IF THE BROOMSTICK FITS, RIDE IT!!!
Do you like spanking stories, prizes, and Halloween? Do you miss the days when kids came to your door asking for candy, or when you were young enough to do the trick-or-treating? You’re in luck! Spank or Treat 2012 was so much fun that we’ve brought you a bigger and better collective short story extravaganza for 2013. It’s trick-or-treating for adults, and we do mean adults!
Want to become a Spank or Treat ambassador and earn an extra prize entry? See below!
Even better, participation could earn you a GRAND PRIZE!
Plus, all Spank or Treaters are eligible for free books!
- Holding Hannah, by Maren Smith
Available to the first 50 participants!
- Love’s Reprise, by Cassandre Dayne, Lucy Felthouse, Olivia Starke, Kate Richards, and Anastasia Vitsky
- Coming to Terms, by Cara Bristol, Jade Cary, Alta Hensley, Celeste Jones, Sue Lyndon, Renee Rose, and Anastasia Vitsky
Available to ALL participants who complete the Spank or Treat 2013 challenge!
Many authors will also be offering a contest on their individual blogs. Your comment on their blogs automatically enters you in both the main contest and the individual contests!
What’s the catch? Absolutely nothing! We love writing for you and want to thank you for your readership. Perhaps someone might get a spanking or two, but that’s a reward rather than a catch, right? 😉
Here are the rules:
- Visit each blog between the Friday, October 25th and Sunday, October 27th to read the posted stories and excerpts.
- Leave a comment answering the story question on each blog. You will receive one entry per blog for the grand prize drawing. You will also be automatically entered in that author’s individual contest, if she has one.
- If you have visited all of the blogs, visit Ana’s blog to sign up for FIVE bonus entries to the grand prize.
Deadline is midnight EDT (UTC -4) on October 27th!!
- If you successfully completed the Spankee Doodle, Love Spanks, or last year’s Spank or Treat 2012 challenge, you may add “VIP” to your comments. You will earn THREE bonus entries toward the grand prize. (Yes, we will be doing this again. Yes, if you successfully complete the Spank or Treat challenge you can become a VIP for our next activity!)
- Visit any of the participating blogs on Thursday, October 31st to find out the lucky winners. Will it be you?
Like these events? Want to support your friendly spanking fiction authors? Become a Spank or Treat Ambassador! In exchange for promoting this event, you will receive one extra prize entry, AND you are still eligible to participate and win prizes! To find out the details, send an email to ana_stasia2007 at yahoo dot com, with the subject line “Spank or Treat Ambassador”.
For more information, updates, and a list of participating authors, please visit Anastasia Vitsky’s blog.
Like Spank or Treat on Facebook!
Tweet #spankortreat on Twitter!
And now for my story, titled “A Forbidden Holiday.” I will offer the prize of any one book from my backlist (excluding Becoming Clissine) to a random commenter. See below for participation details.
Married for only a few months, Soris and Karielle are still working out their relationship dynamic. Soris, as the “Dis” or disciplinarian and head of the House of Sor, has full authority over Karielle, the “Nur” or nurturer, the submissive partner. Like all marriages in Bastia, theirs was an arranged marriage rather than a match of love. The strong-willed Karielle does her best to adjust to her new Dis’ expectations, but sometimes the communication gaps are too complicated…
“You put up a pagan altar?” Soris ran her fingers through spiky black hair. Strong, muscled fingers on large, powerful hands.
“It’s not a pagan altar; it’s a decoration!” Karielle shot back, but Soris cut her off.
“I said no.”
Soris, golden girl of the academic world receiving accolades as the most promising young expert on Bastian law, sounded bewildered rather than angry. Still, Karielle shivered. She backed up a step, one hand covering her bottom. “No” in the House of Sor meant one thing, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise. Still, perhaps distraction would postpone the inevitable.
“The soup must be ready,” she stammered, answered only by a cocked eyebrow. Karielle scratched the back of her neck. Before marriage, she had thought submitting to her Dis would be symbolic rather than literal. That was how her own parents’ relationship had worked, but Soris’ family came from a stricter tradition. Soris’ exasperating literal interpretation of the law extended to more parts of Karielle’s life than she would have liked.
Soris stepped toward the tree in the corner of their front room, and she lifted a glittery orange-and-black pumpkin paper cutout. Karielle had painstakingly attached a ribbon to the top and hung it on a branch of the tree. The jaunty, toothy grin seemed to mock their sober discussion. Soris slipped the ornament off the branch and turned the paper over.
For the first time in her life, Karielle had no retort, no protest, and no explanation. “I’m sorry,” she began, but Soris interrupted once more.
“What would the Bastil say if they knew my Nur broke the law I helped to write?”
Karielle dropped to the closest chair. “I didn’t think of that,” she admitted, blushing. She had thought it would be fun to imitate the queer holiday she had read about in her anthropology class, but she hadn’t anticipated Soris’ reaction.
Oh, hell. She knew what would happen; she just hadn’t cared.
