Thursday, February 14, 2013

Winner, Winner Chicken Dinner

And the winner of my Valentine's Day contest is...drumroll, please...

Congratulations!  Please send your address to and I'll get you your prize!
I want to apologize again for not getting my story up in time for the Love Spanks hop. 
Big congrats to all the Love Spanks winners:

  • Love Spanks paddle, donated by Blondie's: Minelle
  • Book Bundle, donated by Stormy: SH (Sammie)
  • $15 Amazon Gift Certificate, donated by Stormy: Kelsey Summer
  • $40 Loose Id Gift certificate, donated by Cara and LI: Cat
  • Kindle Fire/Nook Color, donated by Blushing: His First Mate

Sunday, February 10, 2013



Love Spanks has begun!  Woo!  I hope you enjoy all the great stories on the blog hop.

I had an internet glitch and didn't get my story up in time for the start of the hop.  Big apologies!

So commenting on my story isn't a requirement for entering the big group contest.  For details on how to enter that contest and all the fab prizes you can win, go HERE  Really, go.  Now.  You aren't going to want to miss out.

Here's my story. Actually, it's the beginning of a story I'm working on. Leave me a comment and I'll enter you in a drawing for this little geisha bag:



                Mariah Abbott pulled into her driveway with the warm glow she always felt after volunteering at the children’s hospital. Valentine’s Day was always especially fun there, with a clown in a heart-covered suit handing out cards.

                She unclipped her house key from the loop in her purse designed for that purpose. She flipped on the LED light attached to her key chain and started up the three stairs leading to her front door.  Her heart gave an excited flip as she spotted a package—a very large package wrapped in very shiny red paper dotted with silver hearts, sitting on the small front porch. She instantly, almost instantly, ordered herself not be be silly. There was no possibility the package was for her.  There just…wasn’t.

                A large tag was attached to the elaborate bow on top of the package. Mariah checked it, then  checked it again. The tag read:  “To Mariah Abbott.  From: Cupid.  Because you are deserving of love.”

                Mariah looked over her shoulder and scanned her quiet street, as if someone from one of those shows that pulled pranks on people might be lurking. But no one ran up with a camera and microphone.  She stroked the beautiful silver bow. “I think it’s really for me,” she whispered.

                She unlocked her door and brought the bulky package inside, resisting the temptation to give it a little shake. She placed it next to her dining room table and studied it, a smile twitching on her lips. She tried to decide if she should open it right away. She wanted to. She wanted to rip, rip, rip that bright paper right off. But was it safe?  What could be in it?  Didn’t it have to be a joke?

                Mariah didn’t rip, rip, rip, but she did allow herself to carefully removed the paper from the large box. Only after carefully folding the gift wrap and placing the bow on top—it was much too pretty not to be reused—did she allow herself to open the top of the box.

                Puzzled, she removed a large silver, well, rectangle.  It was large, she estimated it to be four feet by three feet, and absolutely smooth.  As closely as she studied it, she didn’t see any way to open it.  She checked the box, hoping for an instruction booklet. She found a flash drive. Good, there must be instructions on the drive that would tell her how to operate the…Valentine’s present.

                Mariah opened her laptop and slid the flash drive into the USB port, hoping it wouldn’t crash her system, but way too curious not to see what was on it. A second later the image of a saucy-looking cupid appeared.  Yes, saucy was the word for the creature, with his mischievous grin and wink. The image dissolved and a questionnaire took its place.

                Perhaps it’s for some type of warranty, Mariah thought as she began answering the questions, typing in her full name, her address, her phone number.  Then the questions got a little more personal, asking for her height and weight.  Perhaps there was some capacity limits on the…whatever it was. She dutifully typed in the information.

                She couldn’t come up with any sensible reason for the next question, which was “What is your favorite food.” She might be able to understand a question about a food allergy, but a favorite food.  She hesitated, then typed in “tiramisu.”  It was her very favorite, although she rarely ate it. The nutritive value wasn’t very high.

                Mariah answered question after question on her likes and dislikes. She filled in CeeLo Green’s “Fuck You” as one of her five favorite songs, deciding it was better to be honest even though honestly involved profanity.  She had to admit there was something about the song that made her think of her one—and only—boyfriend.  He hadn’t dumped her for a richer woman, but she still liked imaging planting her hands on her hips and singing it to him.

                She filled in Nathan Fillian as one of her five picks for sexiest actor. He wouldn’t have been on her list of best actors, but sexiest, yes, unlike Colin Firth she would have placed on both lists. She selected the fictional character she would most like to kiss.  That was easy-- Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy (whom she had begun picturing as Colin Firth once she saw the BBC miniseries).

