Bitch or Brat?

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“Clarise!” my father exclaimed.

“What?” I snapped.

“Would you like me to bend her over this table and spank the wasp off her tongue?” the visitor remarked dryly to my father.

Oh, I was tired of dealing with heavy-handed men with patriarchal machismos. I didn’t have the patience for that kind of outdated nonsense, especially after what had happened to me this past weekend with my cheating now ex fiancé hitting me and all.

“Listen,” I growled at the presumptuous man, “I will stab the shit out of you if you come anywhere near me.” I wielded a butter knife for emphasis. “I’m not fucking joking.”

“She will not,” my father assured him. “And watch your language,” he added toward me. “He’s not going to put up with your sass like I do.”

“I’ll cut you,” I insisted, glaring across the table. “And sass is my father’s polite way of saying piss and vinegar. Are you sure you want to take this job? I’m too much for you to handle.”

Mr. Security Boss lifted his brow and addressed my father. “Does she always act out like this when she’s stressed?”

“Oh, this is just the tip of the tantrum to come,” I promised. “Just the tip.”

I will be the first to admit I have a bad temper. It’s…a problem. I’m a pretty chill person usually, but when I get mad, it’s like a light switch. There is no medium level. I’m on or off.

“You wanna try me?” I offered.

“Clarise, put that knife down,” my father ordered. “And sit. Stop embarrassing me.”

My father still treated me like a child even though I was twenty-eight fucking years old. However, I did as he asked, throwing the knife on the table with a loud clatter as I collapsed into the cushioned chair with an audible huff. Dad’s heart wasn’t all that good, so I thought to ease up on him, especially since I’d brought home this stress to begin with. Though, truth be told, my heart wasn’t faring much better these last two awful days. My chest hurt something fierce.

“I apologize for my daughter’s behavior.”

“No need to apologize,” the new guy and I said simultaneously.

“She’s old enough to know better,” he added.

“I am,” I confirmed. “But I’m also a bitch. You’ll have to get over it like everyone else.”

“No, you’re a brat in need of a good spanking. I will not get over it.”

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The Brat and the Bodyguard by Tia Fanning

Dear Reader,

What can I say? There’s not much time, so I’ll keep it short. I was engaged to a man who turned out to be an international drug lord. I have fled to my father’s house to hide only to have my ex fiancé issue a very serious threat: I come home to him, or he’ll kill me and my father. Those are my two choices.

So my father has hired a security firm to keep me safe, and he’s paid for personal protection in the form of tall, dark and handsome.

Mr. Bodyguard thinks my bad attitude is more brat than bitch, and he has a solution in mind to correct the problem: a spanking. I was not having any of that. However, when I seduce him on the rebound, I kinda agreed to let him dish out a little corporal punishment in exchange for guaranteed multiple orgasms.

So here’s my issue: He’s held his end of the bargain. Should I uphold mine (assuming we both live through the night)? Please come armed with advice…and perhaps a weapon.

~ Ms. Brat

FANTASTIC is now available!

What had she agreed to?

Dear Reader, This morning, my fantastic husband of only six months bailed my sorry ass out of jail. I am grateful for that and for him. But now that we’re home, he wants to bring the broadside of a wooden paddle down on said ass as punishment for my behavior. And I’m not having it!

Seriously? A spanking? Oh, hell no. Needless to say, the fight is on.

Look, I love my husband more than words can express, but I don’t understand all this Domestic Discipline stuff. I’m trying to get my hubby to see reason, but he’s not budging, and I don’t know if I can let him correct me. I’m beside myself with heartache. What should I do?

Do I let our wonderful love story end here and now? Or should I buck up and bend over?

Distraught with Discipline

Fantastic Blurb Just for You!

“Fuck,” I muttered, crumbling the contract in my fist. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I really should have read the damn thing better.

“Language,” he warned.

“Gah!” I stomped my foot. “What else am I supposed to say? I’m the one on the receiving end of this!”

“Damn right,” he exclaimed. “You were the one arrested for reckless driving.”

“It was an accident.”

