Cold Hands Warm Bottoms

Welcome Spank Hoppers!

I hope you all survived the holidays and you're ready for some fun in 2014.

I'm very excited to be part of the Cold Hands Warm Bottoms Blog Hop. Not only will you have a chance to read stories and excerpts from all your favorite spanking writers, but you'll also have a chance to win some fabulous prizes. All commenters will be entered in a drawing for the grand prizes and each blog will also be awarding a prize.  You can find all the details about the hop here.

Check out all the prizes:

• Kindle or Nook (Blushing Books)
• Your Choice of a Free Book Cover for Your Next Book, an Ad for an Upcoming Project, or a Custom Facebook Header or Blog Graphic (Lazy Day Publishing)
• Three Month Subscription to Discipline & Desire (Discipline & Desire)
• $20 Gift Certificate to Amazon (Stormy Night Publications)
• Hand Crafted Paddle (Blondie’s Place)
• Spanking Video DVDs (Shadowlane)
• A “Get it All” Bundle (Variant Publishing) – Includes How to Get the Spanking You Want – The Complete Guide to Asking for It, Getting It, & Making It Better,  How to Give a Spanking – Advice from the Receiving End, What He Wants – A Man’s Seven Secret Spanking Desires, & The Little Book of Spanking Stories
• $25 Gift Certificate to Blushing Books (Patricia Green)
• Learning Domestic Discipline eBook Package (LearningDD)
• $25 Gift Certificate to Blushing Books (Patty Devlin)
• $10 Gift Certificate to Amazon (PK Corey)
• $25 Gift Certificate to Cane-iac (Cane-iac)
• $5 Amazon Gift Card and two books (Leigh Smith)
• Custom Social Media package including twitter and FB cover designs from graphic designer The Cover Artisan

Please enjoy this excerpt from my Work In Progress, tentatively titled Becoming A Proper Lady, The Diary of Miss Sarah McLean. Sarah McLean is an American girl whose father has taken her to Regency London in search of a husband. Here, she tells the story of her first meeting with Lord Amherst 

     For all my complaining I must admit that I enjoyed myself very much last night. Father and Mrs. White, the woman he has hired to make me into a proper bride for an English gentleman, escorted me. Mrs. White introduced me to a number of older ladies who were in attendance, including our hostess, Lady Waterford, who in turn introduced a number of eligible gentlemen to me.

    Soon my dance card was full and I passed the evening fairly agreeably. Several of my dance partners were rather dull and I wondered why they bothered signing my dance card if they were going to spend the entire dance glancing about the room to see what everyone else was doing, but to my credit, I did not actually say as much to any of them.

     There were one or two of my partners who are worthy of mention here. First, there was Lord Williams. He was quite handsome and a good dancer. He complimented me on my gown, which was perfectly understandable because it was utterly divine. Layers and layers of lace and satin pinched in at the waist by a corset, which I found totally unnecessary since I have a tiny waist as it is. But, Mrs. White insisted.

     She insists more than I think she ought, but Father is the one she answers to and not me.

     Lord Williams is very charming and I understand that his family is much to be envied and sought after, so Mrs. White seemed to relax a bit once she realized that he appeared taken with me. He even brought me a lemonade and we sat and chatted for a few minutes. Nothing of great consequence was said, but at least he did not comment on my accent, which puts him head and shoulders above most of the young men I have met here.

      Which leads me to the other person whom I feel I must mention. While standing near an open window in order to get some fresh air, I happened to overhear a man, I have no reason to believe him a gentleman, maligning Americans as nothing more than the bastard sons of the devil. 

      Well, I could hardly allow something like that to go unchallenged. I am sure that had Father heard him he would have boxed the young upstart’s ears, but since the honor of my country was left to me to defend, I did my part.

       “Pardon me, sir,” I said tapping the blowhard on the shoulder. When he turned, it was all I could do to keep my composure as he was undoubtedly the most strikingly handsome man I had ever seen in either America or England.

        My breath caught in my throat as his dark eyes looked down at me and the corners of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. “How may I be of service to you, miss?” he said. His voice was so sultry, I nearly forgot my pique, but seeing the mischievous twinkle in his eye reminded me and I replied. “You forget, sir, that the Americans who are the bastard sons of the devil as you say, also bested your country in two wars.”

