Mastering Her Will (Dirty Texas Love Book 2) Read online

  Mastering Her Will

  Dirty Texas Love, Book Two

  Shanna Handel

  Blushing Books

  Contents

  FREE Books for Amazon Customers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  Shanna Handel

  EBook Offer

  Blushing Books Newsletter

  Blushing Books

  ©2018 by Blushing Books® and Shanna Handel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  The trademark Blushing Books®

  is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Shanna Handel

  Mastering Her Will

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-731-8

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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  Chapter 1

  Buttercup

  As I bounded out of the church and into the blinding sun, there was only one thing on my mind as Mrs. Buttercup Hargett.

  Rough, dirty sex.

  Jake’s large hand was wound tightly around mine, the shiny silver band glinting on the ring finger of his left hand. Giving a joyous laugh, his warm brown eyes locked on mine as we made our way over the threshold of the chapel. The promise within those flashing eyes had my insides melting.

  We stood before the church as the heavy oak doors closed, alone for only moments before they would reopen the doors and the guests would exit, eager to get a peek at Mr. and Mrs. Hargett departing in a white limo.

  “Hello, wife,” he said, pulling on my hand and tugging my body towards his. Pressed up against the chest of my husband, I sighed as his mouth moved to mine. A kiss as deep as the sea had me floating on the earth, my body warming with desire.

  “I want you,” he whispered into my ear, his cheek nuzzling mine as he tore himself from me. Holding me at arm’s length, both my hands in his, he spoke clearly but his voice was husky with desire. “I want you. Wife of mine.”

  The stolen moment, his first words as my husband, would forever be etched into my memory as we hurried down the stone steps of the church to the limo that waited to take us to our wedding reception. There was no way I was going to make it until tonight without tearing the clothes off my six foot and some change, broad shouldered, wavy brown haired—hot as Texas makes them—husband.

  Tonight would be our first time. I hadn’t even seen my husband naked yet. It was like something out of a 1950’s movie. The virginal bride and her hunky husband who had never taken their clothes off around one another. Except we were no virgins.

  Jake had made us wait. And wait, and wait some more. One time, my friend, Cherry—her mind always on SEX—had grabbed my arm, whispering in my ear, “How’s he in bed? Hmmm? Must be great. Jake is such a hunk.” I didn’t need a mirror to know my face had turned beet red. Muttering something incoherent about Jake being old-fashioned, my face burned as Cherry had hooted and hollered at me in disbelief. She hadn’t let up on the subject until I threatened to tell everyone at the EMS building we volunteered at that she was secretly afraid of the sight of blood. She shut up after that.

  But Jake made the rules. And what Jake says goes. And that was exactly how I liked it. Except when I didn’t—which was every time we started making out while we were dating.

  Things would start to get all hot and heavy and I would be grinding around on his thigh, my crotch trying to find purchase to rub on, much like a dog in heat, and he would stop us.

  Stop everything. Saying we needed to ‘cool it.’

  I would keep trying to get us to take things further. Unbutton my shirt slowly, my lacy bra peeking out. Or reach down and ‘accidently’ brush up against the erection that was straining against the fabric of his pants. Stick my finger in my mouth seductively, murmuring, “Don’t you want to?”

  That’s when Jake would get firm with me, telling me that I ‘needed to learn how to wait, young lady.’ As I would try tactic after tactic, he would hold strong, informing me that we would be glad we had waited. That our wedding night would be special.

  And if I took things a little too far? Well, that resulted in Jake swiftly throwing me over his lap, flipping up my skirt or ripping down my jeans, taking down my panties, and spanking my bare bottom with his huge paddle like hand until I was promising to behave myself.

  Yes, I said it.

  Spanking.

  My husband believes in domestic discipline. Where the man is the head of the household and his wife submits her will to his. And in return, he loves, adores and spoils the heck out of his bride. In Jake’s case the rules applied before marriage as well, keeping a tight rein on our relationship with his firm hand.

  And he could not keep his hands off me—my rear at least. Even though he wouldn’t let us go any further than kissing and touching, he found it A-Okay to spank my bare ass anytime he saw fit. Not that I was complaining; I had recently discovered I was a lifelong closet spanko.

  And now he had me believing in domestic discipline.

  Before Jake I had wondered what was wrong with me. Enjoying living in an age of women gaining power, I desired both—to be a strong woman and a submissive partner. I got the shivers every time I saw a man being firm with his woman.

