No More Smart Remarks: Irishey gets a #spanking from #EvilMistressKate!

For Irishey, who knows what she did.

Some people know how to keep themselves out of trouble, but not our dear Irishey. Oh, no. She has sass that won’t stop, but also the idea no one is big enough to deal with her. Too bad (for her) that retribution comes in the form of one Evil Mistress Kate. (Who is Evil Mistress Kate, you ask? You’ll have to wait for Spank or Treat to find out.)

For Saturday Spankings and Sunday Snippets this weekend, here’s a little peek into the woes of naughty Irishey and the overworked disciplinarian who must tame her. In our scene, the recalcitrant Irishey has begged, pouted, issued threats, and tried to use martial arts to wriggle out of her much-deserved spanking. Evil Mistress Kate has had enough.

“You shouldn’t try to pretend to be all big and tough; you’re too little for that,” Irishey taunted.

Sadly for her, Evil Mistress Kate flicked her multicolored martinet in a scattershot across the backs of Irishey’s bare calves. “Accept your punishment like a big girl, or I’ll take down those shorts and whip your bare bottom,” Kate threatened.

Despite herself, Irishey cringed. How could she face everyone in blogland afterward if they witnessed her cruel (and entirely undeserved, to her mind) treatment at the hands of this formidable woman? Too late, Irishey regretted opening her mouth to sass instead of save her bottom.

“No more smart remarks? Perhaps we are getting somewhere at last,” Kate said as she hauled Irishey over her lap to spank bare thighs with abandon.




#ThursThreads flash fiction winner: a peek at a new story


After a hiatus, I participated in Siobhan Muir’s Thursday Threads flash fiction this week. How fun to receive this compliment from the judge:

Jeff Tsuruoka says: Perfectly captured slice of life. Just enough of the history between the characters is dropped in and it ends with a moment we’ve all lived through at least once in our lives. Love the clean, clear prose.

Hope you enjoy. 😀


Audra slides her hand over my collarbone, slipping the satin pink bra strap over my shoulder. I bat her hand away and adjust my bra.

“Ouch,” she says, withdrawing to her end of the couch. “I took a shower this morning.” She picks up her neon pink coffee mug and takes a sip.

“I love you.” I scan my pile of papers, frantic to finish my report before the deadline. “I’m just…”

“Busy,” Audra offers. She takes another sip, watching me.

“I’ve got to finish before Grandma’s birthday party tonight.”

At the silence, I realize my mistake. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you want to go, but it’ll be tapioca pudding and cake with dull conversation.”

Two patches of pink appear on Audra’s cheeks, and she clinks her cup onto the ceramic mosaic coaster. We chose the set together when she first moved in. “You act like you’re ashamed of me.”

I groan. “We’ve gone through this a thousand times. That’s not how my family works.”

“Huh.” Audra stands up and carries her mug to the kitchen sink. “Thought I was part of your family.” She returns to the living room and sits in the chair furthest away from me.

I pound away for five full minutes until I give in. Audra has silent treatment down to a science. I can apologize, but it won’t change anything. “I need some space,” I plead.

“That can be arranged.” She stalks out of the room and slams our bedroom door.

What if Kat met quilting grannies? #ThursThreads

What if Kat, in preparing for the baby, took up quilting at her church? Here’s a 250-word snippet imagining what it might be like. Hope you enjoy!

I held out my fake quilt-print fabric, stitched with love but little skill. The German quilting thread cost ten dollars, so I settled for flimsy polyester thread that knotted whenever I sneezed.

“Please don’t laugh,” I said. Straight pins stuck out at awkward angles, and the fabric crumpled where I had gripped the edges. “I know the back looks terrible.”

My mother would have tsked at the multicolored tangles, but my white-haired companion patted my shoulder. Dorothy let fabric fly through her sewing machine without patterns or pins.

“I hate it,” I said, picking at the Frankenstein-like mess of red and blue stitches showing through the back.

“There’s a better way,” she reassured me, dabbing spit onto thread to push it through the eye of the needle. She slid the needle through the muslin backing without letting it show on the mock quilted top.

“Oh!” I exclaimed as she knotted the thread and worked the loose ends under the stitches, leaving a tidy trail of thread.

“Snip it here, next to the knot.” Dorothy held the tail while I followed her instructions. “You finish here,” she said, pointing to the unstitched squares. “Next time, I’ll show you how to do the binding.”

“Okay.” I gathered my material, as if I were collecting sheet music after a childhood piano lesson.

“Kat,” she said, and I paused. She closed her hand over mine, and my chest tightened. “Well done.”

I ducked out the door before she could notice my tears.

This flash fiction piece originally appeared in Siobhan Muir’s Thursday Threads event on February 13, 2014. Judge Kate Richards awarded it Honorable Mention, saying:

Her easy style for this piece,  was appealing on a whole other level. Made me feel as if I found a whole new Anastasia to read, one I like as well, but in a different way, than her usual carefully crafted words.