This place smells like flowers and embalming fluid. Nobody is at the front desk, but a gentle song emanating from the rear of the building draws him through the waiting room with its comforting boxes of tissues at the ready for mourners

A young woman flits about placing flowers in arrangements about a gleaming mahogany coffin. He clears his throat, but she seems not to hear him, humming to herself as she goes about her business with a gaiety that seems out of place in this hallowed home of death.

“Excuse me, miss.”

His greeting goes entirely ignored. Unless she is deaf, she is deliberately ignoring him.

“Excuse me, miss, police business.”

She looks up in surprise and drops the flower she is holding.

“Balls!”

“Excuse me, young lady?”

“Balls!” She repeats the curse with a gleeful grin.

“Is that any kind of language to use in a mortuary?”

“I don’t think he cares what I say,” she gestures cavalierly towards a closed coffin in the corner.

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“Skye will be late today. Again.”

In the low light of dawn Edward Major buried his head in his hands for a moment then looked up at his study partner of twenty years, Rayna White. Her usually smiling face was drawn into a severe expression and her deep green eyes glinted with annoyance. They only had three months to conduct their studies and Doctor Skye McCloud, an accomplished linguist, was essential to the work they were doing assessing the impact of deforestation on local animal populations.

“Why?”

“She didn’t say. She just sent a message with a runner.” Rayna tossed the hastily scrawled note onto the expedition leader’s desk. “Edward, this is going too far.”

“Agreed. But what can we do? She’s the only one that speaks the language around here.” Edward waved away a mosquito as he spoke. It was hot already. Hot and humid. Perhaps to be expected in the Amazonian jungle, but yet somehow still deeply unsettling for a man who had been raised in the hills of Scotland.

“You shouldn’t have let her move camp to the village,” Rayna said reprovingly, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. A trickle of sweat rolled from her fine neck down her khaki clad cleavage and Edward was momentarily distracted. Not for the first time, he inwardly bemoaned the fact that Rayna was more interested in women than he was.

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“If she catches you, she’ll skin your hide.” The first angel spoke with a worried expression, fiddling with her copper gold halo that was fast losing its glow.

“No she won’t, she’ll forgive me,” the second angel grinned unrepentantly. Her halo had gone to a deep burnished bronze color, signifying that its owner was behaving not at all angelically.

“Just… a.. little.. more…” she set her mouth firmly and twiddled with the wire fence. It had been wired with heavenly harp wire, a wire uncuttable by any shears made by man or made by angel, for that matter. No wire, no matter how strong, was a match for Agnostia. She had spent her earthly life about farms and she knew very well the way to wire and unwire a fence, heavenly or not.

“Let’s just get out of here, Agnostia!” The first angel spoke again, tugging at her smudged robe.

“Just a second, Impatia! We will be through any moment!”

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From the 60’s, or perhaps not: When retiring to the bedroom, prepare yourself for bed as promptly as possible. Whilst feminine hygiene is of the utmost importance, your tired husband does not want to queue for the bathroom, as he would have to do for his train, but remember to look your best when going to bed. Try to achieve a look that is welcoming without being obvious. If you need to apply face cream or hair rollers, wait until he is asleep before doing so, as it can be shocking for a man last thing at night. When it comes to the possibility of intimate relations with your husband, it is important to remember your marriage vows and in particular, your commitment to obey him.

If he feels that he needs to sleep immediately afterwards, then so be it. In all things be led by your husband’s wishes. Do not pressure him in any way to stimulate intimacy. Should your husband suggest congress, then, agree humbly all the while being mindful that a man’s satisfaction is more important than a woman’s. When he reaches his moment of fulfilment, a small moan from yourself is encouraging to him and quite sufficient to indicate any enjoyment that you may have had.

Should your husband suggest any of the more unusual practices, be obedient and uncomplaining but register any reluctance by maintaining silence. It is likely that your husband will fall promptly asleep after relations have concluded, so once he is fast asleep, adjust your clothing, freshen up and apply your night-time face and hair care products.

You may then set the alarm so that you can arise shortly before him in the morning. This will enable you to have his morning cup of tea ready when he awakes.

I’ve decided to release the Trouble Books archive once more, so you’ll find six spanking new short stories to read. From vampire spankings, to naughty eastern acolytes, and from rebellious lesbians to strict Victorian gentleman, there should be something to suit all tastes.

Run amok in the Trouble Books Free Spanking Archive

The third book in the Rogue the Serpent series finds Rogue trapped in the snowy northern lands under the watchful eye of the beautiful and strict Oksana, infamous tigress of Icebane.

