Sunday, 23 July 2017

Daddy's Rules: The Rescue Chapter Four


Here it is!  Chapter four of my BDSM/Spanking/Daddy Dom Romance, Daddy's Rules:  The Rescue complete with a surprising hot twist!

Enjoy chasing your Sunday night blues away!

If you haven't read the first Daddy's Rules check it out and download it straight to your Kindle or other device on early download at Totally Bound Publishing or pre-order the PRINT version before its release on Tuesday 25th July..  You can also Pre-Order the book as an Ebook and in Print from & Barnes & Noble.  Read an excerpt on this blog on the previous post.

Happy Reading!


Chapter Four

I fell asleep in Ottavio’s arms gently lulled to sleep listening to the calm thudding of his heart cuddling in to his chest like a child.  He’d questioned me about why I wanted to end my life.  He was so easy to talk to and before long I was pouring my heart out to him.  I hadn’t felt this safe in a long time yet when I woke I felt like a fool.  This handsome younger man who had his arms curled possessively around me wouldn’t want anything more than a one night stand and I didn’t want to be given the brush off the moment he got up.  If I slipped out now I could keep the dream of having attracted such a man alive in my mind without it being discoloured or tainted by rejection.

It took great effort to rouse myself in to movement.  I didn’t want to leave even though I knew I had to.  I couldn’t bear to be disappointed when he saw me in the cold light of day and decided I wasn’t worth half the women he had already bedded.  With great reluctance, I lifted his arm away from me careful not to wake him and slipped out of the bed.  Quickly I pulled on my evening dress and carrying my shoes, I tiptoed down the stairs and out of the  
Cabin undetected.

Hiding from the early morning risers I hurried back to my own cabin and took a long shower.  Fort-Five minutes later I emerged from my cabin to take some air on the promenade deck hoping I wouldn’t run in to Ottavio saving us both the embarrassment.  I folded my arms and walked between the groups of people feeling gently warmed by the sunshine.  It was a sea day and we wouldn’t put in to our first port of call, Cadiz, Spain until tomorrow.  I would have to spend the whole day making sure I didn’t run in to him.

I needed to make a plan for my life, work out what I was going to do next to stop myself from wanting to end it all.  I had to get a grip.  Deciding to mull it over with a coffee I ducked in to one of the lounges and ordered some breakfast.

The place was deserted apart from a family with a whimpering toddler and an old couple.  It was relatively quiet and I could think.  Music played quietly in the background when I was served my latte and croissant and I made the fatal mistake of tuning in to it.  It was Chris Issak’s Wicked Game.  Immediately I felt my stomach turn with unease and the heavy repressed weight of emotion that had burrowed its way in to my chest in the previous months rose to the surface and welled in my throat.  Tears threatened.  My ex-husband and I had made love to that song as teenagers when we first met.  These types of memories usually had one of two effects, I either felt sad and yearned for the past or my stomach churned with nausea at the thought of having let the man touch me in the first place.  But today I was confused after my night of unbridled passion and unsure what to feel.

I hated my ex and wondered if I had ever truly loved him in the first place.  I guess I must have done to produce a gorgeous child.  My head was so mixed up at the time.  When would the crying and the continuous unhelpful reminiscing stop so I could start to live the life I’d wanted for so long, just like I planned.  But I was beginning to learn that divorce was not too dissimilar to suffering a bereavement.  A mourning period had to be endured whatever your feelings towards your ex.  History had to be respected and eventually let go first.  Taking another sip of coffee, I glanced at the family.  The toddler was now content sucking on a beaker of juice.  He was accompanied by a young Mum & Dad, a six-year-old boy and a girl of three.  My heart stung when my mind drifted backwards thinking of my own family that was now broken up.  We had been happy back then.  I frowned knowing deep inside my mind was placing a false veil.  I was happy with my young child but suffocated by the presence of my husband who sought to control every moment we spent together and make me feel inadequate.  At least now I was seeing reality.  Hopefully I would learn to see it more and more.  Then I could move on.

Is that how it would have been if I’d had the remotest chance of pursuing a relationship with Ottavio like he’d professed to want?  Would I be deluding myself in another relationship pretending bliss?  My heart beat a little faster every time I thought of him.  Would it just turn out the same when the magic wore off?  Well, I wouldn’t get to find out.

I thought of his touch, the gentleness with which he had caressed my face and body then the possessive way he had tamed me with his firm and sometimes rough handling.  It had made me feel alive again.  My whole body shivered with need remembering how he’d so passionately spanked my bare bottom to calm my temper before ramming his cock so hard inside me I’d forgotten who I was anymore.  I wanted to forget again, forget all of my pain and all that I had lost on the break up that made me believe I was being punished by some higher force, all because I’d dared to take a chance on life and try to live it a better way.

I often listed my losses in a frenzied temper in my mind, my health had disappeared due to illness whilst married to James which had resulted in not being able to drive so my independence had taken a hit, my dog was sent to live with my mother-in-law so we could put the house on the market, my ex’s family ignored me when he found another woman before our agreed split time so my daughter could get through her GCSEs and he moved in with her abandoning us, my own family who I continued to have disagreements with, my status, security and worst of all my salubrious home.  I might have a lot of money in the bank after the sale but I was now in a two bedroomed flat with a whole load of unpacked brown removal boxes packed to the hilt that had to go in to storage because I had no room for the contents.  It made me consider that I should have stayed in my loveless marriage with the control freak and continued to pretend everything was ok, just so I could keep myself and my daughter safe.

I growled inwardly hating my weak thoughts I believed worthy of a coward.  At least I’d had the guts to do it.  I’d wanted to stand on my own for as long as I could remember to the point I’d resented the security and money my ex had provided I reminded myself.  I would get everything right in time.  My confidence would return.  I just had to keep faith in myself and keep plodding through the thick emotion and the tears blurring my vision.  It would clear and I would see exactly where I was going soon enough.  I didn’t need any man to look after me including the enigmatic Ottavio Sassano.

Bloody men.  Always taking and getting what they want no matter the damage.  They might think they run the world but they don’t rule me anymore.
I picked up my coffee cup to finish my drink feeling strong and more in control.

