by Thianna D
"We said we'd review it at the end of the first year. I don't want to push you into an early decision, but I don't think Hank will wait another five or six months."
"I want to stay, have for a while, but I was worried you wanted to go home. Happy?"
"Nearly! One other thing, something else that's due for review: D.D. We can drop it if you want. You kept your end of the bargain for long enough."
"Oh, feck! I don't know if I do want to drop it. Once we tweaked your stupid rules I kind of got used to it."
"Oi, watch it! It's only up for discussion. You're not out of the woods yet," Jim said, putting on his most serious face.
"You don't scare me, tiger," Ange said, tickling him. That signaled the end of the discussion for the night. Jim took her empty glass and set it on the table beside his.
"So, you're not scared? Are you sure?" He dragged a squealing Ange across his lap and spanked her several times over the seat of her pants.
"You're nothing but a great big pussy cat," she challenged. Jim could feel a rush of blood to his head and to his cock. Spanking her always made him hard as hell, but when she goaded him like that it was an extra high. He felt an adrenalin rush as the urge to dominate obliterated all other thoughts. Through sheer determination he managed to get her jeans down around her knees without opening the button or zipper, even as she fought against him.
"Is that the best you can do?" she taunted as he tried to get her panties down while she held them tight with both hands. He swatted her behind again and again until she moved her hands to protect her bottom.
"Hah, gotcha," he said triumphantly as his swift movements had them down before she could stop him. He continued spanking, watching her round orbs change color from a light pink to scarlet red. Although she kicked and fussed, it was obviously bringing her pleasure as she shifted her position to ensure their contact was full on. After about five minutes of continuous slaps, he paused to really admire his handiwork. Ange made no attempt to free herself.
"More?" he asked.
"Break for a minute please, but then yes, more."
"Okay, my naughty little slut, what the lady wants, the lady gets. What do you say I pay a little visit in here tonight?" Jim had started to circle his thumb around her anus. Ange arched her hips to meet his touch and yet, involuntarily, her cheeks clenched, trying to block his access. He spanked her twice more on each cheek. "Ah-ah-ah, open up for me, bad girl." He was rewarded by a low groan as Ange slackened her muscles.
"Sorry, it always makes me nervous."
"And wet," he tutted as he checked out her pussy. He inserted two fingers into her dripping orifice and gathered her own slick juices before returning to that naughty tight little hole that that never failed to fascinate him. He could smell the scent of her arousal and it sent demanding messages to his brain, urges that needed to be fulfilled. He inserted his moistened index finger, just a little. Enough to make her squirm.
"This delightful little hole is mine tonight, but if you're lucky, and I mean really lucky, I might just fuck your fanny until you come first. Only if you're really nice to me. And you'll have to be extra nice if you want me to go upstairs for the lube." He heard her breath quicken and felt her body tense. He knew she loved it.
"How nice?" she asked softly.
"Blow job nice, if you give good enough head, you get lube."
Within seconds, Ange had removed her restrictive jeans and was down on her knees at his feet. Her cheeks were flushed and her pupils totally dilated. She was at her most biddable, hence her heightened state of arousal. He raised his hips to help her undo his trousers and release his shaft, so engorged that Ange fumbled as she tried to release it from his boxers. First, she very gently touched the tip with her fingers, smearing the precum that had gathered all around the head. Jim was torn between a desire to force her mouth down on him and the ecstasy of her gentle touch. Just as it was too much, she tightened her grip, pulling down the entire length and back up swiftly and repeatedly. As suddenly as she started she stopped and gave it the softest of kisses before taking it as deeply as she could into her mouth. Ange sucked hard and the tension in his cock mounted. His body stiffened as she worked her mouth up and down in swift motion. He felt her hand go round the base of the shaft and she worked her hand and mouth in opposite directions, twisting her hand in a corkscrew motion.
"Stop," he groaned, tugging hard on her hair to prevent her going down again. He knew her game, she was trying to control him, to make him cum. "Pull that stunt again and you can kiss goodbye to the lube."
Ange peered up at him through half closed eyes and gave him her most innocent look, but the twinkle in her eye told the real truth. She was playing him.
"I want you standing by the dining table when I get back. Don't touch yourself, or do anything to cum. Leave your shirt on but open it. I'm going to punish you for that little power play, young lady. Seems you've forgotten who wears the trousers around here. That nice tight little bottom hole is going to know who is boss."
When he returned, she was exactly as instructed. He placed his box of tricks on the table and took out a leather flogger and a pair of Velcro cuffs. Wordlessly he cuffed Ange's hands behind her back, threading the cuffs through the back of a chair. Jim admired how it caused her breasts to jut out, just as he had wanted, all the while watching her for signs of either excitement or stress. So far all he could see was excitement.
"Safe-word if you need to, it's not a real punishment. Keep your head back," he told Ange. He peeled back the front panels of her shirt, exposing her breasts. Carefully aiming to avoid her face, Jim flicked the flogger across her chest. Ange inhaled as the tails bit her breasts.
