Community

18Feb19

image031ct asa jones02outside _oguykcHFJ31vyz6l4o1_500sore 9c67ad1d67779bb31713629dad (1)sore_sympathy1No Community page this week, we are away. Here are a few images from the archive.


Vintage Sunday

17Feb19

vin bettyvin biederer-butts-against-the-wall-1925vin Big_Butt_pg_49vin biker girlvin C5Psqvin castel twins


Snowed Under

15Feb19

snow 230f37ae89370c9bd20ab05f40e823e8We are going away for a few days and I am working to clear my schedule so the blog will be light for a few days.

There will be no Community Page Monday, but Vintage Sunday as usual.


Valentine1


LDD OTKLDD OTK2LDD Vin CDDI was going to write a very different article about spanking in marriage. For one thing I was going to explore my unease about some Christians using their religion to justify wife spanking. Obviously it is alright to spank your wife, so long as you are not doing it for Jesus. Yeah that is where I stopped too.

This is a blog for the prurient so I am not going to get too dark or moralistic. I try to keep the moral hypocrisy for the heroes of my stories. CDD, LDD and indeed DD is never a justification for domestic violence and that everything that follows is with that in mind.

I get that, particularly in the US, some Christians hide their BDSM-related needs behind a veil of respectable Christianity. On reflection, if that is their coping mechanism then that is their business. This will offend some Christians and non-Christians alike, but consent between two (or more) consenting adults is not and should not be qualified by third parties.

I liked this contribution on one CDD forum.

“Hey, [if] I get out of line by husband takes a paddle to my bare butt. It hurts. I cry. That’s the way we both want it and I need it. If it ever got out of hand I would shoot the son-of-a-bitch. I really don’t see what Jesus has to do with it either way. The main problem I have is like when you are bent over the couch bawling your head off with the universe’s reddest bare bottom pointing at the room and someone can walk in.”

We don’t have those kinds of problems in our house and we often struggle with the whole thing. I know others do. Is it sex? Is it discipline? If other things aren’t right in a relationship then the whole spanking thing is the first to suffer.

Here is another Christian offering:

My husband and I battled with the idea of CDD when we first came upon it. It’s definitely out of the ordinary to think that a woman would consent to be submissive to her husband and follow that consent with an agreement that her husband is allowed to punish her for misbehaviour.

But, CDD has its place in our marriage. There are ebbs and flows to it, however. When I’m stressed over work and our family is going through multiple changes, it’s hard to focus on what CDD is meant to do. My husband often talks about the challenge of trying to determine when to enact punishments. I tell him that he has the right to punish me at any time he sees fit, but as he points out, it’s hard to spank someone who is always tired or has a headache. Add kids and good acoustics in the house, and finding a window of time for punishment can be difficult.

I would hazard that whilst Jesus might give her some good advice the bible doesn’t and this couple’s experience is a common one.

The ebbs and flows are a recognisable issue too. This couple were not alone here either.

We’ve only recently started again. Of course, we’ve been punishing each other through the normal unhealthy ways, silence treatment, being rude ++. Last Wednesday was a turning point. I’m blushing even to think about it, I’m so ashamed. I completely lost it with him that morning. I felt unfairly treated, and I let him have it and verbally attacked him outside. He let me have it too, but I was the one keeping it going. I can’t imagine what our neighbours might think if they heard us.

I felt so bad, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologize even. At night I approached him and said I didn’t like us arguing. “Friends again?” He said yes. I could still not bring the words “forgive me” or “I’m sorry” to pass my lips. Talk about stubborn and prideful.

We’d been spanking a little for fun during intimate moments, (it’s what works for us) That night I whispered a little embarrassed that I understood if he’d want to lay it down harder on me seeing how my behaviour had been so terrible. And he did. And he has continued to do so near every night since as a reminder and getting back in order kind of thing.

I’m embarrassed to say it still took me two days to apologize properly, but he was really gracious about it. Since that evening he’s let me know my actions will be dealt with in a more “hands-on” kind of way again when he sees it fit, and I’ve met with his belt once.

I really don’t like the belt, and he knows it. That’s why it’s effective too. He also told me I’ll be given a warning in most cases, but in behaviour that is completely out of whack like that Wednesday morning, I can be sure to expect consequences that fit the “crime” without any warnings prior.