The door from the Promenade Deck in to the lounge opened allowing the breeze from the sea to brush across my face and ruffle my hair.  I looked up hearing a woman giggling and saw her kissing the man with her.  I turned to look away but my eyes locked with the man, my ex-husband.

I wasn’t sure which emotion to feel first, surprise, anger, frustration, sadness, jealousy, disdain, contempt or just plain old hatred for the pair of them.  The woman who had disrupted my daughter’s life before her exams and caused her distress looked nervous, clearly she had recognised me.  She tightened her grip on James’s arm possessively.  I couldn’t have him.  I didn’t want him.

The urge to fly at them began to build.  Holding my ground and placing a tight rein on my anger, I opened my mouth to speak and deliver a clever cutting remark about running in to him on a ship in the middle of the ocean but all that came out was hello.

“There you are, darling.  I wondered where you’d got to,” I heard a smooth even Italian male voice say to my side.

Ottavio came to stand next to me.  He swept his arm around my shoulders and drew me protectively to his side.  Despite my new found independence, I couldn’t help warming to his closeness and desire to protect me.  I rested my head against his chest grateful for the rescue even though my stubborn mind rallied against it.  He glanced at James and that woman and nodded in greeting.

“Good morning,” he said to both of them before guiding me away.

On reflection it was the best revenge I could have been given.  Ottavio in his immaculate Italian designer black suit, the picture of sophistication and elegance, younger than James’s little friend who stood next to him in his shabby brown shorts and white tee-shirt.  My ex’s face looked a picture.  His complexion turned ashen and his weak blue green eyes narrowed to sharp points.  It was childish but what a score!

Once outside back on the Promenade deck I tried to correct my regressing behaviour and break away from the Billionaire determined not to lean on his protection.  It was hard when all I wanted to do was to let go, sink in to his arms like a wilting flower to my shame and inhale that intoxicating fresh pine scent covering his taut muscled body.  Thankfully, he refused to let go of me.

“I have been worried sick about you,” he said transferring his hold on my arm to my hand.  “I am going to make you rest.”

The Billionaire marched me back to his suite cabin instantly lifting me up in to his arms the moment we were through the door to carry me up the stairs to the bedroom.  He threw me down on top of the bed watching as my body lightly bounced against it.  The curtains were already closed and the light was dim despite the bright morning sunshine outside.  He had clearly not planned to come back without me.

“I don’t need to rest,” I told him curtly.  “And I don’t want to be kidnapped again,” I informed him trying to get off the bed.

“I want you resting not facing down your ex-husband.”

“How did you know it was him?”

“I could tell by the pale look on your face.  You looked like you were either going to pass out or be sick,” he said sitting down on the bed to reach for the zip at the back of my pale blue summer dress.

“What are you doing?” I asked batting his hand away.  “I told you I don’t want to sleep.  I slept well last night.”

“After 2am.  You told me you haven’t been sleeping for months.”

He took hold of the dress and yanked down the zip.

“I am putting you back to bed for a while.  If you are a good girl I will take you out for afternoon tea later and the club this evening.”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“I can’t believe you sneaked out and left me this morning.”  I was surprised at how annoyed and disbelieving of my behaviour he clearly felt.  He pulled my dress down my body and off it to leave me in my white bra and panties.  “Do I have to remind you that you came close to ending your life last night.  I have put you on suicide watch.”

“I won’t be told what to do anymore.  I can look after myself.  Thank you for your help but . . .”

“But nothing,” he said with firmness swiftly undoing the catch on my bra and pulled it away.

“Keeping you naked will induce you not to run away, little one,” he told me in a parental tone that made wetness flood between my thighs against my wishes.  I wanted to be talked to like a child now?

The very idea didn’t sit well with me even if it was the crazy truth.  My naked breasts bounced and wobbled brushing his suit jacket as he quickly turned his attention to removing my panties and shoes.  My thoughts made me restless.  I wondered why I continued to resist and pretend but for some reason I felt it was warranted.  A part of me wasn’t ready to surrender to another man and allow him to control my life even if I craved it albeit in a new enriching and nurturing form.  I was guarding myself.

Ottavio held my arms by my sides.

“Trust me,” he said pushing me backwards down on the bed.  But I wouldn’t give up.  Tears gathered.  Sadness and frustration engulfed me, my emotions threatening to spill out of control again.  I broke down realising my pain was because I had seen James again and not because of Ottavio.

“I can’t believe he came with her and shoved her in my face again.  I just wasn’t good enough for him.  He acted like he hated me all of the time.  My life feels as though it has been raped.  I don’t know how to come back from this.  I have kept going for so long to keep the peace, to keep my daughter safe I forgot who I was.”

Ottavio got on to the bed next to me and pulled my struggling form over the top of his facing upwards and held me tight in place whispering words of reassurance.  His hand clasped both of my wrists together across my body underneath my breasts while he trailed the tips of his fingers over the curve of my bare hip before circling them along the soft pale skin covering the swell of my buttocks.

I sobbed and moved but a noise made me stop dead.  The door had opened downstairs and somebody was walking in to the cabin unannounced.  My heart leapt in to my throat.  Instinctively I tried to get up but Ottavio’s grip intensified and I couldn’t move at all.

“Someone is in the cabin and I am naked,” I protested.

“Relax,” was all he said.  “There is nothing to be frightened of.  You are safe.  I would never put you in danger.  I will always protect you,” he whispered.  I moaned when he caressed his fingers over my hip again to delve them between my dampening vagina.

“That’s it just keep nice and relaxed.  There is someone I want you to meet.”

I started to pant not sure if it was in fear of the unexpected guest or the devilish way Ottaivio stoked the fire of desire in my vulva.

The footsteps mounted the stairs and they belonged to a man.  A tall figure strode across the dimly lit room.  He was a similar height and figure to Ottavio.  I held my breath and screwed my eyes closed, afraid of what was to happen next.

Gentle male laughter floated on the cool air of the air conditioned room and the side of the bed next to us dipped as the mysterious man sat down.  I felt the cool touch of his fingers down my arm.  I’d expected to feel afraid but his touch was soothing and strangely familiar.

