Three Dark Hours, by Maggie Carpenter
“Breathless and overcome, Isobel was lost in the moment. She had just been spanked for the very first time by her handsome teacher, the hero of her fantasies, and she was convinced she would faint from the sheer excitement of it all.”
Isobel Parker believes she has neither the talent or education to write a full length novel, and to improve her skills she enrolls in an after hours creative writing course.
On the first night, excited and enthusiastic, she walks into the classroom and is shocked to see the hero of every short story she’s ever written. He is tall, wide-shouldered, with black hair and sizzling blue eyes; his name is Patrick Doyle and she is hooked.
Captivated by the bulging muscles threatening to break through the thin white cotton sleeves of his shirt, and the smattering of chest hair peeking across the open collar, she finds it impossible to concentrate. As the classes continue her sleepless nights become filled with dark fantasies in which he is the star, and when he instructs his students to write a short story entitled, Three Dark Hours, Isobel jumps at the opportunity to put her lascivious fantasies on paper.
As she finishes the erotic account of spanking and other wicked pursuits, she prays that when the handsome and enigmatic Mr. Doyle reads it, he will understand it’s actually a very special, very naughty invitation.
Claiming it has been authored by a friend she nervously hands the tantalizing tale to her boss for a critique. His name is Brad Saunders, and he is an ambitious Acquisitions Editor for a boutique publishing company. Isobel is hoping for some helpful notes, but Brad has a stunning surprise in store, one that could change her life and turn her wicked fantasies into reality.
She was a woman who craved a covert, darker foray into love. A woman who ached for the slap of her lover’s hand on her naked ass. Not a love pat, or even an unexpected sharp swat, but a slap that would carry its sender’s meaning; a slap that would tingle, then sting, then stain, then mark. I’ve been with such women before, many times, but few have stirred me as she did; I knew immediately that the chemistry existed; I could feel it sparking across the room, and her flushed face told me she could feel it too.
My animal instinct was compelling me to march across to her, clutch a fistful of her chocolate brown hair, yank back her head and lock her eyes.
“I know what you are, and I know what you need, but you must ask me for it...nicely.”
My words would have been a deep whisper, borne of a power that lies within me, a power that constricts my vocal cords, as if nature ordained that my speech be modified for such occasions. Society, however, would perceive it as threatening, and though her true self would have craved surrender, her conditioned mind would have prevented her from responding as she would have longed to.
“Sir, please, spank me, whip me, caress me, kiss me, use my body for your pleasure, and hold me for long hours...”
I could hear them as she dared to lift her eyes and capture mine, the unspoken words drifting through the space between us. As they’d whispered into my soul’s ear, I had sighed and risked a lingering glance.
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