                The questions got more personal as she continued. She almost stopped filling in information when she got to number 243, which involved watching four film clips and ranking them on a “hot scale,” a scale, as explained by whoever created the questionnaire, that rated sexual excitement, with heart rate, body flushing, and vaginal lubrication to be considered as factors. But she’d already answered 242 questions, and if she didn’t keep going, she suspected she’d never get the strange silver box to open.

                By question 1000, Mariah found herself mentally exhausted and physically agitated.  No, excited. That was the more accurate word.

                The list of questions on the computer screen dissolved into a message in bright red letters:  “Now go to bed, Mariah. Your present will be ready and waiting in the morning. “


                Mariah woke up at five, no help needed from the alarm. She was routinely an early riser, but this morning, she had that jingley-jangley, it’s-Christmas-morning feeling, something she hadn’t experienced this powerfully since she was a child.  She took a moment to put on her robe and slippers, then rushed to the dining room.  She always had a bowl of Grape Nuts with half a banana for breakfast, most important meal of the day, as soon as she got up.  But today, breakfast could wait.

                The silver box sat where she’d left it, smooth and mysterious as she remembered it, with seemingly no way for her to open it.  Disappointment filled her.  No, there had to be a way to find out what was inside.  No one would give her a box that couldn’t be opened for Christmas.

                She ran one hand over the top of the box, and one side silently slide open.  A…a man emerged, straightening as he stepped out, the box closing behind him. He was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. Mariah realized they were blue, but of such a dark shade she momentarily thought they were black. He had the long-fingered hands of Daniel Day Lewis and the lean body of Colin Firth.

                Some kind of automaton, Mariah thought, but she backed up several large steps.  The man couldn’t be real, but he looked real, and it was unnerving to have a man in her home, especially with her standing there in her nightgown.  While he was wearing a black-and-granite button-down cardigan, that Mariah was sure was cashmere. It made her want to run her hands down it.  Or maybe that was his chest.  Under the cardigan he wore a white shirt and a black tie.  His grey herringbone pants fit him perfectly.  He was dressed just the way she’d want a date of hers to be, a date who was going to escort her to perhaps a romantic Valentine’s dinner. 

                “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mariah,” the man said, in a low voice with just a touch of humor lurking in his tone.  “Belated,” he added.

                “You can talk!” she exclaimed.

                “I can do everything,” he answered.

                “I’m sorry. That was rude.  I…I’m a little confused.  What, I mean who, are you?” she blurted out, her words coming out faster than they usually did.

                “What I am is your Valentine’s present,” he answered, taking one step toward her.  “And who I am is Anthony.” He took one more step forward.

                Anthony. She loved that name.  Had that been one of the questions she’d answered on the computer last night? She couldn’t remember.

                Had she answered questions about the way she liked a man to smell? Because he smelled wonderful, citrusy and a scent she could only describe as green.

                “Who designed you?” she asked.  “If I’m not being rude again.”

                He smiled, and crinkly smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes.  “You’re welcome to ask whatever you like,” he answered.  His smile widened. There was something of Nathan Fillian’s sexy cockiness in that grin. “But is that what you really want to do right now? Ask questions?” He took a step closer.  He was just one step away from her now.  “Because I’d rather kiss you. As I am for Valentine’s Day.”

                Then he looked at her with those amazing deep blue eyes, waiting for her response. Mariah swallowed hard, having difficulty finding the right words. Instead, she stepped forward, and that was all it took.  He wrapped one arm around her waist, and with this free hand, stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles a tender gesture that made her shiver.

                He lowered his lips until they were a whisper away from hers then he told her “Happy Valentine’s” again, and kissed her, a soft, sweet kiss.  The next kiss wasn’t as sweet or soft.  It was hot and deep, and Mariah had to wrap both her arms around his neck to stay on her feet as his tongue began exploring her mouth.

                Tentatively, she brushed her tongue against his, then she pulled away.  “I’m sorry.  I--  I don’t really know what I’m doing.  I’m fifty years old, and I haven’t had a boyfriend since—“

                “Shhh.  Anthony pressed his warm—so warm—fingers against her lips.  Anything you do is fine.  Anything.”  He kissed her again, pulling her flush against him so she could feel that his body was responding to her.

                “So eggs benedict and chocolate-chip pancakes and mimosas?” he asked when he finally lifted his head from hers.”

                “Um, sounds delightful,” Mariah managed to say, although her head was spinning, her lips were tingling, and her entire body felt flushed.  “But I don’t have most of the ingredients.”  Chocolate chips and champagne weren’t something she routinely--or ever--kept in the pantry.

                “That’s not a problem.  I do.”  Anthony moved over to the silver box and pressed his hand on top.  The side slid open—Mariah couldn’t quite see how the mechanism worked—and he removed a sack of groceries.  “To the kitchen,” he exclaimed, and off he walked like he’d been living with Mariah forever.  Together they made an amazing breakfast, and she ate it sitting on his lap, even though she didn’t even know him and she was pretty sure he wasn’t human.