One of Heinlein’s heroes has it in (and I may be paraphrasing here) “for the little things and there is always a good long hard spanking on the bare bottom. A woman having a good cry will cure most little things and some of the big ones. But for the really big ones there really is no substitute for sitting down and talking it through.”

Anyway that is just some observations for a Wednesday morning. More funs stuff soon.


wolf26Part I here

Alice was feeling sorry for herself but at least she had stopped crying. She lay face down and dejected on her bed tracing the pattern of the bed pane with an idle finger. She should be bored, she should have been mad; she sighed and rolled over onto her back. Her thoughts strayed to John and Adam and their nights together and her hands drifted sensually to her thighs. She thought about taking a shower and where that might lead.

The knocks at the door arrived in her thoughts four or five seconds after they started and Alice slumped back with a groan, her hands settling safely behind her head.

“Come in,” she called, half expecting to see one of Augusta’s girls summoning her for chores.

Stacy was a mess. She looked beyond forlorn and she had been crying at least as fiercely as Alice had been.

“Stace…?” Alice sat up and let her mouth hang open while it caught up with something to say.

Stacy had never looked so miserable in her life. Despite the conviction that a pack of harnessed wolves could not have made her tell about her encounter with Augusta, she sagged against the door and blurted, “She spanked me.”

Alice ran a full facial display of consternation and then gasped, “What…?” and then, “Who?”

Stacy started to cry again just allowing her contorted to face to wail, “Augusta.”

“What? Augusta spanked you? Why?” Alice exclaimed.

“I…,” Stacy sobbed and gathered up the words. Now that they lay before her they looked pathetic and completely devoid of any defence. “I…” she repeated.

“Stacy, what happened?” Alice swung her legs off the bed and crossed the room to help her friend to a chair.

There was a reluctant limping compliance from the writer before she held up a hand and muttered, “I think I’ll stand.”

“Stand? But… oh,” Alice heard a pin drop and said with more emphasis, “Oh. That bad?”

Stacy grimaced and returned a small nod.

“Come on, come over here,” Alice suggested and helped Stacy move to the bed where the girl carefully knelt before sprawling onto her tummy.

“Oh God, I don’t suppose you have any ice?” Stacy looked rueful.

“A cold flannel maybe,” Alice offered.

Stacy nodded gratefully and while the lawyer went to the bathroom to run a cloth under a cooling tap the writer began to ease her jeans down over her seemingly enlarged bottom and with a gasp dragged them with a chafe over her sore flesh, taking the panties with them.

“Ouch,” Alice whistled as she eyed the very red sore bottom presented to her. “I might just go wrestle up some ice at that.”

“Oh God, don’t tell anyone,” Stacy protested.

Alice shook her head and moved forward with the flannel. The cooling wetness made Stacy sigh as the folds of cloth did their work.

“Stacy?” Alice asked, “What happened? What did you do?”

Stacy made with the frog lips but abandoned the pop halfway through in favour of a pout. “I went to check out an old office I found,” she groaned, pushing her bottom lip out in a sulk.

“And?” Alice shook her head impatiently.

“Augusta found me,” Stacy shrugged.

“You were snooping?” Alice accused her friend.

Stacy made a face but had to nod. “Kinda,” she said.

“And she spanked you, what like Garrick did with that girl?” Alice tried to be outraged, but somehow it didn’t quite land.

“No, not really,” Stacy made a reluctant grimace and looked shifty.

“Then… what?” Alice was confused.

Stacy began chewing at her lower lip like a grounded teen and evaded Alice’s gaze.

“Stacy? What happened?” Alice pressed.

“I told you,” Stacy pouted, “She spanked me.”

“Just spanked you? I mean… what like a kid?” Alice remembered John and Adam and blushed.

Stacy nodded and chewed ever harder at her bottom lip. “And sent me to the corner,” the words were mumbled. Oddly the embarrassment of the admission felt strangely good, kind of like a verbal probe of a bruise.

“Sent you where?” Alice tilted her head as if to hear over a shout.

“She spanked me over her knee and then sent me to the corner,” Stacy said sharply and not without annoyance. She was blushing furiously.