“I’ll take it down,” she offered, trying to keep the pleading note out of her voice. Soris liked rational discussion, not emotional appeal. “No one saw it. I’ll—“
“Article fifty-five, section ten. All religious activities not sanctioned by the Bastil are punishable to the full extent of the law.”
Karielle took another step backward, a whimper escaping from her tightening throat. “But it was for fun, not serious, and I didn’t actually do anything religious…”
Soris continued as if she had not spoken. With her nearly photographic memory, she could quote entire sections of the Bastian constitution. Then again, she had made Bastian law her life’s work. “Religious activities are defined as any ceremony, decoration, or gathering associated with pagan customs.”
Karielle saw her chance. If she could get Soris talking about her favorite subject, maybe their discussion could remain in the intellectual realm. “It wasn’t Christmas, or Easter, or anything like that,” she argued. “Just Hollow Bean, and no one knew I did it. Didn’t you write that paper on disadvantages of over-literal interpretation of the Constitution?”
Soris nodded toward the hallway. “Fetch your switch, please,” she said. Without emotion, as if she were ordering a Bastil clerk to strike testimony from the record.
Karielle threw her head back, but the words died on her lips. Why should I? Because she had pledged to submit to Soris as her Dis. It’s not fair! A Dis had no obligation to be fair, as long as she didn’t inflict permanent injury. I won’t do it! She shuddered at that one. Soris never punished in anger, but somehow that made things worse. Sometimes Karielle thought the spankings wouldn’t be so humiliating if only Soris would shout a little, or lose control, or seem more human. Discipline from Soris was like being punished by a machine.
She slapped her feet against the tile floor as she huffed her way into the hallway. Selecting the smooth, polished bamboo rod, she slipped back into the front room. “Here,” she offered, holding it out.
At least Soris had not commanded her to prepare herself at the altar. That would mean a ceremonial washing, putting on the penitent’s robe, and offering her bottom and thighs to the watchful eyes of Basti in addition to her Dis.
Soris pulled out the punishment stool, a padded wood-and-leather affair she kept tucked in the corner. Karielle had learned to hate even the sight of the stool, but she sucked in her breath and began ritual confession required of each punishment.
“Forgive me, for I have sinned and am unworthy.” She unbuckled her jeans, allowing them to puddle around her ankles. She dipped her head forward, hoping that her long ringlets would hide the painful blush creeping across her cheeks. No matter how often she performed the penitence routine Soris had taught her, she fought to keep her embarrassment at bay.
Soris guided her across the stool, pushing and tugging to arrange Karielle’s buttocks into prime position. Karielle gave a moan as the blood rushed to her forehead. She gripped the legs of the stool, humiliated by the clinical touch. Soris slid her skimpy blue silk bikini panties to Karielle’s knees with efficiency rather than passion. Maybe theirs was an arranged marriage and maybe Soris preferred intellect rather than lust, but was it too much to ask for her to show desire? Karielle had given up so much for this cool, collected partner. Couldn’t Soris at least make her feel that it was worth it? That Karielle was worth it?
The first tap of the switch came with precision, as always. One light touch followed by the swift, blinding crack of pain. Karielle yelled, cursing herself. Why did she have to thrash around in pain while Soris applied that awful stick? Why couldn’t she have been the one to set the rules instead of having to answer to them?
Sss—thwick! Another stroke cut the lowest part of her bottom cheeks, causing her to stamp her feet.
“Basti!” she swore, then bit her lip. The next whack set her entire backside aflame, and the stool teetered underneath her.
Instead of reassurance, or comfort, or whispers of love, Soris continued to stripe her bottom with stroke after punishing stroke. By the time she finished, Karielle struggled for breath. Her chest felt nearly as raw as her throbbing buttocks, and she rubbed her cheek against the leather padding. Instead of pats or tenderness, Soris gave her a crisp order.
“Into the corner,” she barked, and Karielle was too sore to disobey. She kicked off the tangled heap of her jeans and panties, and she trudged to the corner. What she really wanted was to curl up on her bed and cry herself to sleep, but she no longer had “her” bed. Everything was Soris’ now, and everywhere was Soris’ home.
She hugged her arms to her chest, rocking slightly in her distress. She couldn’t understand her own reaction. It wasn’t as if Soris has been her first choice, even if she did come from a good family. It wasn’t as if she loved this cold fish who spouted rules rather than poetry. It was just—
Karielle shuffled from one foot to the other, holding in her shuddery sobs. It was just…that she was used to being loved. The House of Tan, her childhood home, had been full of tenderness, hugs, and emotional expression. Not just her Nur but her Dis had often kissed and stroked her, praising and noticing each of her efforts. It rarely took more than one spanking for her to correct any misbehavior, and she worked hard to stay in their good graces.
She had known Soris would be a tough Dis, but she had also thought there would be love.
