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About the author:
A former psychologist, Normandie has always been fascinated by human behavior. She loves writing quirky characters that are all too human. Fiber arts, baking, and Pinterest are a few of her favorite pastimes. She lives on a farm with a passel of kids, an adorable husband, and a pet pig who’s crazy for Red Bull.
What inspired you to write your book?
International Talk Like A Pirate Day!
Here is a short sample from the book:
Reluctantly, she tiptoed across the small space until she was just out of reach.
“Lift up your skirts.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Are ye hard of hearing?”
“No,” she squeaked.
“Then lift up your bloody skirts!” he bellowed.
Fighting back tears, she gathered her skirt and petticoats in her arms and lifted them up.
“‘At’s more like it,” he said and reached for her.
She instinctively took a step backwards, but he was too fast for her, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her over his lap. Within seconds she was slung over his knee.
“Eeeh! What are you doing? Let me go!” She tried to wiggle free, but she was restrained by his big burly arms.
“Kindly shut yer yap, or ye’ll be getting the worst of it.”
Humiliation coursed through her, and the cold air on her bottom reminded her that her bare ass was exposed to this man she barely knew. A rough, calloused hand scraped across the tender flesh of her ass, followed by a hard slap to her rear. The pain almost made her forget the humiliation. Almost.
“I’ll have ye take yer punishment quietly or ye will earn double the strokes.”
Another smack, this one harder, landed on her cheeks.
“What did I tell ye?” Thwack! The next blow landed even harder, as if to drive his point home. This time she bit down a knuckle, hoping to muffle her cries.
“Better. This ass is getting mighty red,” he chuckled.
With each smack, she fought to hold back her cries. But her posterior stung, and water welled in her eyes.
“You’re doing better. Lie there and take your punishment like a good girl,” he crooned, swatting her ass again. And again.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he stopped.
Though he loosened his grip on her, she was too wrung out to move.
“I’m the one who’s in charge here, girl.”
“You are, sir,” she mumbled, dazed.
“That’s right. I own you, pretty little slave.”
“Yes, sir.” It was as if her head were filled with clouds, and she was so relieved that he’d stopped swatting her she just wanted to stay there, in the strangely happy space where the spanking had taken place.
When he slid his hand up her inner thigh between her legs, her brain urged her to protest. A slight, “Umm” was all she could manage.
“What was that?” he asked in a taunting voice.
“Nothing, sir.” Frederica felt as though she were in an altered state. Deep inside, something told her she should stop him, but at the same time, she was curious about what he would do to her next.
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