The icy northern climes do not suit Rogue’s temperament, nor do the frequent discipline sessions she finds her self subjected to. But when an escape attempt lands Rogue with sweet maid Suki in her arms, she realizes that she can no longer run.

Rogue must make a stand for freedom and for love. But will either be tolerated in a land where one woman rules all?

(10 chapters / 61 pages)

Download for just $4.99

Read a sample chapter.

For those of you who have been enjoying the tales of Rogue, here is a little sneak peek to tide you over Enjoy!

“Lady Oksana, it is a pleasure.” A pudgy hand was extended towards the object of the greeting, the red haired warrior lady of the north, a woman who carried scars with the honor of men, the inimitable, the terrible Lady Oksana. Feared, revered and now after the death of Colban, ruler of all Northern states, surrounding leaders naturally sent their respects and well wishes. None wished to be the target of an army lead by this icy eyed beauty.

The handshake was not to be however. Before he could take her pale hand and press his thin lips to her flesh in a pledge of loyalty, a dark shape flung itself out of the shadows and the unfortunate emissary collapsed into a high pitched screaming mess.

“Rogue! Release Lord Brach at once!” Oksana rose to her feet, her shining black leather leggings and chest piece creaking menacingly as she did. Where there was not leather, there were the stark lines of tattoos and scars earned in battle, each one made with meaning, each one fraught with significance, each one the memory of a death missed by a hair’s breadth or less. Oksana focused her angry gaze on the smaller woman with her fangs embedded in the unfortunate emissary’s leggings. Rogue. Typical Rogue. When the totem of the serpent rose within her, all conscience, all notion of right and wrong, good and evil escaped her, she became as cold blooded as the best of her totem and just as deadly.

Her eyes golden and slitted, Rogue looked fearsome and otherworldly, but that did not intimidate Oksana in the slightest as she gripped the little monster by the back of her neck and forced her to release the very shaken rotund man.

“Sorry, thought he wasss an intruder.” Rogue grinned unrepentantly, licking the blood from the fangs she could extend at will. The freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose gave her the appearance of a malevolent small imp. Her light brown hair fell into her eyes and she shook it out as her eyes returned to their usual greenish gold color.

“I apologize, Lord Brach,” Lady Oksana released Rogue and turned her attention to the man trying to overcome the barrier of a rather portly stomach to staunch the flow of blood on his lower leg.

“Not at all. It’s hard to find good minions,” he replied offhandedly, his high voice thick with the sort of stupidity that can only result from generations of aristocratic inbreeding.

“Your mother mated with a donkey,” Rogue muttered, then yowled as Oksana’s palm caught her square across one rounded bottom cheek.

“Wait outside,” her Mistress ordered.

Rogue slinked out obediently, muttering curses as she went. Pin and Prunella were waiting outside, smirking with their silly smiles. Pin and Prunella were Oksana’s albino lover twins. Their eyes pink, their hair white as snow, in Rogue’s eyes, they were the most horrid and loathsome creatures on the planet, but their pretty features and nimble bodies earned them the admiration of many a woman and many a man.

“Trouble again, Rogue?” Pin sneered, her arm around Prunella’s waist.

“She’s going to beat you, you know,” Prunella added.

“We’ll watch,” Pin said.

“From the shadows,” Prunella finished.

They liked to complete one another’s sentences almost as much as they enjoyed taunting Rogue.

“Go die in a fire,” Rogue replied, wiping the last traces of blood from her mouth and stalking away from the terrible twosome. It still blew her mind that these were the girls Oksana had tried so hard to protect. They were good for nothing more than being pretty bookends, if they’d been made of plaster they wouldn’t have been any more useful than your average statue.

Rogue hadn’t known what to expect when Lady Mari sent her to the North with Oksana. She hadn’t known what to expect when Oksana finally revealed the girls she had kept so carefully hidden away from danger whilst Rogue had risked her neck for the nation and done battle with Colban. But to discover that Oksana’s prized possessions were little more than pretty human fluff was disappointing in the extreme.

It was cold in the north, so Rogue donned her furs as she left the castle and made her way onto the ramparts. Ice winds blew steadily, carrying sleet and snow, whiting out the lands around Icebane. Her heart yearned for the lower lands, for warmer climes. The serpent was restless here, uncomfortable, constantly on edge.

As she pondered fate’s cruel twists and the obligation that kept her chained to an ice locked nation, a single tear rolled down Rogue’s cheek and froze there.

“She’s a lesbian,” Marty shouted to me, hiding her words behind her long blonde hair.

“She’s a what?” I replied. The comment had come out of nowhere. One moment we were sitting in the back of the smoky club watching the writhing patrons for signs of a good mark, the next Marty was shouting sexual orientations at me like some mad game of ‘I spy’.

