mare’s back. It had been a successful day at his new ranch. With the help of his friend Billy, he’d been able to brand half his herd with the ranch’s unique identifier.
Now the workday was done and he looked forward to getting home to his bride. He nudged the mare into a trot and headed for their log cabin, eager to see Callie’s grin and mischievous dancing eyes. He couldn’t help but smile whenever he thought of her. Before he purchased the ranch, he’d been a stagecoach driver. It was during his journey from Missouri to California that he’d experienced the pleasure and frustration of having Callie as a passenger. When she hadn’t been stirring up trouble and telling tall tales, she’d been weaving her way into his heart.
Jude slowed to a walk to allow the mare to pick her feet at her leisure through the rocky riverbed. He sighed. Callie was just about as loveable as a woman could be, but she was also naughty and, for that reason, she’d been at the receiving end of Jude’s displeasure on more than one occasion. Having grown up an orphan, she hadn’t been exposed to much love or discipline, and she’d been desperately in need of both when Jude came into her life. He’d seen to it that she got wh
at she needed, whether it was a shoulder to cry on or a firm swat to her backside.
He hadn’t spanked Callie for some time, but he feared that spell was coming to an end. She had a penchant for lying and bragging, using it as a way to make herself sound important. She’d gotten better since he married her, but those particular character traits hadn’t fully disappeared.
She’d been lying to Jude every evening since they’d settled at the ranch, pretending she was cooking the meals she clearly was buying from the restaurant on Main Street in Sacramento. Jude had allowed her to continue with the ruse for a couple weeks, hoping she would eventually fess up. A confession still hadn’t happened, though, and enough was enough.
After Jude fed and rubbed down the horse, he entered the cabin to find Callie pouring sautéed onions over restaurant-purchased roast beef. He knew this was another of his wife’s tricks – sautéing spices to fill the cabin with smells that added to the illusion of cooking.
Shaking his head, he removed his Stetson and placed it on the rack while stomping his boots on the rug. Callie turned, uttered a squeal of glee upon seeing him, and launched herself into his arms. He tried to remain strong in his resolve to give her a seeing-to, but he struggled to focus when her young body, which was firm yet soft in all the right places, pressed so enticingly into the planes of his chest and abs.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Hello, little hellion.”
She tilted her head up and smiled the sweetest smile at him, which prompted him to bend and give her a sound kiss. He squeezed her tighter to him.
When their lips unlocked, she said, “I’m glad you’re home. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am,” he responded. He brushed some flour off her cheek with his thumb.
She rubbed off the rest with her palm. “I got that flour on my face while baking a peach pie,” she informed him.
He closed his eyes. Billy had just mentioned to him that Eva was serving peach pie all week at her restaurant. She and a couple of her friends in town had some kind of preserving party, and the result was fresh pies for Eva’s customers – and for Callie’s continued deception, it seemed.
Jude walked toward the kitchen with one arm draped around the little liar’s shoulders. That’s a new trick, he muttered to himself. She was creative, he’d give her that, although she could have done a little better with the flour. She gave away that she’d purposely dusted it on her cheek by knowing right away what he was brushing off of her, without him saying. His wife deserved a darned good licking, but first he would eat the supper from Eva’s Restaurant and give her one more chance to come clean.
He sat at the head of the table and watched Callie spoon Eva’s green beans onto his plate.
“How did branding go today?” she asked.
“Just fine. Billy helped me with the design to use for the brand, and we were able to mark about half the herd. I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to make something like that. It takes some fancy blacksmithing.” He gave her a pointed look. “It’s good to ask people for help when you don’t know how to do something.”
Callie nodded, oblivious to his thinly veiled suggestion. “Yes, I agree, it’s good you asked Billy for help with that.” She placed two of Eva’s rolls onto his plate.
“I hope you know you can ask for help if you need it,” he pressed. “Lots of folks would be willing to help you get settled in here, Billy’s wife Annie, for one. I know she took a shine to you on our journey west, and Billy has mentioned to me how much she enjoys your company.”
Callie waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t need help. I reckon anything done at home is easier than cutting cattle.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Cooking seems a mite tricky.” Jude studied her, willing her to come clean.
Callie avoided his eyes and concentrated hard on spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate. Jude watched her silently. After the mashed potatoes, she delivered three slabs of roast beef to his plate and one to her own. He knew that any cut of meat available at Harry’s meatpacking shop would come in a much larger portion. They would have beef for days if she were spending her money on bulk goods, as opposed to spending an arm and a leg on individual meals each day.