  And we weren’t the only ones in our small town of Poke. Things seemed to run a little more old-fashioned around here.
When I first moved here, I was surprised to find that my brother Ray and his wife Jessica were in a DD relationship. As well as their friends, Wes and Carrie. Something must run in the water around here—making the women swoon over their strong men.

  A delicious tingle ran down my spine the first time I heard Wes take his petite spitfire of a wife, Carrie by the arm whispering in her ear, “Just wait till we get home, young lady.” And when Jessica was doing my hair to get me ready for my first date with Jake, she had told me, ‘Jake is a spanking man,’ I still remember how my breath had caught in my throat, my eyes wide and shining in the mirror, my stomach dropping ten feet.

  I could never share my desires with my ‘normal’ friends. They would have laughed me out of town. Called me archaic. Wanted to know where my brain had gone. Then I met Jake.

  The first time Jake took me over his knee I felt complete, somehow.

  I know it’s not for everyone, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love it when he calls me, good girl, little girl, young lady. And even though I may not love a punishment spanking when I’m in the throes of it, there are other types of spankings. The ones that warmed my skin and melted my core and had me positively gyrating on Jake’s hard thighs as we kiss afterwards. That is until he would pull me off him, firmly telling me ‘you need to learn patience, little girl.’

  The memory of the last spanking he had given me flashed into my mind. My usual laid-back personality had somehow transformed into a raging bridezilla—my sister-in-law, Jessica helpfully informed me this was totally normal and not to worry; the calm ones always snap from the pressure of wedding planning. That was me. I snapped—at the last person I should have, Jake.

  I got shivers just thinking about the flash in his eyes and his stern voice commanding me, “You will not speak to me with that tone, not now, not when we are married, not ever. Are we clear?”

  I should have dropped it at that point—but I was too far gone. “But the wedding planner told me that my wedding would be ruined if I have my favorite Double Dutch Chocolate Cake. And that chocolate cakes had to be bad luck and when I told her it didn’t matter, she sneered at me and said, ‘well, I hope you don’t get any cake on that white dress of yours.’ What a total b—” my rant was cut off by Jake’s hand grabbing my wrist and tugging me towards the couch.

  “That’s it,” he growled, causing butterflies to take flight in my tummy.

  “What? I’m right about this. She had no right to… Jake let me go! What are you doing?” I cried, knowing full well what my fiancé was planning by the way he was sitting down on the couch, pulling me across his lap.

  “What do you think I’m doing, Buttercup?”

  I protested as he pushed my torso onto the couch, my legs hanging down over his lap, my bottom perfectly centered over his knee just like he liked it. Trying to look over my shoulder I continued my protest, “But Jake—”

  Pinning my flying hand behind my back, without a word, he began to spank me.

  “Ow… Jake… you aren’t being fair! She was the one in the wrong, not me! I was just telling you exactly what happened. I don’t know why you are spanking me for this!”

  Wordlessly, he continued to spank my bottom over my dress. He usually lectured me while he spanked, but that day was different. The sharpness of his swats increased as he spanked, his irritation brewing with each swat, but I could not keep my big mouth shut.

  “Jake Hargett you let me up this instant!” I yelled, kicking my feet and struggling to get free.

  “That’s it,” he mumbled to himself. He slipped one leg out from under me, wrapped it around both of my legs, locking them into an iron like grip with his thigh and his knee. In one swift motion, my dress was up and over my waist, my panties tugged down baring my bottom.

  “This has been building up, Buttercup. I should have taken you over my knees a few days ago when you were getting snappy with Carrie about the decorations. Should have just taken you right over my knee in front of everyone and put your sassy attitude to bed. But I didn’t and now I have to make up for lost time.”

  Tightening his grip on my wrist, he spanked—hard. His hand came down on my bare bottom with a loud, slap. I cried out but that didn’t stop the next succession of spanks from raining down on my poor butt.

  My protest went from exclamations to stutters to sobs. My body went limp; my tongue went quiet. I stopped fighting him.

  “Do I have your attention now, Buttercup?”

  “Yes, sir,” I cried.

  The spanking stopped. Still holding me firmly in his grasp, he said, “Can you quiet down long enough to listen to what I have to say?”

