The Rubber Disciplinarian

By Kivutar Amy Koski

THE RUBBER DISCIPLINARIAN

When Martin Reece opens a catalogue addressed to his neighbour it starts a chain of events he could only have dreamed of. His fantasies of a rubber-clad dominatrix have not prepared him for the strict discipline inflicted on him for his sins. His strict neighbour will punish him with the cane, the rubber strap, the paddle and a variety of other implements across her punishment horse. She seems so very expert, and cruel. Her equipment includes the rubber vacuum bed, a vibrating milking toy and probes and plugs for every occasion - but the worst torment will be delivered from a special milking stool to be made by Martin's own skilled hands to her own specification. Her vibrating milker and slippery rubber gloves may well drive him insane in that delicious captivity, and while all this is going on he will be locked in a rubber chastity tube, the key to which hangs around her sexy beautiful neck...

The third fast-paced novella from the pen of Kivutar Amy Koski, the "Queen of Kink" full of rubber domination and discipline, sexual training and torment, reward and punishment, and lots and lots (and lots) of shiny shivery rubber. A proper full length novella of 35,000 words filled with hot horny fem dom.

Don't forget to visit Kivutar Amy Koski's Facebook page for exclusive samples and updates on forthcoming titles...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kivutar Amy Koski
• Release date: Jun 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311093455

Kivutar Amy Koski

It's been a long journey from the young girl starting out as a new legal graduate, fresh from university. My father was Finnish, and I was brought up in Birmingham. I met Bruno my future husband when he was stationed in Poole many years ago. I moved often in those days, the requirements of the service being paramount, and we ended up here in Scotland at Arbroath. Together we we found a beautiful 10-acre croft (farm) that needed renovation. It overlooks the Moray Firth in the scenic Scottish Highlands. We bought it, and Bruno being very practical and skilled we restored the house and barns, stables etc.It is no accident I write the things I do: both Bruno and I have a terrible weakness for BDSM, femdom and rubber (especially rubber). We have converted one of the haylofts into a fully-equipped punishment/play room, with a flogging horse, vacuum bed, milking stool and restraint spider to name but a few. I can assure you I have the best behaved husband it is possible to imagine! His face is a mixture of fear and desire when I tell him to fetch the key, unlock the playroom and await my pleasure.I write a good deal; it's hard work but I love it and there are those who say I have a talent. I write other more conventional historical romances (with a twist), under another name - it serves to keep the literary establishment at bay. No one who writes the way I do, about the subjects I do, would ever be taken seriously by the publishing industry as the author of a 'literary' piece so that's the way it has to be unfortunately. Both Oscar Wilde and D H Lawrence would have been better served heeding that dictum. I have both a volume of contemporary poetry and a WW1 novel available, as well as another couple in the pipeline. I have so far been discovered by three readers, who have uncovered my nom de plume, (I have no idea how) and I suppose it makes for a bit of fun - no doubt there will be other sleuths who make the discovery.We are considering moving to the sun - it may come off, we have seriously looked at small villas in the quiet mountain areas of Cyprus, Spain, Greek islands and so forth, and the idea of writing in that environment appeals. If it happens it won't be for a year or so, due to personal complications, but we have our fingers crossed. I am always available to chat - I love ideas and swapping personal experiences, but I am often busy and don't get the time I'd like to talk with those of a like mind. I do go on my facebook page regularly, and that is normally the best place to get an instant response. Email is slower, but I check my mails normally every day, so it's a sure process. I love fresh ideas and perspectives, occasionally I work them into my books, and in the past I have included the names of readers in little cameos (you know who you are lol) which I find makes for a piquant little taster of mischief. I hope I provide the kind of book rarely available elsewhere - all my work is of a professional well-edited standard: I have to say not all the indie books I've seen can say that, there are some shocking examples out there, but also some good ones. As ever beauty is in the eye of the beholder I suppose. xxx

Book preview

The Rubber Disciplinarian

Kivutar Amy Koski

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First published in Great Britain by PLP Books, 2016.