“Forty miles over the speed limit in an active school zone is not an accident. It’s negligence.”

“It was five minutes before the restriction ended!” I explained for the zillionth time. “There were no kids!”

“Thankfully.”

“Okay, that cop was being a total ass.” I tossed the ball-o’-contract onto the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to look at the clock before I entered the area. Like I said, I didn’t see any kids. And it was literally five minutes before 15 turned back into 45 miles per hour.”

In true “Head-of-Household” fashion, or what I imagined a “HoH” to be since I was new to all this, my husband crossed his arms and shook his head. “Not a valid excuse. Especially since you were clocked at 56. That’s still eleven miles over the regular speed limit.”

Ah, the tone. He gave me the tone. The “this is final and I will not be deterred”authoritarian tone.

Swallowing my exasperation, I flicked my gaze to the wood paddle he held in his hand. “Really? You’re really going to beat me for this?”

Though he masked his expression, I saw the hurt flash in his eyes all the same. It was a low blow on my part, I know, but I couldn’t help it. This all seemed so unfair.

“Discipline would be the proper term,” he said with admirable restraint. “Correction would also work. And yes, I believe a paddling is in order.”

Unbelievable.

Mimicking him, I crossed my arms and glared back. “Me going to jail wasn’t punishment enough, huh?”

Silence. It was the ultimate stare-down.

Looking at him holding that instrument of pain—a weapon, if I wanted to be nasty about it—was affecting me more than I cared to admit. My day had been horrible enough without this added to it. Arrested, booked, a few hours in jail, a court date…

Funny, a therapist had once told me that when we stress, we regress. So if the sudden stinging in my eyes and the nearly overwhelming urge to stomp my foot and sling cruel, careless words were any indication of that datum, I was losing maturity at an alarming rate. And the lingering silence only encouraged the relapse.

“If you’re afraid, sweetheart, just say so,” he offered.

“Scared?” I felt an enraged flush rise to my cheeks and my vision blurred with welling tears. “I’m not scared, and I’m definitely not scared of you—” Fuck. My throat tightened. I blinked back the brimming moisture and locked my jaw. I would not cry. I would not cry. I would not cry—

I inhaled a shaky breath and covered my eyes so I wouldn’t give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing me lose it. Damn him. He would not break me. I wouldn’t let him.

Fantastic by Tia Fanning

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COMING SOON!

The Start of a Serious Relationship...

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked with all seriousness. “Are you prepared to commit to a Domestic Discipline relationship?”

“Yes,” she replied simply.

“If you are sure this is what you want, I promise to always be fair. However, you should know that I am a stern disciplinarian. I must admit that last week I went fairly easy on you. I want you to think about last week, but rather than my hand, try to imagine a belt or strap, or a hairbrush or paddle, or a switch. If I think the transgression warrants it, I have been known to cane.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to imagine that.

The shock must have registered on her face because he chuckled. “You look a little anxious, love.”

He sat down on the bed again, but this time, he drew her into his lap. Once settled, he smoothed his palm where her thigh met her hip. “I will love you whether we pursue a serious relationship or not, and my offer for you to move in and finish school still stands no matter what you decide. I do not want you to enter a relationship you’re not ready for, or change who you are to fit my lifestyle, or worse, force yourself to accommodate me because you think it’s what I want. I want you to be happy. That is what I want, and that is what is most important to me.”

Jessa closed her eyes. The vulnerable good girl within desperately craved the stability and security Wil offered physically, mentally and emotionally. While strict, Wil was even-tempered and consistent. A good person—no, a great person. She knew she would thrive under his firm hand. Jessa was good at following instructions and well-behaved by nature, so Wil would not be disciplining her often, she reasoned.

However, the strong, recklessly independent woman she’d become (out of sheer necessity) wasn’t sure she wanted that type of structure despite her very real need for it. Granted, more often than not, she felt like an exhausted swimmer treading water while waiting for rescue, but she had been in “sink or swim” mode for so long, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be saved. She’d grown determined and proud to make it alone.