Alice gaped. “Oh my God,” she gasped and then she couldn’t help smiling. She had to raise a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“It is kind of funny,” Stacy said grumpily and then added an ‘ouch,’ as she grabbed at her bottom. “Maybe I could use some of that ice after all,” she sighed.

*

“I thought you wanted to get in here,” Alice said in surprise. Stacy Dane had just told her she had decided to escape. The volte-face was unexpected.

“Yah,” Stacy spat, “But that was before. All there is now is chores. I know all I am going to and I think I will pass on sneaking around.” Stacy hoped Alice wouldn’t see through the lie.

Alice drew her mouth into a thin line. She knew what Stacy meant, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to go, but what was there to keep her? “Are you thinking Augusta might spank you again? If she catches you mean?”

Stacy glowered at the older girl and made a pout. She was afraid, but not in the way Alice meant. Augusta had got to her like no one had for a long while. Maybe it was just Stockholm syndrome, but she couldn’t summon a fibre of hatred for the woman. Also Augusta had threatened to spank her in front of everyone if she caught her snooping again. It was not so much that the humiliation of that would be too much to bear, that was only part of it. She knew that on some level she might deserve it. What did that leave her?

Instead of trying to explain that to Alice she took a deep breath and whispered, “I was thinking about Marsha and the barn. I doubt if I could handle that.” It was a lie of sorts. She wasn’t physically afraid, not of that. But the intimacy it represented was something else.

Alice felt some rise within her as she pictured the scene. Only in her scenario it was Adam and John punishing her. She shuddered and told herself how much she would hate that.

“What about the hunters?” Alice said, that was one reason to stay put surely. It was as good an excuse as any.

“They are after the Stones not us,” Stacy said in an eager hushed voice, “Once we got shot of Pulver they wouldn’t bother us.”

Alice thought about the hunters beyond the wall. With Adam and John she at least felt safe. Being sent to the corner incongruously popped into her head. The onrush of emotions confused her and she remembered her legal training. The hunters were only the bad guys if they were wrong, surely that made sense. Adam had been there with a wolf; she forced he phrase in her head because her logic couldn’t hold it any other way. John and Adam were monsters, weren’t they?

She thought about all the things she had done with them and felt her heart race. Her solid train of thought demanded honesty and she couldn’t find any.

“Alice, we have to escape,” Stacy said desperately.

“Yes,” Alice whispered and nodded vigorously, “But how?”

“We could steal a car,” Stacy suggested.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Oh sure, there are bound to be keys under the visor and then all we have to do is ask nicely for the barrier to get raised,” she said sarcastically.

“There has to be some way,” Stacy pleaded.

“Maybe,” Alice said thoughtfully.

“They are watching the outside for intruders, not escapees,” Stacy said urgently.

This reminder that they weren’t exactly prisoners was uncomfortable one to Alice and she had a sudden urge to shut the writer up.

“There must be,” Alice agreed.

*

Less than a mile away Danny Brady hunkered down Special Forces style and pulled out his mega-nocs. He had found the same spot that Alice and Stacy had during their reccie of the ranch. The powerful binoculars gave Coleridge’s right hand man a good view of the compound and its weak spots.

Without either fumbling or so much as a glance he reached for the encrypted walkie and activated it before whispering into the throat mic.

“Okay boss, I am in position,” he said.

“Roger that,” Coleridge answered in his ear.

To be continued…

 


Community

11Feb19

C 016C daizy0004-630x350C dave_stevensC FHM Belinds LawsonC girlfriendC ready-to-be-spankedC spoon-spanked-maid-800C veronica_pays_price0009-630x350Cyxv8CPXcAAIhpwvin C0xx8qNWgAI-pupC RSBLOGThis has a bit of a focus on the professional sites out there. There are quite a few offerings if you want to pay. Remember I write new stuff but if you want new pictures and movies then these are the people to support.

See list of professionals on the right.

In that vein I notice that Kane Magazine are looking to buy back issues of their magazine. So if you have any and want to make some cash check them out. I also noticed they have their own real spanking blog.

I noticed Twitter have a lot of amateur pictures of real couple spanking. I don’t want to zero down on civilians but they decided to publish and they are mostly without faces so you will have to do your own digging but a sample of images are above.