“Open your eyes, little one there is nothing to fear.  No one is going to hurt you.  I asked you to trust me,” Ottavio said softly.  “Please don’t let me down, little girl,” he scolded moving his hand to raise it and slap it hard but carefully down on to my pussy.

My breasts and hips thrust upwards in to the air treating both men to an enticing sight as a loud gasp echoed from my lips and my eyes flew wide open.  Another male chuckle joined Ottavio’s own amusement.  I looked up to find myself staring in to the eyes of what appeared to be an exact duplicate of Ottavio.

“Helena, meet my brother and identical twin, Domenico.”

“Delighted to meet you at last,” the equally handsome Domenico said with a grin, trailing the pads of his fingers around one taut nipple.  Ottavio’s caress of my pussy resumed in unison.

A spark of fire re-ignited in me.  They were playing games yet I could not deny the arousal they were building in me.  I shouldn’t have let them but . . . I did nothing to stop them.

“What is this?” I asked breathlessly.

“I saw you on the Promenade deck yesterday but before I could come to your assistance my brother beat me to it.  I laid claim to you this morning but my brother would not give you up.”

I opened my mouth to offer a rebuke but Domenico inserted his thumb to silence me.  He rubbed it softly over my tongue, moving it back and forth, in and out of my mouth between my red painted lips.  I found myself sucking on it loving the way the lipstick rimmed it.  It was a soothing action, rather like giving an upset baby a dummy.  It made me feel content and safe.

“So . . . “ Ottavio began.  “We came to an agreement and decided to share you.”

“We didn’t think you’d mind,” Domenico told me darkly lifting his fingers from my nipple he had been flexing back and forth to trail them down my stomach and join his fingers with his brother’s in my pussy.  I bucked upwards entranced with the double caress.

“But there is something we must do first,” Domenico said removing his thumb from my mouth for a moment while he reached in his identical suit inside pocket.  He pulled out a long leather paddle.  I stared at it.  My buttocks were still red from last night and I couldn’t take another spanking but it was not my bottom he intend to paddle.

“We can’t just let you get away with disappearing this morning and being a naughty girl.  You must be firmly disciplined.  It is time that you realise you are no longer in charge.  We will take care of you now.  We will have your submission, little one.”

I didn’t say a word.  I wanted them to take over, make the pain go away.  So much for my new found independence.  Who needed it when someone wanted to take care of you?  It was the best feeling in the world.  I didn’t feel abandoned anymore and I would cherish that first moment with my two new Daddies for the rest of my life.

Ottavio, wrapped each of his legs over mine and forced my legs apart.  Domenico re-inserted his thumb and raised the paddle over the top of my wet vulva.  I gasped and held my breath against his thumb pulsing in and out as he brought the paddle down and struck my pussy with it.  He had a firm hand but his brother was not to be out done.  After three slaps of the paddle that had me yelping, Ottavio brought his own hand down to spank it a few times.  He then slapped at my breasts while Domenico resumed my paddling.  The hot fiery pain coupled and danced with my desire to arouse me.  Together they brought me to surrender and grateful obedience.

Friday, 21 July 2017

Daddy's Rules Available In Print!


I am very excited my hot BDSM/Spanking/Daddy Dom Romance, Daddy's Rules is now available in PRINT as well as Ebook on

If you haven't already taken a look check out the first chapter below and the book on .

Also, remember you can read the latest instalment of my sequel to the book, Daddy's Rules:  The Rescue I am writing on this blog and my second story with a spooky past life BDSM twist, Forget Me Nots on the last two posts.

Happy Friday!

Enjoy your read!


Daddy's Rules

His presence entered my life when I least expected it. Isn’t that always the way? Daddy came when I believed all hope was lost and my life was a prison sentence I would never escape from, when I no longer saw the windows on my home as clear, unhindered portals to allow light and the outside world to flood in but with bars. They were barriers, reminding me of what I could not have—freedom.
Everyone wants the best for their child. They will sacrifice all that they have, even their life, no matter how many others find their actions insensible. My marriage was over, but my duty to my child remained. Until she finished school and was able to move on with her life, I would remain at the marital home. I would continue to pretend to be the dutiful wife to a husband who would not accept that I would eventually leave, despite my constant assertions. He could not understand why my love for him had died, even though the evidence of the reason was plain for all to see. But he would never let go. Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he was too frightened of what would happen if he did.
It was one early Friday morning when I entered a restaurant serving breakfast and coffee to early morning shoppers. I’d decided I needed a break from writing that morning and I could afford the time for a change. As a nervous person, it was no easy feat for me to accomplish. Sitting on my own, I usually worried if anyone was watching me, then I would spend the rest of the time thinking how stupid I looked. I know…crazy, right? As if they could be bothered to watch me. But there it was.
I ordered my usual—a rich-bean latte, eggs and mushrooms on toasted Italian bread. While I waited for my order, I pretended to be preoccupied with my mobile phone. Then I felt it. Those dark eyes looking at me, boring into my very soul.
The feeling of being watched was so strong that it forced me to look up and seek out the threat. My eyes locked with black ones. They belonged to a man younger than me in age, yet they spoke of a wisdom I had never attained. To say he was handsome would be an understatement and do him a disservice. He had thick, black, lustrous hair that shone under the light. It was cut short and appeared businesslike, just like the rest of him. My admirer wore an immaculate black suit. There was no doubt in my mind it was designer. His tie was silver—clearly silk—and he wore a large but elegant Rolex watch. Everything about the man said money with a capital M.
My observer sat at a table in the corner surrounded by three men and two women in business suits. They were talking loudly in French among themselves and referring to two large plans they had stretched across the table. He was not paying any attention. Leaning back in his cream booth-seat, he studied me closely while he rested his arm and elbow on the table, exposing his crisp white shirt’s cuff and silver cufflink. The pose displayed his dominance and power to perfection. Although I was not fully aware of the reason for this strange sensation at the time, my whole body softened, ready to submit to it.
Something drew me to his hands. They were well manicured, large and enticingly masculine. For a moment, I found myself imagining them caressing my body—my bare bottom in particular. I wanted to feel his smooth palm tracing the delicate skin, circling his fingertips over it as though it belonged to him. I wanted his hand to slap at my buttock, making it jump and quiver as I cried out with the pain and the strange pleasure the action enforced in my mind.
But it was nothing to the sudden image of me kneeling naked and submissive at his feet. The urge to be made to kneel before him was compelling and strong. I had never entertained such thoughts or images in my life. They made me angry, disturbed. I could not—would not—feel subservient to a man. I was a feminist who ranted and raved, not someone who knelt naked and pliant at a man’s feet, welcoming his dominance and mastery in my world. Yet the gentle dampness between my thighs displayed my betrayal and told me otherwise.
The heat of a blush rose in my cheeks forcing me to turn away. My heart pounded with frustration and annoyance. But the magnetic pull of his eyes quickly drew me back. He smiled gently at me when my gaze returned to his face. There was triumph in his dark eyes, as though he knew all my damaging, conflicting thoughts. I had a strong feeling I had been captured and caged by a clever hunter. 
Daddy's Rules PRINT Book on Amazon