“A lesbian,” Marty shouted again.

It was loud in the club, but I’d heard her perfectly well that time. I followed the significant glance of her eyes towards a woman who was sitting at the bar, laughing and drinking with several young women around her. She was older than them, in fact, I’d have guessed that she was probably older than most people in the bar. Her face had a maturity to it that you didn’t often see amongst the wide eyes and grins of the young fools that flocked this place every weekend. I put her at mid forties at least, but she was dressed stylishly in what looked to be black leather. In front of her on the bar, there was a dead give away motorcycle helmet. So she was a biker. That explained the way her long dark hair had been braided up around her head.

“Wonder what sort of bike she has,” I shouted back to Marty behind my hand, nearly getting a face full of boobs as she turned towards me. We were decked out in our work gear. For Marty, that meant a low cut top that showed off her cleavage and plenty of make up, enough to hide her real features and make her look like just another little club slut. I was dressed to blend in. Dark pants, dark top, my shortish brown hair pulled back into two little pig tails at the base of my head. I wore no make up, if you didn’t count the false nose silicone glued to my face. It crooked like a witch’s nose and made sure that any eyes that settled on my face soon passed on to more attractive visages. In that club, I blended in completely, my presence no more noticed than the furniture.

Read more…

I now return you to the ongoing beating that you brats are gagging for. ;D

Once again you hear Mari’s voice, low and soft. It makes your stomach flip and turn in strange ways. She sounds so kind, yet she has no qualms about soundly spanking you like a little girl.

“Quit squirming, little piglet, you earned this. Lay still like a good girl and take your comeuppance and it will be over quickly. Struggle like a brat and it will only extend it,” she warns.

You are not the type to take warnings. “You don’t own me!” you growl, squirming and struggling as best you can.

“Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong. I own every inch of you.” The tone of possession in her voice sends shivers down your spine. She is completely assured, and you realize, completely correct. You are entirely at her mercy. You have not the strength to fight her, nor the power to stop her doing with you as she sees fit.

“You can choose pleasure, or you can choose pain,” she says, resuming the spanking with vigor. For the next few minutes of your life, there is nothing but pain as her palm marks your bottom and your spirit. No matter how much you kick, scream, squeal or threaten, she simply continues to spank your bottom with firm, hard smacks that sear one over the other until you feel nothing but a burning, throbbing mass where your bottom once was.

By the time she stops spanking, there is no fight left in you. Your struggles have come to naught and have earned you only bright red buttocks. Lady Mari releases you and watches you dance before her, rubbing your bottom furiously. There is a sympathetic gleam in her eye as she takes you by the hand and pulls you down to kneel between her legs. As you glance up at her under your lashes, you feel your face flush almost as red as your bottom. She has brought you down more than a peg or two, and so simply. You realize that your days of rebellion could be coming to an end under her firm hand.

“I hope you learned something, my dear,” she says, gently brushing your hair out of your eyes.

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There is a sound of sweeping fabric, and in the next moment you are no longer walking next to Mari, but are bent over her knee, your bottom pointing to the sky. She’s perched in such a way that you can’t even reach the ground with your hands, you’re totally hopeless with no leverage of any kind as she pats your bottom gently.

“Would you care to rephrase that answer?” she asks softly.

“I guess….Sir?”

Mari laughs gently. “So you wish to test me? Very well.”

Your hurried pleas that you do not wish to test her after all are ignored as she props her knee up higher, raising your cheeks, and brings her palm down across your bottom with a sound smack. You cry out in pain which quickly turns to embarrassment as she murmurs, “No point spanking cloth,” and reaches under you, deftly unfastening your breeches and tugging them down to reveal your bare bottom. The feeling of her strong, sure fingers so close to your intimate places sends a tingle down your spine and momentarily calms your struggles.

It’s been years since you found yourself in this position. You’d forgotten how it feels to be held, bared over the lap of one much more powerful than you. The trance is broken abruptly as she brings her hand down hard across your cheeks once, twice, three times in quick succession. You yowl as the shock of the smacks jolt your body, then after the initial volley comes tingling burning pain shooting through your bottom, making you wriggle and squirm. Once again you hear Mari’s voice, low and soft. It makes your stomach flip and turn in strange ways. She sounds so kind, yet she has no qualms about soundly spanking you like a little girl.

“Quit squirming, little piglet, you earned this. Lay still like a good girl and take your comeuppance and it will be over quickly. Struggle like a brat and it will only extend it.”

What’s this? A serial, democratic, choose your fate spanking story. To start from the beginning, click here.