Heart and Soul has a list of newbie blogs and others.

Featured sites are: FHS, Northern Spanking, Devlin, Spanking Blog, All Fair UseGirl Spanks Girl and the Spanking Blogg, home of a spanking award, which have just come out. A Voice once got one of these so only fair to mention them.

disciplined1_200 (1)I mentioned above about my writing. I noticed the other day a story collection I have never plugged and I had forgotten about so in case you missed it, you can check out Disciplined Volume One.


Vintage Sunday

10Feb19

vin _23476vin _bw345vin _nge6p5ai6N1tmflr9o1_1280vin _ngtwi0Y_1960vin _ni4bppK2JC1u3lrczo1_1280


wolf25Part I here

The lock was old. The handle was the kind wrought of iron by a local blacksmith, making it at least a hundred years old, Stacy guessed. Tampering with an antique felt wrong somehow and after looking around she strained on tip toes to see through the dust caked window. The desk she could see was even older than the lock and it came complete with a covered typewriter and a Bakelite phone.

The young writer wondered when the office could last have been used and why it had been shut up in this way. It either contained some real old treasures or it was a waste of time, she concluded. She snorted, well duh, “Glad I got that settled,” she muttered.

Neither of the reachable windows would budge and the door may have been painted shut. She jemmied the lock and listened, but the creaking scratching told her nothing. It was always easier in the movies.

Stacy took a step back and crinkled up her nose as she surveyed the old outbuilding. It looked hopeless. Then up to her left she spied a small window with a modern frame. It was too high as such, but just under it and a little to the right was an old rain barrel. Maybe she could… she made with the frog lips and then let them go with a pop.

Ten minutes later, and after she had struggled with more exercise than she was used to, she had managed to slide open the small high window and swing her leg inside. It was a squeeze and Stacy doubted that a grown man could have gotten in. It was dark too and her whole body blocked out the light. But as far as she could gather she was on an upper floor that was less than a third the size of the whole building, like a mezzanine that overlooked the lower office.

“This must have been where the boss sat,” Stacy said aloud and moved away from the window to let in more light. She had brought a torch, but it was less use than the sunshine from outside.

The thing that struck her most was the smell. It was dusty with a hint of decay. Paper she guessed and she scanned the desk on the upper floor. There was nothing much, another typewriter and a pot with pencils. On top of the writing blotter there were a couple of old notebooks but these had nothing but faint columns of numbers like a ledger.

The pictures on the wall were from the 1930s; photographs with no one she recognised. Except for an old Navajo who looked a lot like Sundance and she took a closer look. Not Sundance, she was sure, but then she saw who the man was standing next to. Garrick, Garrick looking maybe 20 years younger. Stacy hastily scrubbed at the dust to read the caption.

“Stone Ranch, Pulver, 1931,” the handwritten legend ran. Stacy looked again at the picture and looked hard. There was a group of men in working clothes posing for the camera. There were a couple of Native Americans, but most of the men were white. Her gaze kept coming back to the one in the middle. It was heady stuff and she felt her mouth go dry. There was no mistake, it was Garrick.

“Hmm, so 80 or odd years ago Garrick Stone looked not a day over 40,” Stacy said aloud as if saying it would make it take on more sense. It didn’t.

There was nothing else she could see on the upper deck that gave anything away. Although a stash of Picture Magazines was fun and probably valuable, she pondered. But she resisted the temptation to browse and headed down to the main office.

“Okay, what have we here?” she muttered as she headed over to a file cabinet.

It was locked and so was the next one. Finally she found one that she could force and it slid back with a grinding crack. There was an old half-empty bottle of rye and two tin cups. She also found a dated Webster’s dictionary, some more packets of pencils and some empty notebooks.

The next drawer had some actual files or at least holders for them. Rifling through she found invoices, bills, mostly for farm stuff. The names were interesting, in a grocery bill for 1947 she found Jared’s name. Augusta was there and Sundance. Not one document was dated past 1957.

It was fascinating stuff and Stacy thought if she could kick back for a few days she would find gold. But so far, nothing she had seen told her anything she hadn’t already suspected. She slammed the drawer with a curse.