Daddy's Rules Ebook On Amazon

Download Straight To Your Kindle At Totally Bound Or Buy PRINT Book

Thursday, 20 July 2017

More Past Life Spankings!


More past life spankings anyone?  Read the next part of my spooky BDSM/Spanking/Daddy Dom Victorian/AmericanWest/Contemporary Romance dealing with the mystery of past lives and the concept of eternal love while I prepare for the general release of Daddy's Rules on Tuesday the 25th of July!

I am still dealing with my house move, other work etc but I will endeavour to have a new Daddy's Rules:  The Rescue chapter ready for you to read on Sunday!

Don't forget you can early download, Daddy's Rules straight to your Kindle on early download from Totally Bound's Website or pre-order the PRINT copy.  Also Pre-order from or or Barnes & Noble.

Enjoy your pre-weekend read!


Chapter Two

The early morning mist rolled across the smooth surface of the water towards the shore.  The dawn had just risen and the sun was strong enough to cast the first of its rays through the shroud of white over the surrounding hills. Clarissa raised her camera to capture the moment and rolled off another reel of film.  The main focus of her attention was a large Island in the middle of Goldwater Lake.  The place had fascinated her since she was a child.  Upon it sat a old haunted Victorian mansion, the focus of many ghost stories after the murder of a young Victorian family.  The house was mysteriously hidden amidst the trees lining the shore and it was hard to capture even a glimpse of it, especially in the summer when the trees were in full leaf though it never stopped Clarissa trying.

Something caught her attention.  Zooming in to the boathouse on the Island she was surprised to see a tall man in a suit standing on the wooden jetty.  He was looking straight at her.  Clarissa zoomed in further until she could see his face more closely, believing he couldn’t possibly see her properly from there and she would be undetected.  But the handsome dark haired man grinned back at her staring directly in to the camera.  Embarrassed she had been caught watching him, she lowered the camera.  There was something oddly familiar about him.  It wasn’t the first odd occurrence she’d had that morning.  Her dreams in the night of being made love to by a stranger were also leaving her with a strange feeling of familiarity.  Summoning the confidence to look again, she found that the man had vanished.

Raising her eyebrows, Clarissa let the camera sit on her neck and took in the eerie scene before her.  It wasn’t hard to see why the place was thought to be haunted.  She had taken enough photographs.  A few of them had to be worth putting in the book she was writing about the historical murders and the history of the Island. Whilst busying herself flicking back through a few of them she heard a voice:

“Clarissa.  Clarissa.”

Clarissa raised her head wondering who could be calling her name out here at this time of the morning.  The male voice sounded disembodied as it floated on the gentle cooling breeze.

I must be imagining it.

Ignoring it, Clarissa bent her head and looked through a few more photographs.  But there it was again and this time it was loud enough for her not to dismiss it as mere fantasy.  Clarissa whirled around looking for someone to be close by.  Nothing.  Her shoulders tensed.  Clarissa looked around once more feeling more anxious by the second.  She’d come here to escape, to hide.  Had he found her?  Picking up her tripod from the pebbled shore she started to walk back towards the cottage at a quick pace. 

 She glanced constantly behind her expecting the man she’d run from to creep up behind her and start tormenting her with his violence all over again.  Tears of anger and fear gathered and mingled in her eyes.  She’d been happy here and didn’t want to leave especially when the book was going so well.  But if he was here then she’d have to leave.  There would be no choice.

Safely back in the cottage, Clarissa wasted no time in bolting the door.  She pressed her forehead against its wood surface and breathed hard trying to calm the rising tide of panic filling her lungs and coursing through her blood.  She spoke to herself out loud in an effort to rationalise the situation.

“You are just imagining it.  Calm down.  He can’t find you.  He can’t.  Relax he isn’t here.  Come on - get your arse in gear.  Breathe.  Focus on the book and nothing else.  I am not going to let him run me out of another town.”

Clarissa banged her fist against the door, anger and frustration overwhelming her.  Flicking the switch on the kettle she sank down on the chair in front of her laptop.  She picked up the camera again and searched through her pictures.

There were some good shots of the Island but that wasn’t what she was looking for.  It wasn’t until she reached the third one she found what she suspected.  A ghostly faded black and white male figure in upper class English Victorian dress stood grinning at her from the side of the image - the owner of the voice.  Clarissa gasped and put her hand to her mouth.  He’d found her after all. 

Clarissa’s mobile rang making her jump so much the camera slipped out of her hands and clattered on to the table.  She quickly took the mobile out of her cardigan pocket and with trembling hands answered it.

“How is my favourite author doing today?  Finished the book yet?  Can I start the publishing process?”

“Liz.  It’s well on its way.  I just think it is lacking a more personal story about the Elliotts.”

Clarissa was in two minds as to whether or not she should tell Liz about the reappearance of the violent spirit who had been dogging her every move for the last four months.  The whole thing was crazy and Liz about the only person who actually believed what was happening to her.  Still she didn’t want to alarm the woman and decided to keep quiet for now.

“I just wish I could get on to the Island and take a look at the house.  There has to be a ton of documents that would help my investigation in to the murders and give it that personal element.  I haven’t even got a photograph of Sarah Elliott.  It’s so frustrating,” Clarissa tapped the end of her index finger on top of the table and continued to do so in an irritated fashion.

“That old recluse, Milton Taylor still determined to keep you away?”