“It’s time for dinner,” Soris barked, without so much as a glance in her direction. Karielle fumbled with her clothing, drawing her panties and jeans back to her waist. She brushed the tears out of her eyes as she made her way to the kitchen, but the tears fell faster than she could dry. She bit her lip. Soris hated her to cry, almost more than she hated disobedience. How stupid had she been, thinking that Soris would laugh and enjoy the joke of celebrating a funny holiday? Why did everything have to be so serious?
“Excuse me,” Karielle blurted out, and she dashed into the guest bedroom. It should have been their nursery, but…she tried not to think about that. She was too young to give up on motherhood.
Behind her, Soris’ footsteps followed. “Dinner’s late,” she said, but Karielle turned on her. Hurt and soreness combined into a rush of anger.
“What in Basti’s name do you want from me? You beat me and I’ll take down the stupid tree, so leave me alone!”
Stunned, Karielle covered her mouth and met Soris’ widened eyes with her own. Consternation marked her features, as if Karielle were an algebraic formula that had proven incorrect.
“Do I have to spank you again?” Soris hesitated, her offer tentative rather than commanding, as if she were asking for permission. Karielle shook her head.
“That’s all you do,” she muttered, not caring what punishments it would cost her. “Spank, like I’m this nuisance you can’t wait to get rid of…”
If she hadn’t felt as raw as a scraped knee, she might have laughed at the confused distress on Soris’ face. Soris was good with technicalities and archaic references, not with messy human realities. She looked as if she would rather hide for a week with her collection of dusty, heavy law tomes.
In spite of herself, Karielle laughed. For the first time, she felt as if she were in charge, or at least an equal. She held out her hand to Soris. “Don’t just spank me and run away,” she explained, feeling as if she were the Dis. “Making up afterward is important, too.”
Soris’ fingers tightened around Karielle’s palm. “But my Dis always said you can’t spoil after a punishment?” she asked. Her look of confusion increased, and something set off a twinge in Karielle’s heart. A Dis was supposed to be in charge, so why did Soris’ vulnerability bring out feelings of submission in a way the switch had not?
“I need you to take care of me,” she said, putting her other hand over Soris’ enclosing her own. And before she could think, she leaned forward on her tiptoes to put her arms around Soris’ neck. Soris staggered backward, and then her arms came up to embrace her.
“You…you want me to…after I…?” Soris brushed back Karielle’s hair, tipping her head back. “When you…?” An arm reached down to skim the horribly aching muscles in her bottom.
Karielle laughed again, gladness rushing through her limbs. “What’s the good of having a Dis if you’re not going to live up to your end of the bargain?” she challenged. She darted in for a kiss, holding Soris to her even as the older woman drew backward. “Love me,” she said, in a rush of confidence and simplicity. “How can I obey you if you don’t love me?”
The shyness in Soris’ eyes made Karielle catch her breath. Had the stern, rule-loving scholar ever dropped her professional demeanor before? Gentle lips reached toward her own, and Karielle closed her eyes in a whirlwind of pleasure. The unbearable, shaming ache of a few moments ago had transformed into a hungry need for intimate pleasure.
“How can you love someone who makes you cry?” Soris asked, with the tenderness of a newborn fawn.
“Then make it up to me now,” Karielle responded, stroking Soris’ cheek. “It can be a new Hollow Bean tradition.”
“Halloween,” Soris corrected, but Karielle shushed her.
“My turn,” she said, and Soris said no more.
Note: your comment must reflect that you have read the story. Any generic comments will not count toward the prize drawing.
Read more about Karielle and Soris’ adventures in Becoming Clissine (Bastia, Book One)! The story of their courtship and marriage will be available in February of 2014 as part of Milestones, a sequel to the DD anthology Coming to Terms.
What if heterosexuality were a crime?
Betrothed at birth to the daughter of one of the most prominent Houses in the totalitarian theocracy of Bastia, soon-to-be-college-graduate Clissa isn’t sure whether she is ready to undergo the Mar. Once she becomes the Nur, or the submissive partner, to her betrothed she will have to submit all major decisions of her life to the beautiful Helaine whom she has only met once. She must marry a woman, according to the decrees of Bastian law.
Caught between his desire to “get along” and the growing awareness that he is “het” and is attracted to Clissa, Destral kisses her one day as they study in their college library. Shocked at the feelings the kiss awakens, Clissa begins to question everything she has been taught. Did Basti, their deity, really decree that it was sinful for a man to be with a woman? Will her growing feelings for Destral cost her everything that her parents have worked hard to give her?
In a mad attempt to subvert Bastian authority, Clissa and Destral run away to find the Het Pride, a group that preaches tolerance, equality, and peace. Z, their leader, promises that one day hets will achieve equality and freedom. When the Bastian police capture or kills most of the Het Pride, however, Clissa is assigned to new parents for “reeducation” in the doctrine of Bastia. Her new parents are given one mandate: Bring her back to rightness with Basti.
Clissa, lost in a system that is threatened by her very identity, must make her choice. Will she be broken by Bastian authority, or will she find a way to break free? Can true love overcome a harsh regime?