"Okay?" he asked. Ange nodded, her breathing ever more erratic. He repeated it over and over, delighting in how it made her nipples pucker and her breasts bob as she recoiled from the impact. Her breasts were reddening and swelling with arousal. Delicious. Once he was satisfied that they were adequately chastised, he released her from her manacles. "Bend over the table," he ordered and she quickly complied, obviously eager both to please and be pleased.
"Good girl," he whispered. He widened her legs and pulled her back so her bottom was jutting out over the edge, and settled himself between her legs. He teased her clit with his cock for a moment or two, but she was so greedy that a slight overshot brought his member to her welcome opening and she seemed to vacuum him up in her hunger, sucking him in deep. She felt so good to his throbbing need and he banged hard, as deep as he could go. Over and over until he felt her cunt tighten and pulsate around his shaft. Her whole body shook and trembled with her orgasm. Then he withdrew.
"No… please… more," Ange whimpered.
Jim took the lube from the box and squirted it liberally on her tight rosebud. He brought one hand forward and rubbed her clit. The swollen nub seemed alive in his hand. With the other hand he guided his girth to the naughty opening. Ange gasped as he stretched her, inch by inch, working his way in. She met him with back thrusts, easing his entry. Once fully seated he withdrew partially and worked in and out until he felt all the tension leave her body. Then he pumped. He thrust and worked her clit simultaneously until Ange was tensing again, and it was evident that her orgasm was imminent, then he let go, ramming her with his piston until he felt the build-up of his own arousal, and as her muscles tightened around him, his passion was sucked out until he had no choice but to spill his seed in her tight orifice. He grunted with animal pleasure as his arousal exploded in her most private hole before collapsing beside her on the cold table.
"I guess we'll have to disinfect the table before breakfast," Ange said with a giggle as he flopped beside her.
"I never want to leave Corbin's Bend," Jim said contentedly.
"Neither do I. Tell Hank you'll accept."
"Crikey, Ange. Do you not want to see if it's a wise investment first?"
"I suppose so, but as long as he's not taking you for a fool, which I really don't think he would, then say yes. It's more
than a business venture. It's an investment in us."
"Come to bed with me and you have a deal."
The End.
Tara Finnegan
The accidental writer, that's me! A lot of writers will tell you that they dreamed of being a writer for years and were making up stories from when they were knee high to a grasshopper. And a lot of them loved English class. I dodged all forms of essay (not even bothering to look for an original or plausible excuse) and entertained myself and my poor desk mate during my English classes by very rudely paraphrasing and taking the mickey out of Francis Bacon...yep, looking back, that's probably when I should have had my first good spanking. If not for wasting my own education, then surely for distracting my misfortunate neighbour.
Then I started an affair with my computer, so much so that I nearly had to be surgically removed from it. And what's an affair without a good measure of hot sex and erotic spanking? And that's how it happened! When I'm not writing, I'm a wife and mother living in the West of Ireland. My job description varies from taxi service, washerwoman, chief cook, gofer and general finder of lost items. The writing has to fit in around that.
Don’t miss the entire Corbin’s Bend Series!
Welcome to Corbin’s Bend
Return to Corbin’s Bend
At Home in Corbin’s Bend
Corbin’s Bend Homecoming
Love in the Rockies
Long Shot
Cara Bristol
©2014 by Blushing Books® and Cara Bristol
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
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The trademark Blushing Books®
is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Bristol, Cara
Long Shot
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-4508
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter 1
Abby blew a huff of air to lift her sweaty bangs from her forehead and dug her fingers into the large box growing heavier by the second and halted outside the stairwell door of the second floor walk-up. Balancing on one leg like a stork, she rested the cardboard container marked FRAGILE on one knee and grappled for the knob.
"Let me get that for you," rumbled a man's voice.
"Thank you," she said gratefully, backing up to allow access. Instead of standing aside to allow her to pass after he propped the door open with his foot, he relieved her of the boxes and started up the steps.
Abby blinked and charged after him. The man bounding up the stairs like his load held feathers and not leaded crystal was a stranger. Not so fast, mister. "Excuse me, but do you have any idea where you're going?" she called in a voice sweeter than high fructose corn syrup.
He threw a glance over his broad shoulder. Teeth as white as his sports attire flashed to reveal lady-killer dimples. "To Quincy Lauder's, I presume. The only unit up here."
That he knew her aunt's name and the building allowed a measure of wariness to recede. She further reasoned since the co-op board vetted all residents, he couldn't be a homicidal maniac. Unless he didn't live in town. Perhaps he was a drifter in tennis whites who happened to stray an hour outside of Denver, Colorado, to stop at Auntie Q's Antiques.
Sometimes her imagination got the better of her.
Still, it would be wise to keep a close watch. Following him, she focused on his muscled buns, strong legs bared by his shorts, the way he climbed without so much as a huff or puff even though he carried a heavy box.