Next she tried the desk drawers, none were locked. She found an old Colt .45, but no ammo. It didn’t look like it worked, but she knew little about guns. With the gun she found some tame 1950s girlie mags and a couple of calendars from the 1940s.

The she startled and jumped back. Her breathing was like an oncoming freight train and she fixed her gaze on one gloomy spot in the shadows at the back of the desktop.

Staring at her were the blood red eyes of a wolf. A picture of course and she reached out a careful hand to take up the paperback sporting the picture. It was a horror pulp fiction offering from the 1950s. Someone had a sense of humour.

Stacy started to laugh as she tossed the book aside. Then she sighed. “Come on, there must be something,” she snapped and slammed the desk drawer shut.

The rattle at the door was worse than seeing the book and for a long second she wondered if her heart was about to leap out of her chest and make its own break for it.

For a second more she thought about hiding but the door opened to light up the room.

Silhouetted by the doorframe stood Augusta, she was poised like a hungry dog and wore a face like summer thunder.

Stacy clutched her chest and let out a breath that was halfway to being relieved.

“Augusta, I was…” she blurted.

“I know what you were doing, precisely what I told you not to do,” Augusta accused, but even she had relaxed some.

“Yah,” Stacy drawled, adding with a wincing face, “Totally busted.”

Augusta almost smiled and shook her head before turning to try the light switch by the door. When nothing happened she closed the door anyway and crossed the room to try a freestanding lamp in the corner. The abandoned office lit up.

“Man this is a mess,” Stacy suggested and dragged her fore finger along some dust. The action made her sneeze twice.

“Do you know who you are? Really I mean?” Augusta asked as she strolled towards the younger woman.

Stacy laughed and grinned at the larger older woman. “I think it goes, ‘Who do you think you are?’ but I get it, I am out of line. I was just curious, but you knew that.”

“Oh I know who you think you are,” Augusta countered, “I know too that you are lost and searching for something. But you won’t find it in here.”

“I can see that, I guess,” Stacy sighed, “What do you say we go get a coffee and… eh why are you looking at me like that?”

Augusta drew in a breath through her nose and took hold of her temper. “I know what you need right now and it isn’t coffee.”

“I think I’ll just go,” Stacy tried to push past and pointed at the door.

Augusta took hold of the girl and half carried her over to a chair against the wall. It was an easy matter to deposit the young woman face down across her lap; less so to tug down her denims to expose the brief covering on her bottom. But the matron managed it.

It was so quick that Stacy was still trying to make sense of it when she felt a breeze across her bare bottom. “What the hell? Are you crazy this ain’t 1950…” the young woman gasped in a frantic voice.

“Sadly no,” Augusta sighed and spanked the girl once across the bottom to extract a yelp.

Stacy looked back at the woman in horror, although as the blood flushed to her face, she kind of wished she faced a wolf. “That hurt,” she said scornfully, “and if you don’t let me up…”

Augusta spanked the girl again and watched the consternation run wild on her upturned face. The third swat was a stinger and three more left two red hills on fire.

It was killing, as Stacy might have said as a teen, but the humiliation was still worse. “I get it, I’m sorry, it is just an old…” she blurted.

Augusta tilted the girl so that her running-at-the-mouth end went nearer the floor and her bare bottom was elevated to be more fully exposed. Then she spanked with real force, adding three or four spanks in rapid succession.

Stacy’s cries and pleadings couldn’t successfully make words and she communicated with futile bucking and yelling. It didn’t save her bottom though, which after a minute was a hot red and rash-mottled. Someone had found a blowtorch and was bathing her tail with it.

Augusta was never one for counting or timing a spanking, she just chartered her course for a long haul until she heard that sea-change in a girl towards half way through their voyage.

“Okay, I get it,” Stacy shouted angrily through the increasingly wet babbling she had been contending with.

“You definitely are getting it and I am going to give it to you,” Augusta snapped, angry at this brat’s defiance.

“Please, I’m sorry,” Stacy wailed.

“I don’t think so,” Augusta said spanking harder and faster.

Stacy rapidly jack-knifed herself to try and break free and then she started cry properly. After that among the weeping and wailing there was an occasionally ‘please’ and ‘sorry,’ but mostly the girl bawled into the floor having given up the fight.