                Then they snuggled on the couch under her favorite afghan and watched a mammoth chick flick marathon, before creating an even more amazing dinner.  At the end of the day, Anthony seemed to realize that she wasn’t ready to invite him to her bedroom.  He simply kissed her goodnight—several melting times—then told her he’d see her in the morning.


                Mariah awoke with the Christmas-morning feeling just as strong as it had ever been on any actual Christmas.  Maybe stonger. Now she knew what was in the box.  Anthony! A man who seemed to have been designed for her.

                She hurried into the dining room, wondering if she'd find him at the table or in the guest room or maybe in the box.  She didn’t find him at all.  Instead, she found a note that read:

                Mariah, darling—

                I have a mission for you. You’re to go out and treat yourself  to a truly sexy bra and panty set.  Don’t summon me until you have them on. (Yes, that’s an order, but I hope an enjoyable one.) I expect to hear from you no later than 1:00 p.m.


                Mariah stared at the note. She had plenty of very nice, serviceable underthings.  However, she wouldn’t call them sexy.  Sexy underwear seemed like a luxury, and Mariah considered saving for a comfortable retirement the biggest luxury there was.  Still, a little splurge wouldn’t hurt.  Good thing Valentine’s feel on a Friday, so she still had a day before she had to be back at work.        

                So she took herself off to Macy’s.  After some consideration and a bit of embarrassment, she selected a Maidenform bra and hipster panties in a matching shade of vibrant lavender.  They were both 15% off, and she thought they were quite pretty.  Please with herself, Mariah drove home, at the speed limit, showered, shampooed, shaved, and moisturized, then put on her new bra and panties.  Anthony’s note hadn’t said what to wear otherwise, so she put on a corduroy skirt and a red sweater, in honor of the holiday that had brought him to her.  Then she walked to the silver box, feeling like she was on a roller-coaster, on the part where you went up click-click-click before the whoosh.  She hadn’t been on a roller-coaster in years—decades—but she remembered the feeling and loved it.

                She hoped if they did end up making love—because that had to be what the new underwear was for—Anthony would realize she needed him to take the lead.  She wanted to be with him, to feel his hands on her body, but she wasn’t any kind of seductress.

                He’s your ideal man, she reminded herself.  She’d spent the entire day with him on Christmas, and everything she discovered about him was exactly was she wished it to be.  With trembling fingers, she ran her hands over the top of the box, and a moment later Anthony stood in front of her.  He wore a sweater vest today.  She loved a man in a sweater vest.

                Anthony checked his watch—a classy one, Mariah noted, not a lot of gizmos, nice leather band—and nodded in approval.  “Good girl. You’re back in plenty of time.  I’m assuming you obeyed my instructions and are wearing your new underwear.”

                The word “obey” sent a rush of heat from her belly down to her pussy.  “I-I, yes, I obeyed,” she stammered.

                Anthony raised one eyebrow.  “Perhaps I should see for myself.”  He stepped up to her and ran one hand up under her sweater.  He cupped her breast and gave it a squeeze, then slid his hand away, letting it run over her bare stomach as he did.  “Hmmm.”  He didn’t sound exactly happy.  He reached down and grasped the hem of her corduroy skirt in his fingers, her drew it slowly up, up up, over her knees, over her thighs, and, finally over her waist.  He studied her violet panties for a long moment in silence.

                “Serviceable,” he decreed.  “And I like the color.  However, I would not call them truly sexy, and they certainly don’t qualify as a way to treat yourself, young lady.”

                Young lady.  She was fifty!  But the words didn’t sound silly to her.  Then made her tremble, tremble with a heady mix of anxiety and excitement. 

                Anthony jerked the skirt down.  “Tell me something.” His voice was stern, and his dark eyes were a bit chilly.  “How much did you pay for the set?”

                “The, um, panties were eleven dollars, and the bra was thirty-eight.  That was after the fifteen percent off,” she added quickly.

                “There’s nothing wrong with a bargain,” Anthony told her.  “But I didn’t send you out in search of a bargain, did I?” He picked up the note he’d written.  ‘My exact words were “treat yourself to something truly sexy.’  You failed on both counts.”  He crumpled the note.  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a spanking, Mariah.”

                “What?” The word came out in a squeak.

                “You heard me.”

                He walked out of the dining room, clearly expecting Mariah to follow.  Which she did, as if she had no choice.  Though, of course, she had all sorts of choices.  She strongly suspected if she told him no with real conviction, he’d stop whatever he was doing.  She was almost positive she could order him back into his box whenever she wanted to, and, if it was her desire, she could leave the box closed for the rest of her life.

                Instead, she trotted right after him into the living room.  He sat himself down on her flowered sofa, his legs spread.  “Come here,” he commanded.

