In His Hands, page 1
In His Hands
Hero To Obey
Maggie Ryan
Blushing Books
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Note to Readers:
Maggie Ryan
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©2017 by Blushing Books® and Maggie Ryan
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Maggie Ryan
In His Hands
EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-243-6
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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I am dedicating this book to Jim – my very own pen-pal who became my husband. So much of this story reflects our lives: the hundreds of letters shared, the dozens of cookies baked and mailed, the fact that they were indeed crumbs eaten with spoons after traveling across the ocean, and the trip to Hawaii. I also dedicate it to every man and woman who has served their country and to all the lovers and family members who wait for them to come home. Thank you!
Chapter 1
“What do you mean, you’re done?” Betsy asked from her seat at the kitchen table.
“Exactly what I said,” Jane replied, tossing down a piece of folded paper. “Why are we wasting our time writing to men we’ll never meet when there are men anxious to take us out to dinner and a movie?”
“Jane, we are supposed to be keeping their spirits up. It must be so awful being so far away from home and in a strange country. Not to mention these men are risking their very lives to keep us safe. A few minutes sending news from home to let them know that we are thinking of them is nothing compared to what the soldiers do daily.”
“Look, I’m just as patriotic as you are, but I’m done. When I receive a marriage proposal, I want it given in person, with a very huge diamond in a black velvet box.”
“Proposal? You got a proposal?”
“More like three,” Jane said. “I’m not sure which is worse… men proposing or a man halfway across the world stating that my behavior is questionable.”
“What? Jane, you’re not making any sense,” Betsy said.
Jane laughed and lifted an envelope. “It doesn’t appear that Mr. Bossy approves of my desire to have a bit of fun.”
Trying to wrap her head around the fact that her roommate’s pen-pals seemed far more interesting than her own, it took Betsy a moment to realize what Jane had said. “You have a pen-pal named Mr. Bossy?”
“Well, no, but that might as well be his name. It seems that while he is interested in settling down, I have no interest in his rather archaic beliefs. Why can’t a girl enjoy herself? This is 1943, not the Middle Ages! If nothing else, I think the attack on Pearl Harbor has proven that life is too short and too uncertain to be so prudish. I have no desire to be, as he so quaintly puts it, ‘taken in hand’. The only person to set my behind on fire was my daddy, and that ended when I hit puberty. I promise, he will be the last.”
“He actually threatened to… to spank you?”
“Not in so many words, but when he states that some little lady needs to be reminded what happens to naughty girls, well, you tell me what pops into your head?”
Blushing at the image that bloomed in her mind, Betsy shook her head in disbelief. “Wow, all I get are requests for more cookies or another pair of socks, and you are getting marriage proposals and rather intimate suggestions.”
“Relax. Believe me, there is nothing intimate involved.” Jane paused and then giggled. “In fact, he reminds me of you a bit.”
“Me? You think I’m bossy?”
“No, I just meant that Jack is a bit of a fuddy-duddy—”
“So you think I’m a fuddy-duddy?” Betsy said, not sure what would be worse… being bossy or being so… lame.
Jane immediately reached across and took her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that you have an old soul and it appears that Jack does as well. In fact, I think you two would be perfect for each other.”
Rolling her eyes, Betsy sighed. “Gee, thanks. Just what a girl wants to hear, that I am perfect for some man old enough to be my father!”
Jane laughed again. “I didn’t say he was old; I think he’s only thirty or so. I just know that he has old-fashioned beliefs and, well, Betsy, you have to admit that you do, too. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no intention of allowing anyone to dictate my behavior or keep me from having fun.”
Betsy was still reeling from the conversation and yet had a question she just had to ask. “What exactly are you writing to these men?”
Jane smiled. “Honey, you seem to forget one very important fact about this pen-pal thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Betsy, these soldiers are first and foremost men. Do you honestly believe they give a hoot about the price of corn, who won the local mayor’s race, or how much money yet another bake sale raised? If you were hunched down in some awful trench full of mud and bugs with bullets flying over your head, what would take your mind off your misery?”
Betsy shuddered at the vivid image that popped into her head. Her heart ached for all those poor men so far from home. “Um, I don’t know but maybe coming home?”
“Even as lovely as that will be, I promise there is something else that keeps those soldiers going.” Jane leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Sex.”
“Jane!”
“Oh, don’t sound so shocked. I’m not talking about allowing a man to get to home-plate, but a little time spent on second base is certainly not a mortal sin.”
Betsy was having a difficult time keeping up with Jane’s change in topics. “I thought you said sex, not baseball.” Jane’s laughter had her friend a bit upset. “There’s no need to laugh at me, Jane Kennedy! I’m not quite the prude you se
“Sweetie, I’m not laughing at you. Haven’t you heard of the baseball for sex metaphor?” At the negative shake of Betsy’s head, Jane continued and explained the newest slang for sexual exploits. “You told me about how Steve Miller kissed you last weekend so, my dear, you’ve been on first base. And, since I’ve seen that book you keep hidden in your nightstand, I’m wondering if you rounded first and headed for second. You might read the classics in the living room or on the front porch, but when you are all alone in your bed, I know you are dreaming about gardening.” She laughed and Betsy could feel her cheeks heating when her friend waved a finger back and forth in front of her face. “And I’m not talking about corn. I’m talking about a certain gardener and gamekeeper named Oliver Mellors. I’m willing to bet you are playing the role of Constance—oh, excuse my disrespect—I mean Lady Chatterley.”
“I have not!” Squirming a bit in her chair, Betsy added, “I mean, yes, I guess I’ve been on first base a few times, but I most definitely have not even stepped a toe off of it. I’ll have you know that Steve went home with my handprint on his face. His kisses do absolutely nothing for me!”
“And some fictional character does?”