The moral right of Kivutar Amy Koski to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act of 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© Kivutar Amy Koski 2016

ISBN 9781311093455

THIS BOOK CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL INCLUDING SCENES OF DOMINATION AND PUNISHMENT FLOGGINGS. AS SUCH IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS OR THOSE COUNTRIES WHERE SUCH MATERIAL IS ILLEGAL. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS BOOK IF YOU MAY BE SHOCKED OR OFFENDED BY EXPLICIT MATERIAL.

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1: FIRST OFFENCE

2: TEARING SILK

3: PLEASURE AND PAIN

4: CALLING THE TUNE

5: A ROD FOR YOUR OWN BACK

6: THE MILKING STOOL

7: REWARDS AND PENALTIES

8: INTERROGATION BY PLEASURE

9: TRAINING REGIME

10: A TINY PIECE OF DEVILMENT

11: THE INQUISITION

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1: First Offence

The rain came slashing down in the way only Scotland knows how to deliver rain: at speed and in huge quantities. The large American-style mailbox was pretty good at keeping the water out, but as Martin Reece opened the box he saw the little pool of water sitting in the bottom and winced. The mail was soaked and he lifted the soggy letters and put them gingerly onto the deeply-upholstered leather passenger seat of his four-by-four. Back in the relative comfort of the big Range Rover he banished the mail from his thoughts for the mile-plus journey up the drive, from the coast road to his house on the hill. He ran from the vehicle, filled the kettle in the kitchen and walked into the bathroom to dry his hair on a warm towel from the rail. He sat before his PC and sipped at the scalding hot coffee with relish. It was a luxury he indulged himself in, real quality coffee - he never had been able to abide the cheap instant muck.

It was several minutes before he got around to checking the soggy morass of paper he had rescued from the mailbox. There was the usual array of circulars for double glazing and solar panels, and one A4-sized envelope which seemed quite heavy, as though it contained a substantial book or catalogue. The label had been washed off, perhaps attached with a water-based glue, he mused. In any event he was unsure what it might be. He certainly hadn’t requested or ordered anything recently, so he opened the gooey flap and withdrew what was obviously a catalogue. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the items on the front cover - a pair of school canes hanging on a wall rack and a vicious-looking punishment strap being flaunted by a stunning model, whose curves were accentuated by her black rubber catsuit. His breath quickened in excitement. This was something he had always been fascinated by, always been unable to resist. The very thought of a strict and dominant woman taking control brought him out in a sweat, especially when teamed with shiny rubber. He saw the catalogue had a pasted, soft paper seal binding one edge of the glossy pages together. He broke it and peeled it back, ignoring the paper as it broke asunder, beyond repair.

He wondered who had sent him this: the catalogue from a specialist firm who catered for the needs of the disciplinarian with high expectations. There were canes and straps, riding crops, whips and paddles, and a whole world of bespoke restraints and devices that were plainly not for casual use. The prices were horrendous but the quality was self-evident. He spent half an hour devouring the catalogue, revisiting pages that piqued his interest and paying particular attention to the section that showcased women in rubber posing with whipping frames, and something called a birching pony that looked positively medieval. By the time he reached the last pages he decided he needed another drink. He lay the catalogue down, went and poured another coffee and returned. He’d placed the catalogue down on its face, and as he saw the printed label on the back page his heart sank. It quite plainly announced the intended recipient to him: Ms Rebecca Crompton, Fastness Croft, Glenwillishaugh. He’d never spoken to the woman, but knew her by sight of course. He’d moved here several years back, and Ms Crompton was his nearest neighbour – a mere mile or so away across the fields, but more like three if you went by road. She was – like himself – aloof and retiring, probably early forties, about his own age. She was also very attractive without being showy or loud. The more he thought about it the more he found it intriguing that such a woman would want to send for that catalogue.