“Yes.  I have tried everything.  The man won’t even take my calls.  But I saw someone else on the Island this morning when I was taking photographs.  Some tall dark and handsome stranger in a black suit looked back at me from the jetty when I snapped a couple of shots of him.”

“Really.  Sounds interesting.  Met anyone yet?  Maybe this guy might . . .”

Clarissa quickly interrupted Liz.

“No, Liz.  No way.  No men.  Just work.  I am happy on my own.”

“Are you now a recluse?”

“Liz, please.”

“Not all men are like your ex-husband, Clarissa.”

Clarissa shook her head and tried to think of a credible excuse to end the call.  She decided to change the subject instead.

“Got any ideas how I can get on that Island?”

There was a pause then Liz sighed.

“No, not really.  And you say there isn’t much online about Sarah Elliott and her family?”

“Hardly anything.  No photographs.  Nothing.  I know Milton Taylor must know so much more than he lets on.”

“If there is anything I know about you, Clarissa it’s that you are determined and tenacious.  You won’t let Milton Taylor’s stubbornness stop you getting to the Island even if it means you have to swim across in the dead of night and break in.  You are like a pitfall when following a story.  Now relax and tell me why you sound so tense.  Any more visitations?”

Clarissa bit her bottom lip.  She’d never lied to Liz before and wasn't going to start now.  Her friendship meant too much.

“I didn’t want you to worry.  But yes there have been.  He’s found me again, Liz. His image was on the photographs I took just before you rang and I heard him calling my name at the lake.”

“Oh no.  How the hell did he find you?  I thought that psychic protection Emma gave you was full proof?  I deliberately found the best psychic in the whole damn country to help you and it was for nothing.  I can’t bear seeing you hounded by him again.  He’s vile.”

“He is persistent.  I will give him that.  I don’t know how he got through the psychic barriers Emma put up around me but he did.  Don’t worry I can handle him.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle him.  Why the hell is a nineteenth century ghost haunting you and let’s be honest, stalking you from the other side?”

“Emma said she believes he is someone from one of my past lives with an axe to grind.  Beats me though - I never even believed in this stuff until he came along.”

Clarissa stood up and walked towards the bench next to the sink and knocked the switch down on the kettle again to re-boil it.  She took out a clean china mug from the cupboard above her head on the wall ignoring the six clay mugs hanging on a silver rack near the kettle.  She continued her conversation as she inserted a breakfast teabag from the box on the side, added some canderel and a dash of milk from the fridge.

“Is there a psychic Medium in Goldwater who might be able to help you fend him off and finally get rid of him?” Liz asked in a worried tone.

Clarissa poured hot water on to the teabag the moment the kettle finished boiling.  Then she completed her own small tea ritual by squeezing a little of the flavour from the bag out with a silver spoon before removing it and dropping it in to the peddle bin on the floor.  She stirred her tea.

“Not sure.  I will look for one when I next go in to town.  This might sound daft but I think the spirit is connected to the murders on the Island and not me.  Perhaps he has just attached himself to me because of the story.  He might not want me to write it and expose him.  Maybe he is the murderer?”

“Don’t say that!  If that is right, then why did he attach himself to you before you even thought about writing the story?”

“Maybe he gave me the idea?”

Clarissa took a sip of her hot tea and savoured the comforting taste in her mouth.

“No.  You are wrong and you are scaring me.  Stop it.  Maybe you should stop writing the book and do something else just in case?”

“No way.  I have come too far with this.  There is a real story here and people need to know what happened to this woman and her family.”

She glanced at the window sill over the sink in the rented cottage and frowned.  Three ornaments of differing sizes sat on it, the tallest of which was in the middle.  Unable to help herself she began rearranging them with the tallest to the left and then in descending size in a line, the smallest on the right.  She smiled with satisfaction at it and moved away.

“Clarissa, I get a bad feeling about this.  If you are right and he is something to do with the book he might just disappear if you stop working on it.  You’ve been through enough recently.”

“I thought you were a publisher?”

“I am.  But you are my friend and your welfare comes first.”

Clarissa sat down again feeling annoyed.

“Don’t give up on me, Liz” her tone was snappy.  “I can do this.  I have to for some reason.  It feels like a compulsion.”

“Compulsions are something that come easily to you, darling.  Let’s be honest.”

Clarissa’s frame tightened at Liz’s condescending tone.


“Don’t Liz me!  You know I am right.”

Clarissa groaned inwardly as she looked over at the ornaments on the window sill.  Liz knew her too well.

“Getting on track with this book will help me put the past behind me and move on.  I can handle a stupid ghost.  What can he really do to me anyway apart from be annoying?”

“I don’t like it.  But all right.  I know you won’t let this go.”

Liz sighed again and Clarissa grinned triumphantly.

“Clarissa, call me later and keep me updated.  I worry about you even if you don’t.  I will need the draft of your first six chapters in the next couple of weeks.  And Clarissa, be careful.  I love you.”

“I love you too.  I’m on it.  Don’t fret.”

Clarissa ended the call.  She spent the rest of the morning working on her book at the kitchen table.  Eventually the time to make another cup of tea came around.  Three mugs already littered the sink.  She reached for another fresh china mug from the cupboard.  When she went to put it down on the bench a dark shadow passed by her.  She felt the strange sensation of a man’s arm brushing across the side of her breast instantly forcing her to drop the mug with fright.  It clattered to the ground breaking on the tiled floor.  Turning around quickly she found the solid shape of the mysterious male ghost in an old fashioned nineteenth century dark suit laughing at her.

“What the hell do you want?  Leave me alone,” she shouted at him determined not to betray her fear at his presence.

He simply laughed again and then his image became transparent and faded in to the air.  Clarissa sat back down at the table holding her face in her hands relieved at his quick exit.

I am not going to let you get to me.  I refuse to let you win.

Clarissa tapped on the keyboard of her Apple Macbook Air and brought up the local news website to distract her anger and calm herself down.  The article at the top of the page immediately caught her attention.

“American Billionaire, Brandon Clifford buys Goldwater Island.”

Clarissa put her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp of surprise when she looked at the photograph accompanying the article.  It was the handsome man in the black suit she’d seen standing on the jetty.  This had to be the break she had been waiting for.  All she had to do now was to persuade the man to let her visit his Island and house.