Jude set down his water glass with a thud and cleared his throat to give her a good scolding, but then he noticed her flushed cheeks and the worried lines etched along her forehead. His stern words got stuck somewhere in his throat. He knew his wife. He understood how difficult it was for her to admit weakness of any kind. When she was living at the orphans’ home, showing weakness would get her mocked, or worse, abused. Instead of taking the time to teach her, Bentley would have berated her or thrown her in the closet. Growing up without a mother had left Callie lacking in the skills typically imparted from mother to daughter, like cooking, mending, and other such womanly ventures.
He wished he knew how to help her feel better about not being typical. She was different, and that was one of the reasons he loved her. She could shoot a gun about as good as any gunslinger west of the Mississippi, and she had a headful of knowledge about herbs and medicines. He admired that. She was smart and plucky, and that was how she’d survived her terrible childhood. He wanted to give her a much happier future, and he didn’t like seeing worry on her face. He also didn’t like that she felt she needed to lie to him.
“How was your day, darlin’?” he asked, gentling his voice. “Tell me what you did today.”
Callie sat down and sawed into her roast beef as Jude did the same to his. “I was awful busy today. I started baking just right after you left this morning. It takes time for bread to rise.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I had to get the dough and roll it around, you know? And press my fists into it, then lift it and turn it over and do that again.”
“You mean you had to knead it,” Jude supplied.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “That’s it. I had to knead it something fierce.”
Jude groaned and ate a bite of his roll. He couldn’t allow this to continue, and he needed to make very sure that he punished her firmly enough that she stopped lying to him altogether.
His Christmas Brat
By Kelly Dawson
“No! I won’t go!” Virginia Stiles was nothing if not spoilt, and with the extra screechy inflection she’d added into her voice, she was certain she’d eventually get her way. But as she stood there, in her father’s office, her hands on her hips, it appeared that her wishes weren’t going to be honoured this time. Her father’s face was set like flint, his lips thin in a grim line of determination. She watched as he leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted.
It was time to take a different tack.
“But Daddy!” she wheedled, changing her outraged, screechy tone to a more civilised, begging one. “I’ll miss you so much! I’ve never spent Christmas away from you before, not in the whole time I’ve been living with you! Besides, there’s that party…”
“No.” It was a word she rarely heard pass Tom Stiles’ lips, and it was spoken in a tone that was so harsh, so final. She flinched. “Everything is arranged. Your grandparents haven’t seen you in ten years – not since your mother passed. Every year, they’ve been asking me to send you home for Christmas, and I keep meaning to do it, but never do. So you’re going now, before they get too old.”
“I want to see them, Daddy, I really do, but can’t I go later in the year? It’s the Bachelor Party, Daddy. It’s the biggest one of the year!” A lone tear trickled down her cheek, but she made no effort to wipe it away. If the tears didn’t work to manipulate her famous father into changing his mind, nothing would.
“You’re not going to that party, Gin. Even if you stay here, you’re not going.”
“What do you mean? Of course I’m going, I’ve got everything all organised!”
Her father shook his head. “No. You’re de
finitely not going to that party.”
“I’m twenty years old! You can’t stop me from going!” she protested, her voice shrill.
Her father sighed in that same tired way she’d been hearing for years. Tom was one of Hollywood’s most respected movie producers and had been dealing with divas for decades; that sigh meant he knew he’d lost that particular argument, but hadn’t lost the fight. She watched as he leaned back in his chair and frowned. “Maybe not. But you know what happened last time. I may not be able to keep you out of jail, this time round.”
Virginia shuddered. Yes, she remembered full well what had happened at the last huge rage she’d been to – her face had been plastered over the tabloids for weeks. The paparazzi had had a field day, zooming in on her face with mascara running down her cheeks, showing her stumbling over the kerb on the arm of a man she barely knew, the man who’d been responsible for her almost-demise. Despite not yet being of legal drinking age in California, alcohol was easy to come by in the circles she moved in, and so were drugs. Although she’d never been a user, the man she’d met at the party had changed that. When the tabloids had run the picture of her snorting cocaine through a rolled up twenty dollar bill, it had almost ruined her father. He’d been making a movie at the time, and had fluctuated between spending 24 hours a day on set to avoid both her and the media frenzy, and putting filming on hold completely, hiring Hollywood’s heaviest hitting lawyers to save not only her criminal record, but also her reputation.
Virginia pouted and stamped her foot in frustration. “It’s not fair!”
She watched as her father leaned back even further in his chair, and glowered at her over the rim of wired-framed glasses. “I’ve spoilt you, girl,” he admitted sadly. “You’ve got none of the values that I wanted you to have.” Leaning forward to place both palms on the edge of his desk, Tom rose to his feet. “A laid-back Kiwi Christmas will be good for you – away from the nightclubs and parties of Hollywood, and hopefully away from the paparazzi too. And I will also be introducing a spending limit on your credit cards.”