                And she did, though the trembling in her body had turned to outright shaking.  Anthony reached out, took her by the wrist, and with one sharp tug, he had her over his knee, her behind raised into the air.  Two seconds later, he had her corduroy skirt pulled up.  He panted his large hand on her bottom with is fingers splayed.

                “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked. 

                “The bra and panties are prettier than the kind I usually wear,” Mariah said, her voice coming out more meekly than she’d planned.  She realized it was hard not to sound meek when was in this position.  Although Maureen O’Hara had been anything but meek in that movie where John Wayne had spanked her.  Mariah remembered that was one of the scenes she’d watched as part of the questionnaire she’d filled out on Christmas Eve.

                “Are you saying that you believed you followed my directive?” Anthony asked, giving he bottom a light squeeze.

                Mariah considered the question.  If she was absolutely honest, she’d have to say she knew the undergarments weren’t sexy or much of a treat. But did she have to be  completely honest?  She nibbled her lip as she thought about it.

                Anthony raised his hand and gave her bottom a hard smack.  “Don’t even consider lying to me,” he warned, as if he could read her mind.  “I’m warning you know that if you lie, you’ll get a second spanking and you’ll be one very sorry woman.”

                “I thought they were pretty,” Mariah repeated, with a tiny bit of defiance, which immediately got her another smack.  “But, no, I didn’t believe they were exactly what you specified in the note.”

                “And that is exactly why I’m going to punish you.”  She gasped as he pulled her new purple panties to her knees.  “Now, tell me this, when was the last time you received a disciplinary spanking?”

                “I, um, I never was,” she admitted.

                “That surprises me,” Anthony commented.  “It was my impression cupid decided to reward you because you’ve been extremely good.”

                “I suppose I’m just naturally good,” she answered.

                “What I suppose is that you’ve never put yourself in any situations where naughtiness was an option,” Anthony observed.  “I gave you one simple instruction, and you immediately disobeyed it.”

                A little jolt of anger shot through Mariah, and she began feeling just a little Maureen O’Hara-esque.  “Who are you to give me instructions at all?  You’re my toy!”

                “Oh, now that wasn’t a nice answer.  Or a smart one.  I think I’ll have to give you a little extra spanking for sauciness, but let’s deal with the disobedience first.”

                And he began spanking her, with spanks so sharp and so fast that Mariah began to squirm over his knee.  “No, no, no!” she exclaimed.

                He just laughed and kept right on spanking, though he slowed down.  At first Mariah was grateful for that, but he concentrated each of the deliberate spanks on one spot of her bottom.  He didn’t move on to another spot until had her throbbing.

                Mariah gritted her teeth, determined not to cry out again.  It’s not like it had done any good.  The bastard had laughed, and then started up that horrible spank-one-spot technique.  Finally, he stopped, and she let out a long quavering sigh.  It was over.

                At least she thought it was over.  Anthony gave her two light pats on the fanny.  “I’m sure that will help you remember to be more obedient next time.  Now let’s see what we can do about that sassiness.”  He helped her to her feet.  “Go to the cube and bring me what you find inside.  Then we can continue.”

                Mariah planted her hands on her hips, feeling a shout of anger building inside her.  The way his lips lightened and his eyes darkened convinced her to keep her mouth shut.  She nodded.  She took a step toward the dining room, then realized she panties had fallen completely off.  She began looking on the floor for them.

                “You won’t be needing panties, since I’ll be spanking you again in a few minutes, and when I’m done, I suspect you won’t want anything on that bottom of yours,” he informed her.  “You might as well take off the skirt too.  It will spare me pulling it up.”

                Mariah still didn’t feel quite ready to start up a confrontation.  Her bottom was on fire, and it just didn’t seem like an intelligent course of action.  She unbuttoned her skirt, removed it, folded it, and set it on the coffee table.   Heat flooded her face until it burned almost as badly as her bottom did.  She was standing in front of him half naked, half naked while he sat there fully clothed.  It was so unfair.  So wrong.

                “You have great legs, Mariah,” Anthony commented.  “Great legs, a great ass, and from what I can see, a perfect little pink pussy.”

                She sputtered, half humiliated, and half insanely turned on, but no words came out.

                “Now go to the cube and bring me what you find.  Don’t make me ask you again.  We’ve already established what happens when you disobey me, haven’t we?” And there was humor in his tone.  Arrogant bastard.

                Still,  Mariah scurried away, acutely conscious that her bare bottom was on full view and that it was probably as red as a Valentine’s Day heart.  When she reached the silver box, she placed her hand on the top.  The side silently slid open.  Mariah reached inside, and her fingers brushed against what felt like bristles.  Definitely bristles, she realized when she pulled the item free.  It was a hairbrush, lovely actually, except for the unmistakable resemblance the wide maple back had to a paddle.  Her stomach turned over in a feeling that was part fear and part something very different from fear.