So, what to do? His brain was saying he should leave it, just keep the catalogue for his own enjoyment, and forget it. She could, and probably would, send for another. But what if she was expecting it urgently? What if she asked Gordon the postman whether he had delivered an A4 cover with uncertain or missing destination? Gordon was known and liked by most, with his little red Royal Mail van. He chatted with just about everyone, probably Ms Crompton too. He would almost certainly remember the soggy A4 with the blue borders and questionable addressing. He would have to take it to her: there was no realistic option. Besides, it was the neighbourly thing to do and he found the idea appealing: perhaps she would invite him in for a coffee. She might even be wearing a latex rubber catsuit and carrying a cane. She would take him in hand, scold him for taking her mail and then punish him with her cane or a crop.

He managed to stop his runaway imagination after a few minutes, but it left him with a raging erection. He would need to control himself. Another coffee; that would steady his thumping heart.

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The rain had stopped, but the world was a very wet place as he approached the light oak panelled door of Fastness Croft. He hesitated, like a schoolboy sent to the Head’s office and tapped the door crisply. His heart was pounding and he wondered why it should be so. He had done nothing wrong, apart from open a closure that had been delivered to him erroneously, and that was hardly a hanging offence, was it? He’d replaced the sodden envelope with a crisp, plain, white new one and sealed it. He glanced across at her little red Japanese four-by-four parked on the gravel, then caught the movement to his side.

May I help you? She had appeared from the stables across the small gravelled courtyard and she was more attractive than he remembered. Her tone was very educated and cultured, and crisply authoritative, like a firm schoolteacher perhaps. She was dressed in a dark sweatshirt and tan jodhpurs with shiny rubber riding boots and his heart missed a beat. All she needed to be perfect was a crop, perhaps cracking it on one of those shiny boots. He took in the trim figure and fair hair before getting a grip, and gulped.

I have a package for you... er... miss. It was delivered to me by mistake this morning, as there was no address. I’ve repacked it for you in one of my business envelopes: I’m afraid I destroyed the old one on opening it.

The cool blue eyes surveyed him, judging and level, reading him and noting the results: perhaps for future reference? How clumsy of you; and it is now... let me see... almost three o’clock. You didn’t hurry, did you?

"No I suppose not. I’m very sorry, I’ve been quite busy this morning, I do apologise... my name’s Martin Reece. I live over on the hill – Deepwells. We’re neighbours..." His voice was weak and he was rushing his words, which seemed to make her face relax slightly. He thought he detected a very faint trace of a smile on her shapely lips, but her eyes and voice were still crisp and firm, in control: like a headmistress. He had to stop this; he was making himself jittery.

Yes, Mr Reece: I’ve seen you around and about. I’ve seen you drive your speedboat at the harbour. You drive very fast, Mr Reece, as you do on the road upon occasion. You seem to lack restraint, as though you were never taught discipline.

I... er... do tend to drive quickly from time to time... I’m sorry if that’s a problem...

She was still looking at him with those blue eyes and he shifted his weight to his other foot uncomfortably. She was definitely smiling at him now, faintly, with a peculiar sort of smile, but still a smile. She held out her hand and took the envelope.

Thank you, Mr Reece. You may go. He had been dismissed. Rebecca Crompton was already walking towards the stables, but as he climbed into the Range Rover he saw she was quite openly watching him from the stable doors: seeing him from the premises? Ensuring he hadn’t damaged anything with his furious driving? Worse, checking he hadn’t stolen a gas bottle or lifted the family silver? He drove deliberately quickly out of her courtyard, making some chickens scatter near the gate, and accelerated down the rough driveway leading from her house at a shocking rate, and in a mood to match. Rebecca Crompton had treated him like a schoolboy and he was insulted. And excited. She was very gorgeous. And annoying.

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Rebecca Crompton stayed in his mind for the rest of the day, ensuring he achieved very little in work terms. Eventually he gave up and closed down the PC, abandoning his responsibilities and retreating to his well-equipped workshop at the side of the house. He was an accomplished carpenter as well as being a qualified marine engineer and his evenings were often spent in here amid the gleaming