Without warning, he twisted to peer down at her. She raised her gaze from his ass to his eyes alight with a question. She cringed, hoping he hadn't caught her checking him out. But his slight smile seemed to indicate he had.
At least he had the manners to not mention it. "Keys?" he asked.
"Oh! Of course." She dug into the back pocket of her jeans. Something else she hadn't foreseen. How would she have extracted the keys, unlocked the unit, and kept her crystal from tumbling down the stairs? She had needed assistance.
Once again she'd failed to see what should have been obvious. The story of my life.
His woodsy, masculine scent filled the enclosed stairwell, flustering her as she found herself inhaling. She had to try all three keys her aunt had sent before she found the correct one, but she slid it into the tumbler, and they entered a bright, cheery unit.
"Where would you like these?"
Abby did a quick scan. She'd never been here before. After her Uncle Joe had died, her aunt had downsized and applied for this smaller unit over the antique store she owned. "The kitchen, I guess." She spun around, trying to guess which direction, but Joe made a beeline for a room at the back of the unit. Abby scurried after him.
Her aunt's harvest table, dressed with a vase of daisies, rested in the center of the kitchen. Lacy curtains adorned a window overlooking the alley behind the shop. An antique stove, the kind most people purchased for decoration rather than use, sat under it. Abby glanced around, taking in the hardwood floors—hand hewn to appear rustic—and reclaimed cabinets complete with wavy glass and a dish rack over the farmhouse sink.
From a very modern crockpot wafted a delicious smell, and Abby peeked through the domed glass lid to see a small roast. Beef? Pork? Her stomach rumbled.
Her aunt's quaint, homey place reminded her so much of what she'd lost, a lump of residual anger and sadness clogged Abby's throat. Damn him. Damn me for being so clueless.
"Is something wrong?"
Abby snapped her attention to her helper. She had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. He towered over her by a foot.
"No." She shook her head. "Why would you say that?"
"Your expression looked sad."
"Just wool-gathering." Abby tucked her thumbs into the pockets of her faded jeans, the knee ripped not because of fashion but because she'd caught it on the trailer hitch, and tried to act nonchalant. The man's size and presence shrank the kitchen to the size of closet. "Well, uh, thank you for your help… I'd better finish unloading."
"I'll give you a hand with the rest of it. I'm Harris Montgomery, by the way."
"Abigail—Abby—Delaney. Quincy Lauder is my great aunt," she said, and allowed his warm palm to engulf hers. She stared at his large hand, his skin neither rough nor soft, the nails well-shaped and smooth. Perfect for spanking. She shivered. Was he one of them? A spanko? He lived in Corbin's Bend, didn't he?
You live in Corbin's Bend now.
That's different.
Home was the place when you had to go there they had to take you in.
But that didn't apply to her aunt. They'd always been close, and Aunt Quincy had such a generous spirit she hadn't hesitated to fling open her door so Abby could get back on her feet.
Harris released her hand. "So what brings you to Corbin's Bend?"
Abby blinked. Odd that his question seemed to pick up the thread of her thoughts. You're being fanciful. It's a natural question to ask a newcomer.
So what had brought her to Corbin's Bend? The chance to recover from a broken heart. Shattered trust. Financial ruin.
"My husband and I divorced."
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "His loss." But hers too. She'd forfeited so much—hopes, dreams, the Victorian house she'd inherited from Grammy, the antiques she'd begun to furnish it with. All had gone to pay for the debts Dale racked up
without her consent.
"Yes it is." The glint of appreciation in his eyes seemed to indicate he wasn't being polite, but he meant what he said.
Unused to the attention, Abby fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other. She and Dale had been high school sweethearts. Twenty-six years old now, she'd never dated—slept with—anyone but her ex. She scrutinized Harris from beneath her lashes. How old was he? Thirty-ish, perhaps? He radiated confidence and experience. No doubt he'd had way more than one sexual partner. He'd probably be very good in bed. What's wrong with you! She chastised herself and glanced at his hands again. Hands that could stroke and caress. Spank. Discipline.
She slammed a lid on that kettle of disturbances and lifted her gaze to his face. The flop of hair over his forehead and the small scar beneath his left eye hinted at a rakish, devil-may-care personality. A man who took risks?
She'd always played it safe. But where had that gotten her?
"Well, um. Again…thank you for your help." Rattled, she cued him to leave.
"I'll carry up the rest of your boxes."
"You don't have to do that. Moving can be dusty, dirty." I'd like to get dirty with him.
Where had that thought come from? Flustered, she wet her lips. "I wouldn't want you to mess up your nice white clothes."
He arched his eyebrows, and she remembered she had dressed in white.
"This is just a T-shirt." She plucked at the cotton fabric, which she'd dressed up by sewing a vintage lace collar around the neckline and hem and adding some pearl buttons to the sleeves.
"And I've already played tennis in these clothes, so it's no problem," he said, and headed downstairs before she could fabricate a better excuse.
Abby wondered why he unnerved her so much. He seemed like a nice man—maybe even a neighbor—who knew her aunt and who'd stopped by to lend a hand.