You'll find spice, not spank, in a typical HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN book. After all, it is a romantic suspense, not erotica.
That said, it's certainly not unusual for my heroine, Donna Stone, finds herself in the most peculiar (ahem) positions. (Yes, that is a double entendre.)
For example, in Book 3 of the series — THE HOUSEWIFE ASSASSIN'S KILLER CHRISTMAS TIPS — she has to infiltrate the private party of a Silicon Valley power ranger in order to find a heat-seeking missile.
That too may sound like a double-entendre, but it isn't. Don't take my word for it. Read it yourself, below.
Hope this is part of your wonderful weekend,
I wouldn’t exactly call Miles’ room a suite.
More like a dungeon.
No, not the kind with stone walls and floors. The floors are bleached white pine, and the
walls are laminate with a high black finish, allowing the strategically-placed
platinum restraint hoops to double as an art statement.
Besides a steel framed bed with shackles hanging from chains, the room boasts a man-sized bird cage, a sex swing, a three-by-four-foot puppy cage.
But the piece de resistance is a stockade, which puts the sub on his or her knees via adjustable spreader bars connected to a holding collar, wrist and ankle shackles, and a fourteen-inch dildo rod.
I nod slightly.
He looks relieved. “I got the idea for it when I toured the Tower of London. It’s custom
made, of course. You see, a Vac-U-Lok holds any size dildo, and the settings
take it from zero to a hundred-and-forty strokes. Cool, huh? Wham, bam, thank
you… whomever.” He smiles knowingly.
I shrug. His smile quivers slightly.
I turn to a wall with floor-to-ceiling backlit glass shelves holding rows and rows of sex
toys. The number of cock rings is staggering. Hoods, bit gags, and muzzles
cover mannequin heads. Leather cuffs and metal restraints adorn mannequin arms
Mannequin torsos are covered with harnesses or restraints. However, I’m happy to report that while Miles’ collection of cock rings is vast, they are not displayed on
mannequin cocks. Neither are the nipple rings. Hmmm…
There is also a full row of dildos of all shapes, sizes and textures.
And for spanking, there are the crops, canes, floggers, whips, and paddles. A rose by
any other name, am I right?
It’s quite a Wall of Shame.
I pick up a paddle made of solid oak on one side and hard rubber on the other with the same indentation of a woodsman’s jackboot. The thought of even one slap would kick
some sense into me, that’s for sure.
“I can tell you like that one.” I haven’t realized how close he’s gotten until I feel his breath on my neck.
I turn to face him. “I like them all.” We are eye to eye.
He blinks first.
“Which is your favorite?” My tone is cool, noncommittal. At first, he stares at me.
Finally, he walks over to the middle of the row and picks up a paddle: black
lacquer, around eighteen inches long, with tiny holes in the shape of hearts
drilled through its inch thickness.
Without a word, he walks over with it.
I take it without even a nod. “Do you prefer a mask, gag, or a muzzle?”
“My favorite? Is that what you’re asking?”
I give the slightest of nods.
He walks over to the wall and pulls off a black leather full-head slave mask.
“I see.” Scary. “Now, how about a harness?”
Slowly he walks back to the wall. He stops to pick something up, but then he hesitates,
as if concerned.
Is he worried I’ll freak out?
Hell, I’m worried I’ll freak out.
Calm down… Calm down.
Finally, he picks it up. I mean, he picks them up: a leather thong, waist cincher, and a black patent leather collar, leg irons, and full-length arm binders.
Oh, and let’s not forget the dildo.
How can I describe it, other than to say that it is made of shiny stainless steel, and eleven
“You know what to do now, don’t you?” I murmur. Does he hear the tremble in my voice.
He nods slowly. “Assume the position.”
I nod. Then
lose my eyes, if only for a moment…
If I could, I’d cry.
I don’t have to do this, I tell myself. All I have to do is say “Big
girls don’t cry” and Jack will break down the door. He’ll be right by my side.
But no. He’s at her side.
Doing what she’s telling him to do.
I don’t need him to get out of this.
When I open my eyes again, I find Miles kneeling in front of me. He already has the hood
over his head, the waist cincher around his gut and the buttless leather skirt halfway over his thighs.
Not a pretty sight.
Seeing my stare, he bows his head in shame, eyes closed.
“Oh please, my mistress of madness! Be gentle with me! Forgive me for not being worthy of you!” He opens one eye. “Um, what’s our safety phrase, Mistress?”
“All my subs use ‘big boys don’t cry.’”
He nods vigorously. “Excellent choice, Mistress! Most excellent!”
Maybe I should send Jack to him for lessons.
Nah. Jack’s too stubborn. It would never take.
Besides, I like it when Jack’s a very, very bad boy.
“Crawl over to the stockade, slave. Now!” I smack him hard with the paddle. He roars, but does as he’s told.
In a moment I’ve shackled his wrists, ankles, and neck so that he on his knees, doggy-style, facing the door.
Okay, let’s get this over with. “You have been a very, very bad boy.”
“Yes, Mistress. I have been very, very bad.” His voice cracks in anticipation of his
“Do you know what Mistress does to very, very bad boys?”
“No,” he whispers.
“What did you say?”
“No, Mistress! I don’t know!”
“I do this—” I smack him with the paddle again. He groans, in pain.
Oh my God! Was I too hard? “Um… did you like that?”
“Do you want me to like it, Mistress?”