Outside the ghost peered in the window behind Clarissa and read the article unobserved.  Darkness seeped in to his eyes making them narrow in to sharp points as he took in Brandon Clifford’s face.

Chapter Three

Clarissa ran the shower making sure it was on a high temperature and undressed.  Nothing like a hot shower to revive her spirits and get her creative juices flowing.  She’d made several calls around the town trying to get to Brandon Clifford or someone who worked for him but her search had not produced any results.  She couldn’t help wondering if he was also a recluse and trying to keep his presence in the town hidden.

She stepped her small slender curved figure in to the shower and rising steam vowing not to let Brandon Clifford escape her.  Holding her face up to the shower head she let the hot water dance over her fine smooth porcelain aristocratic features.  She didn’t see the tall dark shadow sweep across the room at speed, not until it seeped like a dense black fog through the glass encasement.  Clarissa opened her eyes sensing a presence and screamed.  She pushed herself back against the grey tiled wall unable to escape through the door as the black mass began to shape and take form.  Finally, the ghost stood before her blocking the door.  Clarissa’s heart began to pound.  A strong sense of claustrophobia engulfed her.  Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the door looking for a way out past him. He wagged his finger at her and tutted at her.

“There is no escape,” he told her menacingly.

She looked down at the long knife in his hand with wide eyes.  Her hands pressed back on the wall at the side.  She shook her head at him.

“Please.  Please don’t hurt me,” she begged.

He moved closer making her let out a frightened sob despite her resolve to compose herself as much as was possible in the situation.  Maybe she could negotiate with him.

“Why do you want to hurt me?  What do you want?  What is it you need from me?” she pleaded.

“He can’t have you.  You belong to me.”

The ghost raised the knife.  Clarissa put her hands up to defend herself but the knife had already been thrust deep in to the centre of her stomach.  She heard herself scream.  There was no pain just numbness and disbelief.  Crying loudly, she glanced down at her stomach to confirm the reality she feared.  Blood poured thick and deep red from the wound down over her thighs to spiral down her calves.  It merged with the clear water, muddying it as it flowed along the white shower tray and down the plug.

The ghost twisted the knife inside her and this time the pain was keenly felt.  Clarissa let out another scream and felt her legs buckle underneath her.  She clutched at her stomach after he pulled the knife out of her and found her knees suddenly hitting the surface of the shower tray.  The hot water beat against her back but it barely registered in her mind.  All she could think of was dying.  A far distant memory sprung in to life. 

She was wearing a long black dress and struggling to breathe.  Around her neck was a thick rope that burned the tender skin on her throat.  Her legs kicked violently in to thin air.  The memory was so vivid, so real Clarissa forgot her predicament in the shower and sank in to the memory as though she were really there.

Looking upwards Clarissa could see the rope was wound around the branch of an oak tree.  The ghost stood in front of her watching her hang.  He walked towards her and thrust the knife he was holding in to her stomach and then twisted it inside her body just as he had done in the shower.  A loud scream echoed helplessly from her lips.  But this time it was in unison with a hurt male cry.  The ghost turned his head in the direction of the voice and the memory dimmed.  Clarissa found herself back in the shower.

The ghost towered over her small crumpled bleeding form as she desperately tried to plug the wound with shaking hands.  His brown eyes narrowed and the cruel smile of satisfaction made her want to vomit.  He was watching her die just as he had done in the memory.

Her mind was cloudy.  She couldn’t think straight.  Panic had overcome all of her senses.  It was so hard to breathe.  Every breath entailed a mammoth effort and involved the heaving of her injured body.  But all of a sudden a persistent ringing noise broke through the fog to reach her.  It was the doorbell.  As in the memory the ghost turned his head in the direction of the noise and cursed.  She cried with relief when his image suddenly vanished.

Clarissa knelt whimpering on the floor of the shower knowing somehow she had to summon the courage to move her injured body.  She was dying and if she didn’t do something she wasn’t going to make it.  Maybe it was already too late but she had to try.

Once more she forced herself to look at the wound to rouse her in to movement but when she glanced down it had gone.  The water was running clear and there was no blood coating her stomach or body.  Clarissa rubbed her stomach to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.  It had all been an illusion.  The doorbell continued to ring.  Whoever it was wasn’t going away.  She wiped her tear stained face with her hands and forced her quivering body to stand.  Reaching for her robe she covered her wet body and ran to the door, eager to make contact with someone, anyone, after her experience.  Opening the door, she stared at her visitor in surprise.  It was Brandon Clifford.

“Good morning, Ms Harding.  I hope you don’t mind me calling on you.  Although it looks like I have caught you at the wrong time,” he smiled sweeping his eyes over her wet figure in the robe dripping water on to the kitchen floor.  “My name is Brandon Clifford.”

“Yes.  I know who you are.”

Brandon raised one dark eyebrow and viewed her intently.  Clarissa felt heat rise in her cheeks and found herself unable to meet his eyes for the odd sensation of bashfulness engulfing her.

“Ok.  I have a business proposal for you.  Can I come in or would you prefer me to come back later so you can get dry.”

“No.  I was just in the shower.  I will be fine.  Come in.”

She gestured to a seat at the kitchen table.

“Can I get you some coffee?  Tea?”

“No thanks.  I haven’t got time.”

He’d sat in the chair in front of her lap top.  She reached over and closed it, sliding it away from him along the table.  The action produced another infuriating amused smile from Mr Clifford.  Clarissa sat down on the opposite chair, across the table resisting the urge to blurt out her request to obtain a visit to Goldwater Island, curious to find out what he wanted from her first. 

“So how can I help you, Mr Clifford?”

Clarissa watched Brandon Clifford’s striking blue eyes drift towards her chest and linger there.  Disturbed she glanced downwards and noticed the robe was gaping in the middle revealing the gentle curve of one breast.  Her cheeks warmed as she hurriedly pulled it closed and once more she was unable to meet his eyes when he spoke.

“I hear you are trying to get on my Island.”

Clarissa nodded.

“Then you will know why.”

“Yes you are investigating the murder of the American Sarah Elliott and her family in 1893.  I saw you taking photographs of the Island this morning.”