After a few minutes more and every two or three minutes after that Augusta paused to lecture the girl on respect, privacy, ingratitude and a host of moral concepts Stacy had skipped reading about and hadn’t even bothered with the movie.

“Please I am so sorry, I get it, really I do, please,” Stacy croaked, her face was a cascade of tears and she even had a snotty nose.

Augusta inspected the bare bottom. It was hot to the touch and the colour had moved on from strawberry towards plum. The girl was sobbing hard and almost broken.

“Now, I know you won’t listen, I get that. You think you will, but an hour, a day, a week after this spanking you will think it won’t happen again and you will screw up. I just want you to know that I will give you the benefit of the doubt, but when it comes to it I will spank you again. Next time I will spank you pert little bare bottom out there in front of everyone, is that clear?” Augusta said firmly.

“Yes Ma’am,” Stacy sobbed, hoping like she never had before that this was the closing speech and it was over. She knew there wasn’t much she wouldn’t beg to do to be allowed to get off Augusta’s lap just then.

“Good,” the older woman said in a tight voice. “Now stand up and make your way over to… that corner,” Augusta said pointing to an empty part of the office. “Leave your pants and panties down and stand there. No rubbing, no talking.”

Stacy gaped at her and then at the corner. She wanted to protest that she wasn’t five, but she knew better. Now she did.

“Stacy the corner,” Augusta said sharply. “Move or rub before I fetch you and I will spank you again and believe me I will know.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Stacy squeaked and after regarding the woman with a mix of awe and apprehension she tottered across the room to where she had to stand in time out.

“Good girl,” Augusta sighed. “I will look I on you in a bit, you won’t hear me. You had better be standing just like that.”

Stacy sniffed and nodded vigorously.

Augusta smiled at the bare bottom as it cooled and shook her head maternally. Then she left.

Stacy cursed the wall under her breath as her fingers clawed the air in proxy bottom massaging. She didn’t dare rub and God help her if she moved. She never wanted another spanking as long as she lived. For a minute she blamed the world and everyone in it for letting this happen to her and then she burst into heavy sobbing.

Strangely after she tried to hate Augusta she found she couldn’t. She could see her point even if her methods were… Stacy grabbed at her behind, not believing the heat and singing flesh under her fingers. Then she remembered and in a panic snatched them away. It was a full minute before she realised Augusta wasn’t there and she could relax. This was utterly crazy, why was she even standing in the corner like a kid. Then a sound came from somewhere outside and Stacy stiffened. She didn’t dare move.

To be continued

 

 


wolf24Part I here

Alice felt like a love-struck teen as she scampered up to the twins and cursed the feeling. They may have rescued her, but they had kidnapped her too. She had a right to know their intentions. How dare they make her feel this way?

“Hold up,” she panted and came to a stop.

The two men turned slowly and regarded her as they might a little sister in the playground.

“You okay Alice?” John asked.

“What the hell do you mean, am I okay?” she said with more vehemence than she meant. “What the hell am I doing here? What the f…?”

“Alice,” Adam warned and glared at her, “Don’t finish…”

“…the f-freak is going on?” she completed the question, knowing neither liked cursing, especially on the lips of a woman, and then she got angry again. Who the hell did they think they were? Anyway, what were they renegades from the 1950s? The thought brought on a wave of panic and she decided to cast it away and focus on the anger.

“Alice, do you want to take it down a notch?” John soothed her.

“Do I want to…? You bastards, I don’t care who you think you are…”

“Sorry what was that?” Adam said in a solid ice voice.

The heat rose and suddenly Alice was uncertain. She remembered the last time she had called him a bastard, or was it John? “I just mean…”

“Calm down Alice, we were going to find you, but I don’t think you are in the mood for a conversation right now,” John said with smooth paternalism. He looked at Adam and tried to will him into letting her outburst pass.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to calm down eh Alice? Maybe you need a trip to the woodshed,” Adam crossed his arms and gave the hard stare.

Alice remembered the wolf, but somehow it was the memory of her spanking that surged through her. She swallowed hard and felt like a teen again. “Look I don’t think…” she licked her full lips and took a step back as her hands found the rolling curves of her heroine-worthy bottom.

John made a relaxed gesture to restrain his brother and turned to Alice. “Alice, go to your room, before I put you across my knee,” he said with an emphasis on the ‘I,’ “We will talk later.”