What the hell? “Yeah, sure. I want you to love it.”
“I do, Mistress, I love it! May I have more?”
“That’s not how we ask, now is it? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“Yes, sorry, Mistress! She told me to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”
Works for me. I slap him again. “So say it, slave.”
“Ow! Thank you, Mistress! More, please!”
“OW! Yes! Please! Yes!”
I aim to please. Sorry, bad pun.
But no, seriously, I could do this all night. Who knew it would be such a great stress
Suddenly I hear Jack’s voice in my ear, “Are we having fun yet?”
“I presume one of is having a blast: you.”
“Yes, Mistress! Tons of fun!”
“Shut up!” I say to Miles. Then, to Jack: “Just where the hell are you, anyway?” I take aim
at his backside.
“Don’t you see me? I’m right here, at your feet,” Miles answers again.
“What?... Oh! Not you, slave!”
To make my point, I whack him again.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he groans.
“Seriously, Donna, hell’s a’poppin’. The Quorum is here, too.”
“Yeah, I saw the way ‘the Quorum’ was all over you.”
“The Quorum?” Miles shrieks. “You know about the Quorum? How—?”
“Not you, dork. I mean Miles. I mean slave!” I slap his ass extra hard this time.
As if that will make him forget what he just heard.
“I think you need to untie me!” he whines. “Big boys don’t cry! Big boys don’t—”
Before he can say another word, I take a gag and stick it in his mouth, and zip up the eye
flips of his hood.
Now that he can’t actually see what I’m doing, I search frantically for the MANPAD. It’s
not under the bed, or in any of the large, body-sized pull-out drawers, which,
by the way, also have shackles embedded in them. Well, well, well, it seems
that someone’s got an Eddie Munster
“Donna, they’re going to be there any minute. Let’s get this show on the road, shall
“What do you suggest I do, smart ass?”
“Your magic decoder ring. Remember?”
“As if reading my mind, Jack laughs. “Listen for my knock. I’ll be there as soon as I
can get away.”
“As soon as you can ‘get away?’ From whom?”
He signs off with a click. I guess it isn’t something he wants to answer.
I twist open my ring holding the SP-117 truth serum, and put my fisted hand into Miles’
mouth. “Lick my ring, Slave. Suck it! Go ahead!”
Instinctively, he tries to raise his head to look at me, but the rod holding his neck shackle
keeps him drawn to my knuckles.
I slap his face so that he figures out fast that this isn’t any game.
He sucks it hungrily.
Within a moment he’s told me what I need to know: that the MANPAD is hidden in a second super-secret dungeon, behind the Wall of Shame. To open it, I have to push a button under the third dildo on the left.
Now that I’ve opened the case holding the MANPAD, which is, quite simply, a shoulder-fired heat-seeking missile encased in a metal tube. It’s about four feet wide and six
and a half feet long, but no more than three inches in diameter.
The case also holds a gripstop — the missile launcher — and a battery pack.
The whole kit and caboodle weighs a little more than Trisha, maybe just over forty-five
Just as I reach the door with it, I hear the rap of knuckles on it to the sound of Shave and a Haircut.
Jack has quite a sense of humor.
We’ll see who’s laughing after I give him the third degree about Valentina.
I struggle to unlock it without putting down the MANPAD case. Flinging it open, I mutter,
“’Bout damn time—”
In no time at all he’s grabbed the case out of my hand and slapped me to the floor.
As I stagger to my feet, he yanks my arms behind my back. Looking around, he gives a low whistle. “Quite a little set-up old Miles has here! This would have made quite a
bonus room addition to the old homestead, don’t you think?”
My answer is to spit on his cheek.
“Naughty, naughty girl.” He jerks me over toward Miles’ Wall of Shame. “Wow. I feel like
a kid in a candy shop.” He picks up a studded dildo and tickles my nose with
I jerk my head away.
He shrugs. “After Jack, I thought you’d welcome something super-sized.”
“Oh yeah? Trust me, that’s never been his problem. In fact, you’re not half the man he
is, Carl Stone.”
Carl raises his hand to slap me—
Then he thinks better of the idea and lowers it.
Instead, he jerks me into the man-sized birdcage and tethers my wrists so that I’m facing
the bars. No matter how much I struggle, he’s too strong for me. Still, I get in one good kick to his side before he grabs hold of one leg and shackles my ankle. He binds the other too, so that I’m spread-eagled.
He rips the back slit in my gown all the way up, until my whole backside is exposed. He lets his fingers do the walking down my spine. Despite my resolve, I tremble at his touch. When he gets to my ass, he spreads my cheeks, and I gasp.
It seems like an eternity before he murmurs, “You know you want it.”
I close my eyes. All of a sudden, my head feels too heavy. I lean it against the steel bars. “No. Not like this.” I raise my head, and turn it toward him, but he is purposely
standing out of my range of vision. Still I say, “You don’t want it like this, either. You were never a—a rapist.”
His lips kiss the small of my back, my shoulder blades, the back of my neck, an earlobe, and then he whispers, “How do you know what I was, or wasn’t?”
He’s right. I never really knew him.
I brace for the worst…
(c) 2012 Josie Brown. All rights reserved. This excerpt may not be resold or redistributed without prior written permission from Josie Brown or Signal Press Books (firstname.lastname@example.org).
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Book 1 – The Housewife Assassin's Handbook
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Guide to Gracious Killing