  “Yes, sir,” I sniffled, my cheek resting on the couch cushion. The skin of my bottom burning as it lay exposed over his knee.

  The grip on my wrist relaxed but his leg held firm around mine.

  “You will not use a disrespectful tone to me—regardless of whether you are right or not. And that filthy word you were about to say is banned from this house. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, go and get your hairbrush.” He released me, and I quickly scurried to my feet, my dress falling back down over my bottom, but my panties still in place around my mid-thigh—I knew better than to try to pull them up. Jake did not allow that.

  Looking him over sitting so relaxed on our couch—long legs splayed, arms crossed casually over his chest. Then I considered his face. His chiseled jaw was set firm, his brown eyes flashing at me—livid. His wide white grin was nowhere to be found on his handsome tanned face.

  Giving a gulp I came to the decision it would be better if I didn’t argue.

  Holding my head high trying to maintain a shred of dignity. I made my way to the bedroom, the panties shortening my stride as they tightened against my thighs with each step. I could have sworn I heard a chuckle, Jake taking pleasure in my walk of shame.

  When I was alone in the bedroom, I took a deep breath, standing just inside the doorway. Staring at the top of my dresser, shivers went down my spine as I gazed upon the only heirloom I owned.

  A boar bristled, wooden handled hairbrush that my man had deemed to be the perfect paddle.

  From behind me, an impatient voice demanded, “Buttercup, don’t keep me waiting.” I gulped again, hurried to the other side of the room, grabbed the hairbrush and went to face my fate.

  Tiptoeing into the living room I stopped a safe distance from my then fiancé. I breathed a sigh of relief—his handsome face was calm. Long leg crossed over his thigh, ankle resting on his knee, his leg jostled up and down.

  Jake’s exterior may have been calm, but his bouncing knee told a different story. When Jake was upset—really upset, he jiggled his leg, sometimes sending the whole room to shaking.

  He was not happy with me—at all.

  One dark brow raised, and his tone was low as he said, “Get over here. Now.”

  I had taken too long retrieving the hairbrush. I scurried over, hesitating only a moment before handing over the implement that would soon be paddling my ass.

  Uncrossing his leg, his one-word command sent a shiver through me. “Over.”

  I laid over his lap, this time tucking my hands under my head obediently. At least I was comfy laying across the couch, though I knew the feeling wouldn’t last long.

  The material of my dress flew up over my bottom, my panties had inched down, and the stretchy material was now around my knees.

  “Do I need to lock your legs in? You still feeling like you want to kick me?” he asked, darkly.

  “No, sir.”

  “Buttercup, you are a sweet girl, as sweet as they come. The stress of preparing a wedding is taking a toll on you. The stress I can handle. But the out and out mean streak it has brought out in you—I cannot. What kind of man would I be if I let my soon to be wife turn into an angry ranting woman with a dirty mouth?”

  “Um… not a good one?”

  “Yes. Not a good one. I have seen too many unhappy marriages where th
e women get more and more bitter over time, complaining, snapping at their loved ones, always defending themselves because they are ‘stressed.’ You talk like you talked this afternoon and you need to know your bottom is going to feel my wrath. Are we understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” I laid limply over his lap, absorbing his words. I had gone my whole life without anyone caring what I did, how I spoke, how I acted. I had turned out okay in the end, being more mature than my years, taking care of myself, but God, it felt good to have a strong man holding me accountable for my actions—even if my butt had to pay the price.

  “I am going to paddle you good, Buttercup. This Bride-Godzilla whatever they call it on TV stops today. I want my sweet girl back. And I intend to do what I need to do to have that happen.”

  “Okay,” I whispered. My tummy tightened in knots but who was I kidding? Was I nervous or excited? I couldn’t tell—maybe both? I knew this was truly about correction for Jake but the way he handled me, his firm voice, his strong hands, had my pussy dripping with desire. A blush of shame rose to my cheeks—he knew his spankings made me wet.

  The smooth wooden back of the hairbrush came down on the center of my right cheek. I sucked breath through my teeth at the sharp sting. A matching spank came down on the left. And the pattern repeated.

  His hand already had my bottom stinging—the brush had my bottom absolutely on fire.

  I lay limp the stinging swats melding into one burning bottom. The sound of the flat side of the brush making contact with my skin made my cheeks flush in embarrassment. My toes curled into the carpet as I willed my legs not to kick.