“Look I just want to…” Alice almost cried.

“Alice,” John said sharply, “Go to your room.”

The lawyer just gaped at them and then let out a growl of frustration before fleeing. Just like a teenager, she thought, even as she did it.

Adam watched her go with a sense of relief and regret. “You should have just let me spank her,” he said with a sigh.

“I am not sure that is the answer just now, besides, we haven’t sorted out just who has spanking rights on that one,” John answered him, his own gaze following denim-clad sphere of Alice’s with a need he could not put a name to.

Adam laughed. “You sound just like Jared and the other elders, I am proud of you boy. We will soon knock that 21st century neo-feminist socialism out of you yet.”

“You know what I mean,” John snapped, hating that Adam was halfway right. Alice was out of her depth and she was right to be angry. At least up to a point.

Adam sighed heavily as the smile vanished from his face. “Yeah, I do,” he said with real pain etched on his face. “I suppose you are going to say it is all her call.”

“Well isn’t it?” John didn’t sound convinced, his words sounded as if they were out of a book he had once read.

“I am really not sure with that one,” Adam said thoughtfully. “I mean ordinarily, despite what you may think, I would agree. But we have a little situation here. She knows about the curse and can’t face it, also we have a lock down and hunters.

“And there are two of us and she isn’t going to choose is she?” John put in.

“Shit,” Adam laughed, “I had hoped you hadn’t realised that and still thought you weren’t in with a chance.”

“I don’t, and neither do you,” John said suddenly, “I mean, she is an outsider, look at the danger we already put her in… we have to let her go no matter what she wants.”

“Shit,” Adam looked to the heavens. “You have got it bad haven’t you? My instinct is to take her away from here and never let her go, but that is just me.”

John’s face crashed and he tried to smile. “You too eh, we are in a mess,” he sighed.

Adam extended a fist and gently pinched his brother on the arm. “Pity we can’t turn her eh?”

“I am glad we can’t, this is not her world,” John answered, but he had thought of that so many times. No one had ever been turned on purpose, not even with a scratch or a controlled bite, let alone by drinking from a wolf paw print. That was just in the movies.

“Wasn’t some old guy turned about 80 years ago?” Adam said as if it was unimportant.

“He was savaged half to death and was in hospital for weeks. Sundance said he was never the same again and eventually went mad,” John related the story.

“Hanged himself in the woods didn’t? No one knows why he turned and not so many others,” Adam remembered the tales.

“He went to a nuthatch I think and no, I don’t think he committed suicide,” John shook his head; that way was not for Alice.

*

Alice did not miss the irony of going to her room after being sent there. It was not because she had been told to, she had to remind herself, but she didn’t want to see anyone and had no other place to go.

Once there she took a deep breath and sagged against the door; her barrier to the world.

The room was small and utilitarian. The cot was narrow like a bunk and the thin quilt had a coloured chequered pattern in olive and gold. It was old probably; she thought and she focussed on the idle thought to distract her. Then the world surged up into her face and she tried to hold it back with trembling lips until it exploded with a hiss.

With a wail she hurled herself face down on the bed and cried. Great heaving sobs wracked her until she was bawling like a spanked teen and then some. The twins didn’t love her; she had just been a fuck to them. The world was not how she supposed and even now was rising up to crush her. She had never felt so overwhelmed.

On the other side of the compound Stacy was in her element. She had been right. The damn Stone family were freaking werewolves or something like it. What did Coleridge know? She wondered and what was he planning? It occurred to her that she should probably be on his side against the monsters, but something didn’t feel right with that train of thought.

Earlier she had noticed one of the out buildings was or had been an office. The cobwebs were thick on the windows and it had been hard to look in, but through the murk she had seen old file cabinets. There must be some proof, some history to all this, her journalist brain urged her. Damn she needed a coffee. Her mind raced and she made a frog face with her lips and then let them go with a thoughtful pop.

It was her American duty to get into that office. Her readers had a right to know didn’t they? Besides the building was old and the locks looked battered and rusted. The key was probably long lost so it wouldn’t matter if she eased it open a little. Who would know?

Stacy was already halfway across the yard before she had made up her mind. After all, where was the harm?

To be continued...




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