Clarissa twisted in her chair.

“I hope you haven’t come here to use some strong arm tactic to persuade me not to write the book.    It won’t work.  I don’t scare easily and I never give up.”

Brandon chuckled and shook his head at her.  Clarissa’s back straightened.  She narrowed her eyes and viewed him with tense features.

“Cute.  I’m sorry.  No I wouldn’t dare dream of asking you to stop.  That is not what I am here for.  I assure you.  I told you, I have a business proposal for you.”

Clarissa folded her arms and met his eyes directly.

“So what is it?”

“I want you to continue writing the book and investigating the murders.  Come to the Island and stay at the house.  Be my guest for as long as you need.  Milton Taylor left a lot of historical documents relating to the Elliotts I believe you will find useful.

Clarissa smiled.  Inside she was jumping with excitement and her horrific experience in the shower dulled in her thoughts for a moment.

“I would like that very much.  Thank you.”

“Good.  I will pick you up tomorrow around 8.30.  I will take you for breakfast to a lovely quaint little restaurant I know by the lake before we go over to the Island on the launch.”

Brandon stood up.

“That sounds idyllic,” she couldn’t help coo.  “I have wanted to visit Goldwater Island for a very long time.  I used to come here on holiday as a child and it has always fascinated me, well before I even thought of writing the book.”

Brandon gave her a knowing smile that made her feel a little uncomfortable.

Why do I get the feeling you already know that?  It’s eerie.  It’s as though you know what I am thinking and feeling before it even comes out of my mouth.

The Billionaire headed for the door but suddenly stopped and turned around to face her once more.

“By the way, be warned, the old house is supposed to be haunted.  I say supposed to be because I haven’t heard or seen anything yet even though I am assured by everyone I eventually will do.  It won’t be the past you are just investigating but some old ghosts as well.”

“I’m not scared of ghosts,” she said it firmly hoping she would be heard by the spirit.  “Ghosts can’t harm you.  It is only the living who can do that.”

Her gaze met Brandon’s.  He was studying her closely yet there was a faraway wistful look in his eyes.  She felt her cheeks warm.

“I hope you are right,” he told her softly before leaving.

Clarissa closed the door and frowned, considering his words.  He hadn’t appeared sure but she was living proof. 

If only I could tell you.

She turned back to the table and gasped.  In the middle a small delicate glass vase filled with a posy of pretty blue forget me nots had appeared.

Chapter Four

Around mid afternoon, Clarissa decided to take a trip in to town.  The rented cottage proved to feel stifling and claustrophobic after the morning’s events and after Liz’s continual nagging for her to seek help from a Psychic Medium, she finally found the will to leave her lap top and go out in to the world amongst the living.

As she walked around the small old Lakeside town nestled between the hills in a valley she couldn’t help feel as though she were being watched and followed.  It had to be the ghost.  Determined not to let his stalking frighten her she did her best not to keep looking for signs of his presence.  After some diligent searching and a detour in a book shop, Clarissa found a Psychic Medium to consult in the back of a crystal shop in one of the old eighteenth century buildings next to a coaching inn.

The surprisingly large shop was filled to the brim with Angel & cards, Angel ornaments and crystals.  Somewhere a Sandalwood incense stick burned relaxing the atmosphere in the building.  Flycatchers of all different colours and sizes hung down from the ceiling over tables and glass cabinets filled with green, pink and purple crystals.  Glancing around, Clarissa was convinced just about every type and colour of crystal was represented.  Lovely as they were, it made the place look a little cluttered and she itched to tidy it up.

The shop was warm and inviting.  She felt safe and prayed the cold chill feeling usually surrounding her from the ghost could not follow her in.  Looking back, as the woman had led her in to the room at the back, she had spied the ghost standing outside the window looking in.  On making eye contact with her he moved to the door.  Clarissa held her breath.  But when he tried to move his transparent form through the glass door he hit a solid wall.  Clarissa gave him a triumphant smile amused by the blind frustration tightening his features when he tried to repeat the process.  It was like watching a vampire in a movie attempting to cross the threshold of a house he hadn’t been invited in to. The shop was protected.  Turning her back on him she followed the woman.

Clarissa sat down on one side of a small trestle table on a black wicker chair complete with a purple cushioned seat and another for the back.  The chair made a crunching sound every time she moved making her resolve to sit still.  The whole room was painted and dressed in spiritual purple and black.  The pretty woman in her thirties, a trifle younger than Clarissa’s early forties even though anyone would pitch Clarissa as the younger one had something of the witch about her.  She was friendly and Clarissa immediately warmed to her feeling at ease.

Candace picked up a pack of tarot cards up from the black velvet cloth covering the table.  They were black too and had white pentagrams on the back of them.  She gave them to Clarissa.

“Give them a good shuffle.”

Clarissa did as she was told and after some extensive shuffling she handed the pack back to Candace.  The Medium spread them out on the table cloth in a fan shape next to a lit lavender candle.  Clarissa inhaled deeply loving the soothing scent and made a mental note to buy one and burn it before she went to bed that night to help her sleep.

“Now choose five of them.”

Clarissa was surprised when she could see small pin pricks of white light guiding her as to which cards to choose.  Both confused and intrigued she followed the guidance of the small lights and picked the cards the lights landed on.

She was unable to see the pictures on the cards as Candace turned the first of them over. To see them she would have to peer over and she didn’t want to appear rude.  Anyway, she doubted whether or not she would be able to decipher the indicate meanings from the beautiful pictures on them. 

“Have you had a reading before?” Candace asked her.

“A girl at University once used me to practice reading on with tarot cards.  But she wasn’t very confident.  She said she couldn’t read me at all.  It was like I wasn’t there.  I don’t think she was any good,” she smiled.

“No,” the Medium shook her head but Clarissa didn’t miss the confused expression on her face.

It crossed Clarissa’s mind to tell the woman everything about what had been happening first but she decided to see what she came up with first before she blurted out her SOS.

Candace looked down at the first card.

“I see you have two men in your life.”


“Yes you do.  One is from your distant past and the other is new.  The second seeks to protect you.”

“There are no men in my life.  At least no one I am having a relationship with.”

“That is false.  You are lying to yourself.”