Betsy wasn’t about to confess that it wasn’t the character per se, it was the way the man took charge. His love affair with the female character had kept Betsy’s heart pounding and her fingers turning the pages. Steve’s kiss had been more like that given by a puppy—overly energetic and, well, quite moist. “Fine, I read it. So what? With you stealing all the great guys, what’s left for a girl to do but find solace in a book? You won’t tell, will you? I mean, that book is practically banned! Dad would kill me if he knew I’d read it!”
Jane bent forward and gave her a hug. “Your secret is safe with me.” Picking up the letter she’d dropped, she held it out. “Here, consider this my true patriotic duty.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that since you are so intent on keeping our soldiers happy, you can correspond with this man.”
“Mr. Bossy?” Betsy asked. “Why him?”
“Because, my dearest Betsy, it’s time to close your books and find a warm, red-blooded man. Let Mr. Bossy teach you how a man really thinks. I have a feeling you’ll find it a lot more interesting than some fictional character in the pages of a book… even if it is a naughty novel. In fact, why don’t you ask him if he enjoys reading? Or, better yet, confess your love of a certain book. I bet he’d admire you for having the spunk to read a banned book.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Jane said and then giggled. “Of course, he’d probably not admit that out loud. He’s far more likely to blister your behind!”
“He wouldn’t!”
“It might be fun to find out though, wouldn’t it?” Dropping the letter onto the pile in front of Betsy, Jane gave her a final hug and then left her to ponder her words as she went to prepare for a date. It took several minutes before Betsy dared to reach for the innocent looking envelope and remove the folded sheets to read the latest missive from Jane’s Mr. Bossy.
Chapter 2
Dear naughty girl,
I know you are wondering at my choice of salutation and confess I am undecided how to respond to your latest letter. Your correspondence has brought many a smile to my face and yet I fear I am growing concerned. Hearing of your latest escapade with a certain Mr. Nelson, I find myself facing a conundrum. I have to ask myself if you are attempting to pull my leg or if you are serious. But I do know that my right palm is itching because I feel the need to turn a naughty little lady over my knee and deliver a lesson.
Betsy gasped, her eyes darting from the paper before her towards the door through which Jane had disappeared. She’d known Jane since grade school and knew her friend had a tendency to exaggerate. However, there could be absolutely no doubt that Mr. Bossy had indeed just threatened to spank a woman he had never even met. Squirming again in her chair, Betsy wondered at her visceral reaction to reading about this stranger’s itching palm. Why did it cause her cheeks to heat, the skin on her bottom to crawl, and… well, to be honest, her heart to race with what felt suspiciously like excitement? Feeling like a voyeur, she told herself to drop the letter into the trash bin, and yet what would be the harm in finishing reading it first? It wasn’t as if she intended to actually do as Jane suggested and add Mr. Bossy to her list of pen-pals—right? Dropping her eyes to the white sheet again, she continued reading.
While I can’t speak for all men, I can state that if you were mine and I discovered you out and about kissing another man and feeling the need to swoon when his hands ‘accidentally brushed across your breasts’, you’d not be able to sit comfortably. And the only writing you would be doing were lines given to remind you that proper ladies present themselves to the world as pure, knowing they will share their passion with only their husband behind closed doors.
Wow, though she discovered she had no problem learning that her best friend was obviously far more familiar with ‘baseball’ than she’d imagined, Betsy couldn’t believe she’d written of such an intimate experience to a total stranger. Then again, Jane had said that sex was the key to grabbing a man’s interest. Flushing hotly at where her active imagination was taking her, Betsy fanned her face with the letter for a moment before continuing.
While your letters have been both entertaining and thought provoking, I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps this war is claiming even more casualties. I know that the world is moving on and morals are becoming looser, but as I’ve stated from the beginning of our correspondence, I believe that the man is the head of his household. I fear that unless I receive a response and your admission that you desire to be held accountable for questionable choices in your life’s path, I must say goodbye. I take my responsibilities to heart and am seeking a woman who desires to belong fully to me and only to me… in all ways.
I must get this into the post so it can find its way into your hands. I shall look forward to your response and, if this is goodbye, then I wish you the very best and thank you for your letters. They’ve kept a lonely soldier hopeful for what the future might bring.
With affection,
Jack
Betsy didn’t toss the letter away—she read it several times before finally tucking it into its envelope. Grabbing a letter from her own pile, she read it and realized that while Mark seemed like a nice man, he had never stirred in her anything but the desire to let him know the latest sports news from home. Blushing yet again, she knew she’d never think about baseball in quite the same way. Opening others, she felt the same lack of connection to Jerry and Frank. Glancing back at Jack’s envelope, she couldn’t help but compare the letters. She’d never given any consideration to a soldier’s rank, but the difference in language used, not to mention the use of proper grammar and punctuation, told of Jack’s high level of education. She’d become rather accustomed to the lack of commas and even periods, the poor spelling, and the smears and smudges across the pages she read. It appeared that Mr. Bossy was not only a man who wasn’t afraid to articulate what he wanted, he did so with smooth lines of words marching with precision across a pristine piece of paper. Shaking her head, realizing it was rather unfair to compare men whom she knew very little about, she opened the next envelope.
The last letter made her smile as she learned that George had finally gotten the courage to ask his high school sweetheart for her hand. Finally, a letter that stirred her, but only because it seemed her advice to George to not wait or hide his love for Sherry had seemed to pay off… well, it had paid off for them. Betsy closed her eyes, remembering her mother’s advice the day she’d shared not only George’s hesitancy about love but others she’d advised over the past years.
“Mom, why can’t I find a man who loves me? Is it because I am fat and boring?”
“You are not fat, sweetie, you are soft and curvy and you are certainly not boring. You’re a very sweet girl and an excellent teacher.”
