My latest work, Sorority House Spanking, involves the very public paddling of 12 girls, and the spanko romance that blooms between two of the onlookers.
The story is available now for your e-reader at your all of your favorite booksellers.
Check out the excerpt below. I know that you’ll enjoy it!
A loud command interrupted our whispered conversation.
I squirmed in my seat as Arlene shouted out the words, and I leaned forward in the rocking chair. My heart was racing, and I wondered if Andrea knew just how excited I was.
As a group, the freshmen girls leaned forward and grasped their ankles firmly. A few of them were unsteady, but all were limber enough to assume the required pose. My breath came in shallow spurts.
Beside me, Andrea leaned forward as well. She was blushing, her mouth open slightly, her breath harsh.
One after another I scanned young women bending over in front of me. They all had perfect bottoms. Some were little round bubbles. Others were lean and firmly muscled. And every one of those bottoms was about to be spanked in full view of the gathering crowd!
The group facing the freshmen girls had grown. I’d say there were more than 100 people in the crowd – all holding their breaths, waiting for the first swat.
“Ladies,” Arlene said lowly. She motioned with the hand holding the paddle. As a group, the senior sorority girls spread out and walked up to the bent-over freshmen girls so that each of the seniors was standing at the left of a young woman.
My tongue slipped between my lips as I memorized this moment. Some of the girls who were bent over faced straight ahead. Others had their eyes firmly on their feet. The young cheerleader was looking sideways and appeared to whispering to the girl next to her. Many of the girls had ponytails, though some wore their hair loose and flowing.
“Are you ready girls?”
I don’t think that question was meant for the freshmen, because at that moment every senior girl raised her paddle high above her shoulder. They were lovely paddles, each one handcrafted by a local shop teacher. As the story goes, he was retired from the school system and had a contract to make the paddles for the senior girls at our university. Many of my sorority sisters had customized their paddles, painting them with school colors, hearts, roses or unicorns. Other paddles were untouched – smooth, raw wood.
As the paddles were raised high, all whispering ceased; the crowd was silent as were the young women. Everyone’s attention was on the freshmen girls. Many of the boys in the gathered crowd had stupid grins plastered on their faces, but they held their peace.
“Now!” Arlene said simply.