Clarissa’s back straightened with annoyance.  She was about to remonstrate with Candace when she spoke again.

“There is a man in spirit.  He will not leave you in peace.”

“Yes.  Who is he?”

“I don’t know.  But he plays with darkness.”

The woman shivered.

“His energy makes me feel very cold.”

Clarissa whirled around in her chair.

“He’s here?”

But she could see nothing.

“You mustn’t fear him anymore.  I am being told this.  The second man is here now.  He will keep you safe.  He has been searching for you for a very long time.  Trust him.  He is present in your life purely for you.  He asks if you like the Forget Me Nots he gave you?”

Clarissa’s thoughts drifted back to the small vase of Forget Me Nots back on her kitchen table.  She smiled fondly and to her surprise felt the unexpected onset of a blush.

“Yes.  Thank you.  They are very pretty.”

Part of her was relieved there was someone declaring they were there to protect her and if she was honest she was flattered by the attention even if it messed with her resolve to remain alone and keep a ban on men in her life.

“I can’t get a name for this man.  He tells me they are your favourite wild flowers.  You used to pick them in the meadow just outside the farm you used to live in with him in as a child in a previous life.”

At first Clarissa could only remember picking wild flowers with her mother in the English countryside.  But slowly the image began to transform in to another hazy memory.  She was no longer a thirteen-year-old but a girl of ten dancing and skipping through the meadow.  The green English countryside turned more yellow in its colour.  A boy slightly older than herself held her hand and laughed at her.  She tried to see his face but it was always mysteriously turned from her.  It was brief and fleeting, the happy feeling accompanying the scene in her mind fading quickly leaving her back in the room with her fear of the spirit.

Candace turned over another card and contemplated the picture on it.

“This man loves you intensely.  I would even go as far as to say he believes you belong to him and he does not want you to be with anyone else, even a living person.  I have never come across this before.  How strange!  But it is such a warm loving energy.  I wouldn’t be frightened of it.”

Clarissa raised her eyebrows.

“This man likes to be in charge especially when you married.  He dominated you but not in a bad way.”

The woman gave Clarissa a confused smile.

“It wasn’t just that he wanted to be like that with you.  It was necessary to protect you.”

The Medium gave a startled gasp and put her hand to her mouth.  A light rosy blush coloured her cheeks.

“He used to spank your bare bottom over his knee when you violated one of his rules on your protection.”

Clarissa stared at her surprised wondering whether to laugh or be appalled.  Instead her expression was dazed as her mind drifted back through space and time.

She still couldn’t see the man who professed to protect her with clarity.  She was only treated to small glimpses of him.  He was older in this vision, taller and his clothes were rich, those of the upper class.  He dragged her by the wrist in a Victorian dress through a myriad of rooms in dark mahogany and opulent crimson and reds with a tight grip.

She could see his shiny crown of raven hair and when he turned his face to the side to talk to her his neatly trimmed facial hair over his lip, around his mouth and around his jaw line.  Clarissa could not see herself as she appeared in the life only her pretty pale blue dress.  She clutched protectively at her bottom as he forced her to walk hurriedly through the rooms.  Her feet were barely touching the ground with his pace.

“I don’t want to be spanked,” Clarissa heard herself say with a pout.  “I did nothing wrong,” she protested.

“I told you not to go out alone.  I want to make sure you are safe at all times.”

“I was safe.  I am always careful and watchful after . . .But he’s dead, remember?  He can’t hurt me or us anymore.”

Silence ensued for a brief moment.

“I am a very protective man.  I can’t help it.  I won’t lose you again.  I have to live with what I allowed to happen to you.  I will have your obedience as my wife without question.  It is my right,” he commanded fiercely bringing her at a halt at the bottom of the sweeping staircase.

“You will be punished until you learn I am your husband and remember your vow of obedience.”

With a jolt he brought her closer to him and bent his powerful frame to pull her up and over his shoulder with ease.  Clarissa heard herself squeal with indignation and watched herself kick at his chest and bang her fists against his back on the small screen in her mind playing a movie of her past as he mounted the stairs carrying her.

“Let me go.  I promise I won’t do it again,” she bleated.  “Put me down.”

“It is too late to grant you mercy, my darling,” he told her with a trace of humour in his tone just before he gave her clothed bottom a taste of the discipline to come by raising his large palm to deliver a precise firm slap to quieten her noise.  Clarissa’s body jerked over his shoulder and she screamed like a small child.  She made the same noise when he repeated the action.

Back in the present, Clarissa shuffled on her seat in the Medium’s room feeling her bottom suddenly sting as though she had just experienced the pain of the strikes.

“Hush,” the man ordered in his American voice stopping on the landing to raise her skirts and tug at her drawers to expose her pert cream bottom.  He struck her bare flesh hard uncaring as the Butler and maid rushed past lowering their eyes to the ground.  This strike was much firmer and burned.  He gave her one more before continuing his journey on to their bedroom.

The man carried her to a large padded chair in red by the fireplace in front of the four poster bed in their room and sat down immediately placing her over his knee.  Her skirts were up over her body and head as it dangled to the floor and her drawers down to her knees before she could take her next breath.  The man raised his hand and began her spanking in earnest.

“If you do this again, little girl I will make sure an audience comprised of our staff is present when I next spank your bare bottom and I will confine you to our bed naked and tie you to it for a week.  Do I make myself clear?” he told her firmly watching her bottom jump and quiver turning a deaf ear to her sobs and pleads for him to stop.

Clarissa shuffled again and felt her teeth clamp together and grit together when she felt the hot pain searing in to her flesh like the man’s own personal brand across time as he turned his attention to the backs of her thighs and coloured them crimson with his powerful strikes.  She heard soft laughter echo inside her mind as the scene began to fade in to darkness.

“I don’t intend to belong to anyone,” Clarissa told the woman determined she would never endure that type of humiliating fate in her present life.  She moved on her seat again feeling the pain from the spanking mysteriously linger.  But as she moved she detected another sensation.  Clarissa was wet between her thighs and a small aching arousal was throbbing inside the pit of her stomach.  Horrified she had been turned on by seeing herself spanked like a child with her bare backside on display over a man’s knee she sought to distract herself.