The village of Marston-on-the-Green was one of those quintessential English villages, situated in the home counties about forty miles north of London, and about five miles from the nearest town. It had all the usual village essentials, notably its church which could trace its history back well over seven hundred years, a combined shop and Post Office which a...
Chapter Four: Responding to touches with the crop It was the third day of the Ponygirl Instruction course. All the girls stood up as Miss Cathy walked into class right after the nine o'clock bell. As the rule prescribed, they had stripped out of their tops. The teacher glanced at Sabel, sitting so shiny and pretty on the first row, and smiled at the thought...
When Lauren awoke for the second time, the morning's light had faded. The gentle pattering of a summer shower quietly splashed against the window. The stereo was still playing her Enigma disk and the quiet hum of the air conditioner could barely be heard. Roxanne's gentle breathing was almost inaudible. Lauren slipped out of the bed and padded quietly to th...
[Authors Note: The term cunny is prevalent in the anonymous erotic fiction of Edwardian England. It is roughly analogous to the word pussy and is used in this manner. None of my research revealed a similar term that is congruent with the time period of this story, which is late 17th century. If any of my readers know of a less anachronistic term I would grea...
This book is dedicated to my mother Lillian. Who always told me "Life is not about learning to weather the storms, it's about learning to dance in the rain!" – I love you mother, thank you so much for all you've done to help me become the person I am. Chapter 1 My name is Jessica Fox. This is not my real name, but for reasons of anonymity this is the name...
Authors note: This story is set against the backdrop of World War II. It was a pleasure to research and write, but the background is rather dark. In striving for realism and factual depictions I tried to bring home to the reader some of the harsh realities of war, as such this story may not be enjoyable for many readers and is a little longer than many. I fe...
"Merciful Heavens, the cold." Trying to not look like I was shivering I approached my destination. The almost impossible scent of the place came to me well before I got to the gate. Roses? More a spring or summer smell than one for the depths of winter. The iron gate, flanked with its columns of white stone, was cold under my hand. I looked at the vines t...