Carelessly determined and proud to a fault. Even self-destructive at times.

Should she let him rescue her before she drowned herself?

And if so, at what price?

She found Wil’s alpha male strength titillating, but as a mature woman living in a modern world, any form of thrashing seemed excessive to her, even for a domestic disciplinarian. Spanking with the hand was one thing, but… a switching? A strapping? A caning?

Let the Discipline Begin...

  

Pinned across Dr. Stieran’s lap, Jessa was forced to endure her world with striking clarity—striking being the key word. Dr. Stieran knew exactly what he was doing. There was no escape from the sharp, stinging smacks he laid across her upper thighs and nether cheeks. She struggled. She begged. She pleaded. She swore and apologized, then struggled some more. He was relentless.

Finally, just when she’d gone limp with exhaustion, he stopped. From start to finish, the spanking lasted maybe thirty seconds. But God help her, it was the longest thirty seconds of her life, and a thirty seconds she would not soon forget.

Dr. Stieran pulled her up and gathered her close, positioning her so that she straddled his lap, shifting her weight off her tender bottom. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, pouring out all her emotion while he quietly rocked her back and forth. When she had regained composure, he stopped rocking and simply held her, rubbing her back while she dwelled on how nice he smelled.

Once the stinging burn on her ass gave way to warm throbbing, she cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.

New Publisher and New Cover for AllSPANC!

  The perfect assistant, Jessalyn Palmer is proud to work for Dr. Wilbur Stieran, a brilliant mechatronic scientist and world-renowned inventor. However, when her two years of flawless service is ruined by an unfortunate spelling error, Jessa finds herself over the boss’ knee. A week later, Jessa is still trying to come to terms with the spanking and the conflicting feelings the punishment invoked. Embarrassed by her response to his loving discipline, she has avoided her boss as much as possible. Then the apprentices beg her to test drive Stern Stieran’s latest invention—his precious prototype, AllSPANC. By the end of the journey, Jessa (the no-longer-perfect assistant) discovers that some mistakes are worth making, and that some lessons are worth learning the hard way.

New Release! The Brat and the Bodyguard

Dear Reader,

What can I say? There’s not much time, so I’ll keep it short. I was engaged to man who turned out to be an international drug lord. I have fled to my father’s house to hide, only to have my ex fiancé issue a very serious threat: I come home to him, or he’ll kill me and my father. Those are my two choices.

Do you believe in love at first spank?

So my father has hired a security firm to keep me safe, and he’s paid for personal protection in the form of tall, dark and handsome.

Mr. Bodyguard thinks my bad attitude is more brat than bitch, and he has a solution in mind to correct the problem: a spanking. I was not having any of that. However, when I seduce him on the rebound, I kinda agreed to let him dish out a little corporal punishment in exchange for guaranteed multiple orgasms.

So here’s my issue: He’s held his end of the bargain. Should I uphold mine (assuming we both live through the night)?

Please come armed with advice…and perhaps a weapon. ~Ms. Brat

Fantastic! A New Release from Tia Fanning (Domestic Discipline Spanking Story!)

Dear Reader,

This morning, my fantastic husband of only six months bailed my sorry ass out of jail. I am grateful for that and for him. But now that we’re home, he wants to bring the broadside of a wooden paddle down on said ass as punishment for my behavior. And I’m not having it!

Seriously? A spanking? Oh, hell no. Needless to say, the fight is on.

Look, I love my husband more than words can express, but I don’t understand all this Domestic Discipline stuff. I’m trying to get my hubby to see reason, but he’s not budging, and I don’t know if I can let him correct me. I’m beside myself with heartache. What should I do?

Do I let our wonderful love story end here and now? Or should I buck up and bend over?

Distraught with Discipline

Naughty Girls: What They're Made Of...

Naughty Girls: What They're Made Of... - Non-Monogamy Blog by SwingTowns: Fun, flirty, and full of surprises, naughty girls are a sweet temptation, the perfect blend of sugar and spice and everything nice.

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Domestic Discipline: He Wants to Spank Me. Should I Let Him?

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