     “We only sent hired soldiers to fight the bloody Americans. An army of real British soldiers would have done the job in half the time.”

      “What a thing to say. And have you no respect for your countrymen who died at war?”

      I glared up at him with all the might I could muster. Finally he laughed and said “My, you are not afraid to speak your mind, now are you? I suppose I ought not to be surprised. Americans are an untamed lot who apparently do not know how to train their women either.”

      He smiled down at me and I suppose he meant to be funny, but I was in no mood for his humor and something came over me, I know not what, but I stomped on his toe. Hard. Though I am petite and my feet were only ensconced in dancing slippers, I saw him wince. Whether from pain or surprise, I know not.

      Thereupon the scoundrel took me by the arm and lead me, very unceremoniously I might add, onto the terrace of the home in which the party took place. “What are you doing?” I said, trying very hard not to show my alarm. I glanced over my shoulder at the other guests but they were engaged with the dance and no one noticed us, not even the ever vigilant Mrs. White, who I later found out had spent more than her fair share of time sipping brandy instead of lemonade.

     However, as I was being escorted from the home, Mrs. White was the least of my concerns.

     This stranger, who had not even been polite enough to introduce himself to me, put his hand at the small of my back and guided me to a bench on the far corner of the terrace. I knew not what he intended but I did know that being there with him, alone, was highly improper. Yet the scorch from his touch just above my backside compelled me to comply without protest.

     What was this spell he had cast over me?

     He had not answered my question, but once we were near the bench he placed one foot upon it and then bent me over his knee.

     “How dare you? Unhand me!” I hissed at him through gritted teeth. I would have preferred shouting to the rooftops but dared not draw attention to myself or my indecorous situation.

     “I can see that you, my little Yankee girl, need a lesson in manners and that is precisely what I am about to give you.” And with that, the brute swatted my upturned backside.

     I can only be thankful for the many layers of my gown because although shocking, the swat was not painful. Unfortunately, I said as much to the still unnamed man who had me over his knee. “You spank like an old lady. Or a British Lord. ‘Tis hard to tell the difference.”

     There was a pause while I recoiled in horror at the implications of what I had just said. Perhaps I did need some lessons in keeping my mouth shut, but that was not the time to make such an admission.

     The next thing I knew, there was a rustle of fabric and my skirts were flipped up over my back and even mussed my hair. I struggled against what he intended and I was particularly irate over the damage to my coiffure. Two maids had spent an inordinate amount of time arranging it to meet Mrs. White’s specifications and she would not be pleased to see me return to the dance floor with my hair out of place. As she liked to say in response to nearly every question I posed ‘It simply is not done.’

     A cool breeze blew across the slit of my pantalets and inhaled sharply at the feeling of being exposed to the night air in such a manner. His hand cracked down on my barely covered backside and I gasped with the impact.

     “I bet that did not feel like a spanking from an old lady,” the cocksure gentleman said.

     “I do not know what you people here call a spanking, but my grandmother spanks harder than that.”

     Why could I never learn my lesson?

     I know that since this is my diary of events, you only have my word to go on, but I can honestly say that I am not usually so contrary. Of course, I do not often encounter men who excite my ire so profoundly, either.

     Apparently I had a similar effect on the man who had me over his knee because he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me in close to himself so I could not move, and proceeded to lay into my backside in a manner which would have made any grandmother proud.

     I lost count of the number of times the brute’s hand landed on my upturned bottom, but he seemed to strike it repeatedly. My delicate flesh warmed quickly under his assault and I cared for the sensations it created not at all. I kicked my feet in an attempt to impede his efforts, though rather than slowing him, he laughed. “You are quite the little hellion, Yankee girl.”

     “Stop calling me that,” I said, my jaw clenched in anger and resolution.

     "Since I do not know your real name, what choice do I have?” Although I was certain he had exerted himself thoroughly in my punishment, which continued unabated, he spoke as calmly as if he were reading the news.

     I am not proud of this, and if I am asked directly to verify its accuracy, I cannot vouch for my own future honesty, but I shall tell you, Dear Diary.

