Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Dinah McLeod helps me with the Spanking A-Z Blog Challenge: S if for Sweetheart with the Marriage Pact

 The Blog Challenge continues with S.  Dinah McLeod is my guest today and is sharing a love story about high school sweethearts.  Yes, its sweet and romantic, but also has heartache.  And... spankings, of courses.
The Marriage Pact

When Shana Davidson’s longtime best friend Brody—now her high-school sweetheart—makes an expected but ill-timed proposal right before graduation, Shana turns him down. Shana believes her refusal is best for the sake of both their futures, since neither of them has had the chance to experience life on their own yet, but Brody is hurt and angry and they part with harsh words that haunt her for years to come.

Returning home to attend a friend’s wedding three years later, though, Shana not only runs into Brody, but with the help of a bit of champagne an odd pact is formed between them: if neither of them are married in ten years, they will marry one another.

After Shana returns to her hometown again nine years later to care for her ailing mother, she does her best to avoid Brody, but her friend Becky has other ideas. Shana soon finds herself playing the role of maid of honor at Becky’s wedding, but it is only on the wedding day that she learns the best man is none other than Brody, and she is left with no choice but to confront him and to confront their painful past.

Even as old wounds heal and love begins to grow between them, Shana must face the fact that Brody is not a boy anymore. He is a strong, dominant man who is more than ready to take her in hand—and take her over his knee for a good, hard, bare-bottom spanking when she needs it. Will she still keep the marriage pact she made almost ten years ago?

“I said I was sorry.”

“Yes, you did. Now I want you to prove it.”

I glanced up at him. “O-kay… how am I supposed to do that?”

“That’s simple. You behaved like a child so I’m going to treat you like one.”

I hunched my shoulders at the c word—not that I could protest. He was right; the clock seemed to have turned back and instead of the mature thirty-four-year-old I’d become, I was acting more like the teenager I’d been when I’d left. “Meaning?”

“I think you deserve a spanking for the way you treated me.”

Time froze all around me and my face froze along with it, torn between a perplexed frown and a laugh. I stared at him, unblinking and he stared back. It was a surreal reminder of the staring contests we used to have as kids, which was what tilted the scale toward laughter. “Come on, Brody,” I said when I finally found my voice. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s definitely not, and I’m dead serious.” His eyes showed me that he meant every word; there wasn’t an ounce of laughter to be found in them.

I kept waiting for his grin, for him to drop that stern, commanding voice and say, “Gotcha!” or even “Just don’t do it again,” but it never happened. I felt something charging the air between us and this time, I wasn’t sure I liked it. “I don’t think I can let you do that,” I said softly, dropping my eyes once more and tugging at a string coming loose from his boxers.

“Why is that?”

This time, I did smile. What kind of question was that, anyway? “Because! Because I’m thirty-four, because I’m a grown woman, because it’s ridiculous, that’s why.”

“I believe I’ve already addressed the issue of your age.”

I could feel his eyes boring into me, but no way was I looking at him. He seemed to have some kind of crazy, diabolical power over me and I just knew if I let myself look at him long enough, I wouldn’t be able to remember why this idea was crazy.

“So why not then?”

Against my better judgment, I met his eyes. “Because it’s… because it’s the twenty-first century and you just don’t… women don’t… this doesn’t happen anymore.” I knew it. The minute I’d looked at him, I’d lost all ability to think clearly and apparently the power of speech had gone right along with it.

He shrugged a shoulder. “So your objection is that it’s not politically correct?”

“I…” Think, Shana, think, I coached myself.

“Do you think you don’t deserve to be punished?”

I was about to laugh and say no, of course not, but somehow words failed me at the worst possible time.

“Is that a no?”

Dammit, I hated him for being so perceptive and what’s more, I hated how sweet he was about it. How could you stay angry with a man like that? “You know what? I’m sorry, but I can’t. I… I’m going to head home. I’ll, uh… be sure you get your clothes back.” I pushed myself to stand, and yet, my feet didn’t move.

“I’m not worried about the clothes. Keep ‘em, if you want.”

Don’t look at him, I coached myself. Don’t look. “Would it hurt?” I asked instead, cringing as soon as the words escaped my mouth. I wanted to snatch them out of the air and keep them from his ears or at least bolt for the door before he had a chance to answer, but my feet stayed planted firmly to the floor.

“It would hurt,” he answered, as though our conversation wasn’t completely bizarre. “Spankings are supposed to hurt.”

God, if a shiver didn’t run through me when he said that. I chanced a look at him and saw, to my surprise, that he didn’t look smug or pissed, like I’d half-expected. He still looked like Brody, normal, next-door, wonderful Brody. That was what made it so much harder to run away. That and the weird tightness in my chest. “And if I don’t?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Can I spank you for not letting me spank you?”
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