Seven Rosy Tales by Alexis MastersThis spanking anthology contains seven short stories, all focusing on traditional domestic discipline relationships.
"It was the contemplation, the knowledge that inside that house I was once again going to be taught obedience and propriety and submission, and those lessons were going to be horrid and shameful, and curiously satisfying all at once."
Renowned Domestic Discipline author Alexia Masters will delight those who like the occasional quick read with this great anthology of seven short stories, all focusing on traditional domestic discipline relationships.
A Weekend with Seb - Alexia
Robin knew she would be spanked during the weekend with Seb probably in public, certainly bare, in fact, that is why she came. But reality is so much more painful and embarrassing than anticipation.
Alexia's Guardian - Alexia
Jess takes his responsibilities as Alexia's guardian seriously. When indicated, he takes her pants down and spanks good behavior, or at least discretion, into her. When she fights with her teacher, he feels she will benefit from having her panties warmed in front of the teacher, however, he also feels that the teacher could use a proper bare bottom spanking. When she reluctantly agrees, he delivers.
Allen Teaches a Lesson - Alexia
They were his little sister and his wife. And they both needed to be punished, pants down, panties down, bottoms turned red from the application of a leather strap.
As well as four others....
Note: Seven Rosy Tales contains traditional domestic discipline and spanking of adult women. If such themes offend you, please do not buy this book.
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Seven Rosy Tales (Sample Chapter)
This spaking anthology contains seven short stories, all focusing on traditional domestic discipline relationships.
© Alexis Masters and CF Publications, 2013
Author's Note: The following is based upon a real event that occurred during a weekend get-together between spanking friends.
"You forgot to what?" Allen asked his wife incredulously. Utter disbelief had moderated the rumble of displeasure to a less threatening tone, but the danger was still there, and Fran backed away from him warily, edging around the tiny kitchen table where their friend Lynne sat and sliced zucchini, and then wedged herself unwisely in a corner.
A grin that was half grimace flitted across her face. "I forgot to defrost the chops," she admitted, adding hastily as she tried to duck past him, "It'll just take a few minutes to warm 'em in the microwave -- Allen, no!"
She feinted right, ducked low to the left, and was caught anyway. "It'll just take a few minutes to warm something else first," Allen assured her serenely.
Lynne heaved a melodramatic sigh at the inconvenience and moved away from the table. The sliced veggies were swept into a bowl, and the knife and cutting board were moved to the counter and out of the way of the fracas that was sure to be coming. If there was going to be fireworks, Lynne wanted a front row, center seat, yet not so close as to call attention to herself. She leaned back against the sink and grinned.
Allen's grip was strong and determined, but Fran was equally determined to get loose, and she was quite strong herself. She planted her feet on the linoleum and pulled back against her husband who had turned a chair away from the table and set it where he would have plenty of room to swing and Fran could kick and wriggle to her heart's content without knocking the furniture around while he gave her what had to be the third or fourth walloping of the afternoon. But her bare feet skidded, and in one confused moment of struggling and vociferous denial, Fran found herself face down across Allen's knees.
White cotton shorts rode up her thighs, exposing a tempting portion of fair white flesh and a peek of lace panties too. Allen gave six hearty slaps, three to each thigh where it joined her buttock that elicited a squirm and outraged shriek from Fran.
"Ow! Allen, darn you!"
Lynne snickered. Fran was a good deal more polite than she would have been under similar circumstances. Allen, even at his most playful, had a wickedly sharp palm, and an innate talent at knowing where and how to apply it. Lynne hadn't half of her friend's restraint in letting Allen know just how much it hurt.
"Now," said Allen as he rested his arms on Fran's arched back, "A little forgetful, are we?"
"'We' is right," grumbled Fran. "You could have taken them out too!"
For her effort in logic her backside received another punishing volley with the flat of his hand. Lynne saw her friend's fists clench with the sting of it.
"Whose responsibility was it?"
"Yours!"...WHACK..."Ow! Hey! Come on!"...WHACK..."Ow! Allen!"
"Let me put it this way, who put them in the freezer in the first place?"
"I did," she replied grumpily. She wasn't centered on his lap. Her toes barely scraped the floor behind, and she had to keep one hand on the floor to prevent sliding off. The other hand made weak batting motions towards her bottom, as if to cool it with the breeze. Under her breath she added, "But you knew about it too."
Lynne half expected Allen to give it to her good for the show of stubbornness if nothing else, but he surprised them all by letting the comment pass unpunished. He hooked a finger in the waistband of her shorts and gave it a few gentle tugs. "These have to come down."
"Fran...do I have to get the hairbrush?"
"Allen," she wheedled, "let me get up and put the chops up. Dinner is going to be late..."
"I know," Allen stated. "That's what this little session is all about. Lynne will take care of the chops...now."
Lynne gulped. Her heart always took this curious leap when he spoke to her with that commanding voice. She returned his stern look with a meek one of obedience, no need for him to include her in this particular lesson, and replied, "Yes, sir!"
Fran abruptly found herself on her feet beside her husband. One wrist he adamantly held, but her free hand rubbed away at the pinkened flesh of her upper thighs.
"Take them down, Fran," he ordered.
"I can't do it with one hand," she whined.
