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Big Book of Spanking II

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Big Book of Spanking Stories, Vol II by Lizbeth Dusseau

Woodshed in the Woods & Other Stories
Casey Birches finds out her back woods manners don’t cut it with Jack. A few trips to the woodshed and she learns to mend her naughty ways. In the sequel, Casey’s Arrangement, when the brat turns to Jack for help, the two go at it in his woodshed one more time. When a strong-willed Kate is forced to live with her Uncle in Kate’s Burning Lessons, she must live down her mother’s wanton reputation, and she endure discipline from Uncle and her tutor. Then, as Stuart tells his girlfriend, Karen, how he maintains discipline in his office, she can’t wait for an Appointment of her own. And, in Another Time—Lauren is ready to face her feelings about the only man she’s ever loved; even if it means surrendering to the spankings she’s sure to get.

Remembering How It All Began and Other Stories 
In the title story, a bratty wife is spanked for her flagrant misconduct, and enjoys the erotic aftermath. In Submission, Lizbeth's letter to her friend details her remarkable relationship with her husband Edward, and the powerful spanking fantasy that drives her—startling, graphic and candid. And, One Summer, Jeremy advises his friend, Stephen, to spank his ill-tempered wife, just as he does his own. When the couples get together there are plenty of fireworks, both ladies going over their husband’s knee. It’s Plots, Schemes and Paddlings, when John Neville finds his progressive discipline methods don't work with the spirited hellions at Cassidy School. He's forced to use the time-honored "school paddle" to bring the wayward brats in line. In the sequel, Emily Gibbs, Paddled At Last, Neville's young secretary finds herself feeling that nasty paddle when she defies her boss; which only enhances the budding romance between she and John.

Plus five bonus Spanking stories from Lizbeth's Bdsm erotica, all exciting OTK action with paddles, straps, and much more. It takes stern discipline to tame these naughty brats!


A half hour later, after dragging her weary ass in off street, she lay over Jordan’s lap, his fist, ladened with a kitchen spoon, poised above her naked ass.
Ah! What pain!
The second blow landed like the first, right on the middle of a plump ass cheek.
It had taken one hell of an argument to get her there; he’d been so patient at first. Kind. Almost loving. Yes, it was loving, the way he affectionately tried to nurture her with kindness. But she wouldn’t be nurtured. No. Not today. Never! She pulled out of his loving arms in a huff, too angry with herself to be loved.
She wanted confrontation, conflagration, incineration…heat, anger, righteous indignation, her pissed-offedness venting out in a hiss of crude, nasty language, meant for the world, life, humanity, every last fucking soul, good or bad. The world was her obstacle, her foe, her vague, inconstant enemy.
Unfortunately, Jenny vented it all, everything, every last nasty invective toward the one man who loved and understood her, the one sole human being who might have been an exception to her broad-sweeping judgment of the whole of humankind.
“I’m a miserable designer!” she shouted in desperation. “I know nothing! I never will! They hate me! They hate my work! I’m quitting tomorrow, if they don’t fire me first.” She thought a moment. No. They won’t fire me—I’m putting in my resignation! That was after she had Jordan’s attention by throwing everything she was holding in her arms—purse, coat, briefcase, not to mention the spear-like golf umbrella she’d needed in the morning to save her hair from a sudden thunderstorm. “I’ll quit, I swear I will!”
She stomped around the apartment pissed off, watching, waiting for Jordan to say something, anything to stop her.
And sure enough, he did, once he’d finally heard it all. He’d had enough.
So calm, so cool. “My, you’re certainly asking for it, Jen,” was all he had to say to set her off again.
“Oh, you think you know what I need!” she came right back at him.
“Hey, I don’t know anything about what you need, but I sure as hell know what you’re going to get,” he said.
He yanked her hard, really hard, mainly because she was trying to scoot right past him and lock herself in the bathroom.
With his hand firmly around her arm, her heart started to pound. Adrenalin rushed her body like a hot wind. Before she could wrench from his grasp, he’d upended her over his lap. Damn! He was fast!
She was close to him now, against his middle, over his lap, her crotch right up next to his, and his was hot, venting sexual rage and her unhappiness, and somehow, in the middle of all that, a good deal of love.
The spoon came down across her bottom, hard, again and again and again, the damn thing burning like the fiery flames of hell itself. More, another and another, hot, hellish damnable, detestable, but necessary…just to get her out of the self-pitying gloom.
He didn’t say a word, just kept on hitting again and again until she was screaming, crying, raging, banging her fists against his legs and her feet against the nothingness behind her, all the while looking as if she were dogpaddling in mid-air. Over and over her words of exclamation, “Stop it, you fucking ass!” until she was hoarse.
Again, harder and harder he hit, until she suddenly realized dazedly that it wasn’t the spoon anymore but just his hand, his flesh, spanking her old-fashioned style, as if she were a really bratty kid.
Was that what she was? She thought that for one brief second.
He was exhausted and she was exhausted, when he finally stopped. But she was calmer. Much calmer. Spanked. Ass hot, body sweltering.
And with Jordan’s hand dropping between her thighs, and her thighs opening hungrily, and her inner self purring, she found heaven on earth again. To hell with the miserable world when she had this heaven. Yes, now this was heaven. Heaven.
They’d take it to bed. Minutes would pass in their clench. Their lips would lock; their hands would explore; his body would penetrate and hers would not resist.
At the finish, she’d come, he’d come, and they’d both pass out, exhaustion a good thing now until she said to him in a voice as sweet as a sorry child:
“I’m sorry, hon, it was a really bad day.”

Artist Credit

RC Horsch - www.eroto.com

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