     While tottering across his knee, I turned my head as best I could but could not get a good enough angle to spit in his face, so instead, I worked up an impressive amount of spittle which I then projected onto his shoe with both accuracy and a fair amount of delight.

      He paused in his efforts to scorch my rump, stood me up (which then caused my skirts to thankfully fall back into place over my reddened bottom) and stared down at his saliva adorned shoe.

      I saw him bite his lip and for the second time in as many minutes I was forced to consider my own sanity.

     I stood next to him, gasping for air because the position I had been in over his knee, and possibly my own trepidation over the consequences of my actions, made it difficult for me to fill my lungs sufficiently.

     My captor’s hand rested gently on my arm and I glanced about the terrace considering the possibility of escape but before I could take action, I heard a familiar voice calling me.

     “Miss McLean! There you are. I have been quite frantic in looking for you.” Mrs. White, red-faced from exertion and brandy, huffed and puffed in my direction. She took a firm hold of my arm and said,“Hurry, now. You are to dance the next with Lord Amherst. He is the prize catch of the season and you must be on your best behavior.”

     I was stunned that Mrs. White would speak so in front of the oaf who had drug me onto the terrace in the first place, but when I glanced around to read his reaction to her words, he was gone.

Had I imagined the whole thing? Based upon the burn in my backside, I could only believe that it had been all too real.  

   However, I was relieved to be done with him and also relieved at not having to explain to Mrs. White why I was outside alone with a gentleman whose name I did not know.

     As we approached the dance floor she glanced at my hair and tsk-ed in dismay. “Honestly, Sarah, how did you manage to get your hair into such a frazzle already?”

     I could hardly explain to her that hanging upside down over a man’s knee made it challenging to maintain one’s hairstyle, and so I was grateful when she took her attention away from me and focused it on our hostess, Lady Waterford, who smiled at me and said “Miss McLean, please allow me to introduce Lord Amherst. He is most eager to make your acquaintance.”

     I smiled and curtsied like the trained pet I had become, but when I glanced up from my lowered position, I stared straight into the smirking face of…you guessed it…Lord Spanked My Ass.

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. One of my New Year's Resolutions is to have this book published by March.

Please leave a comment to be entered in my drawing for a $5 Amazon gift card. All entries also are eligible for the grand prize drawings. Be sure to include your email address in the comment in order to be registered for the drawings. 

In your comment, please answer this question---What is your New Year's Resolution? 

It appears that the linky list is down so please use these links to find the rest of the fabulous bloggers participating this weekend. 

1. Spanking Romance Reviews

2. Saturday Spankings

3. Corinne Alexander

4. Katherine Deane

5. Natasha Knight

6. Patricia Green Books

7. Casey McKay

8. Kathryn R. Blake

9. Renee Rose

10. Lily Harlem

11. Cara Bristol

12. Adaline Raine

13. Tara Finnegan Romance

14. Celeste Jones

15. Leigh Smith (aka Sunny Girl)

16. Tara Crescent (BDSM Romance)

17. Sue Lyndon

18. Anastasia Vitsky (Governing Ana)

19. Normandie Alleman

20. Maddie Taylor

21. Liv Honeywell

22. Joelle Casteel- author of bdsm erotica

23. Sadey Quinn

24. Holla Dean spankin' good romance stories

25. Paige Tyler

26. Thianna D

27. Emily Tilton

28. PK Corey

29. Constance Masters

30. Lucy Felthouse

31. Paloma Beck

32. Kristin Elyon

33. Patty Devlin Author

34. Abigail Armani Erotic Romance Author

35. Johnna Maquire

36. A Voice in the Corner

37. Michelle Graham, Erotic Romance

38. Kates Cravings - Batteries Not Included

39. Korey Mae Johnson

40. Sheri "WTF" Savill

41. Disciplinary Tales

42. Elegant Erotica - Maggie Carpenter

43. Trent Evans Letters

44. Jaye Peaches

45. Dinah McLeod

46. Daizie Draper

47. Draven St. James

48. Jolynn Raymond's Dark Obsessions

49. Shoshanna Evers

50. Acknowledging Imperfection

51. We Love Kink

52. 1950s Wife

53. Shelly Douglas

54. The Cover Artisan

55. Penelope Hasler