"If you move away from me - even so much as a step, Fran, and dinner will be delayed by an hour while you and I go downstairs for a nice -"
"NO! Allen, NO!"
"- Long -"
"- session with a razor strop! Do I make myself understood?"
Lynne piped up, "Can I come and watch?"
"You'll have your own trip downstairs if you don't do as you're told, young lady! Get the chops out of the freezer and unwrap them!"
She scooted away from him, and Allen turned his attention back to his wife. His patience was at an end. "Get your shorts down this instant and get your fanny across my lap. What you need is a lesson in responsibility, and if you need to have a lesson in obedience added to that, I'm happy to oblige."
Stunned, Fran hastily complied, and the white cotton shorts bunched around her knees. She was blushing now, and considerably less argumentative. There was some undefinable horror of standing docilely in the middle of the kitchen on a sunny summer day, her shorts lowered so shamefully, while friend and spouse looked at her, and knowing that in a few short moments she would again be face down across Allen's lap, having her bottom terribly, nakedly poised for punishment, like a little girl who never paid attention to what she was told until her bottom smarted. Fran had lost all desire to match her will against Allen, who calmly waited for her to bend over his knee and submit herself to his discipline.
Lynne grabbed the first foil covered package in the freezer that she could lay her hands on, transferred it to the microwave, and hurried back to the sink where she could watch the floor show.
"Lynne, there's an oven shovel in the drawer over there," Allen said as Fran shakily bent forward and placed herself across her husband's knees, surrendering herself to whatever was in store, "Give it to me."
For a delicious moment, Lynne pondered the possibilities inherent in that command, and then Allen's eyebrow rose as if he read her mind and did not approve of what he saw there. She fished the broad paddle from the drawer and sheepishly handed it over, despite muttered objections from Fran.
"I thought you were my friend," said the woman who faced the floor, "Collaborator!"
"I am your friend," Lynne insisted, smirking. "But in matters of discipline, my motto is 'each girl for herself,' my dear, and I don't care to join you in this spanking."
Holding the paddle in his left hand, Allen completed the baring of his wife's fair backside, and then he transferred it to his right. Fran's cheeks were clenched, her eyes screwed shut. As the thin, lacy panties travelled downward Fran bit her bottom lip, then she felt Allen's right arm draw back, and the swift, unwelcomed descent.
"You seem to forget your responsibilities all too often, young lady," Allen lectured mildly. The paddle rose again above the blush of her smarting curves, and came down sharply and with a mighty crack.
"OW!" Fran yelped.
WHACK"Ow! Allen, I'm so-o-orry!"
WHACK "Owww! Really, honey! I'm so-o-o -"
WHACK "AAAH! Pleeeease!" WHACK "Oooo-www, I pro-o-omise it won't happen again! Ow-w-w-w!"
"Forgetting promises you've made before..."
WHACK! "OW-W-W! I'm so-o-orry! It w-won't happen a-GAIN!"
WHACK! "Owwwww! Owwwww! No MORE!"
WHACK! "Pl-e-e-ease! Al-len, that hurts!"
WHACK! WHACK! WHA-cr-a-ack!
"Owwwwwww! Owwwwwwwww! OWWWWWWWWWW!"
Fran rolled and twisted under the fiery touch of the paddle, hardly noticing that it no longer was being applied to her rear end. Her feet flailed the air and she drove her hips back and forth as the heat sank in. But the oven shovel, a thin slice of hardwood, had endured all the punishment it was designed to take and had split down the center, from its farthest edge to the narrow handle. Allen was philosophical about the destruction of one of his favorite implements. He lofted it onto the kitchen table and remarked to no one in particular, "Well, I guess it's time to pull out the woodworking tools again and make Number Four. Fran, are you learning your lesson?"
"Yes! Oh stop! Please STOP!"
His hand delivered half dozen smacks to the underside of her cheeks, and she squealed at the unexpected sting. He didn't let her up. "Mind your manners, young lady," he chided her.
"Yes, sir," she replied more submissively. Normally she could tolerate a good deal more of her husband's ministrations before addressing him so deferentially, but the sound of the paddle cracking and the unholy fire it had lit as it gave its last full measure of devotion, had reminded Fran that occasionally discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and she refrained from telling him just what he could do with the shattered paddle.
Oh, she was sore! Allen lifted her to her feet and propelled her to the corner where she had tried to take refuge, but this time she faced the walls, and her clothing was in disarray. The paddle had left her fanny a bright red, and hot to the touch. She tried to soothe the fire and got three more smacks for her efforts.
"Now you keep your nose in that corner, young lady, and don't let me see you rubbing!" her husband scolded.
Lynne suppressed a giggle. It wasn't funny, she kept reminding herself. It really wasn't.
Allen turned back to their guest and scowled. "Where are the chops?"
"In the microwave," she replied, taking a step back.
He set the defrost cycle and pressed the start button, miniature lightning bolts sparked and sputtered within the oven, and he hastily switched it off, yanked the cord from the wall, exclaiming, "What in the - "
Fran half turned around in her corner just in time to see him open the oven and pull out the package, still wrapped in metal foil. She looked from her thunderstruck husband, to her friend whose eyes were as big as saucers, and Fran said softly, "Oh, are you in trouble now!"